One very interesting development this year has been Alfie’s increased enthusiasm (or obsession with) Star Wars. This is no great revelation in and of itself, given that the boy is rapidly approaching six years old and the perfect age to engage with it, but what interests me is the way in which this has affected me, and to some extent takes my work and thought full-circle to four years ago when I combined painting and printing to create a piece which illustrated how “the son becomes father to the man” (or, read another way, how the child inevitably outwits the adult). At the time I considered this work to be somewhat jejune artistic fodder, relying on an archetypal parent-child dyad, but as this co-relation grows in age and maturity, I cannot ignore how inescapable this has always – to some extent – been for myself and my output. Of particular piquancy is the way in which Alfie is now, to all intents and purposes and as a textbook Lacanian model, an exact mirror image of myself at his age: I was Alfie’s age in 1983, and therefore Star Wars is (without wishing myself at the mercy of this cretinous contemporary bombast, yet somehow compelled to align myself with it) “encoded into my DNA.” The same is now becoming true with my Son, as Freud, Lacan, Berne and countless other critical theorists have postulated. It is all too easy to dismiss popular culture such as Star Wars as “for children” or a Greenbergian “low,” however the strength of its staying power lies in its universalising all of those psychoanalytic concepts and ideological counter-points which critical theorists have debated and argued over for centuries. Does it simplify said concepts? Naturally. Does it trivialise them? Not at all. Rather it, contextualises them in much the same way as Greek Myth and literature have done since we first started telling one another stories. Particularly revealing is its emphasis on Father-Son relations and its repetitive looping-back on its own themes, which has in no small way found its real-world counterpart in the way in which it now spans multiple generations. There is a strong correlation between Alfie, who still sees the world through innocence, and myself as I come to understand that the child is still very much active in me and recognise the power of the archetype in Star Wars. For all that I love the cinematic beauty found in the works of Tarkovsky, Tarr, Jodorowsky and Kurosawa, it is without doubt Star Wars which still unifies the 38-year-old me of today with the five-year-old me of 1983.
It would be strange for a child to love Star Wars and not want a part of its own galaxy of merchandise. Alfie’s passion for action figures has grown with his passion for the franchise, and here I find my own banal pun on the term “Plastic Arts.” There is something in the way that these toys have become more sculpturally sophisticated over the years – the figures I played with a small boy were never as detailed or articulated as the figures of today. There is a demand for accuracy and perfect replication in today’s action figures which runs parallel to the “more real than real” contrivances of the cinematic screen. The connection between this modern phenomenon and the writings of Baudrillard are so obvious as to make that connection here seem somewhat obtuse, however that connection cannot be ignored. The simulacrum now precedes the original just as the map precedes the territory, making the sophisticated model almost indistinguishable from the person, object or form it replicates. In this way, big-budget films (particularly of a fantastical theme) are created in conjunction with the merchandising market, and presented to the public as a bifurcated tree: two branches of the same organism. This phenomenon is widespread and is by no means exclusive to the film or toy industries, as clothing now strives to emulate “authenticity,” music is deliberately made to emulate production values of the past, and even food is branded to appear as though a return to arcane values. Nostalgia has a significant price value in a schizophrenic age.