Ossian: Fragments of Ancient Poetry
Until November 24; UNESCO, Paris

The National Galleries of Scotland have a habit of leading journalists into riot zones. After opening their festival exhibition bang in the middle of Edinburgh’s G8 disturbances, they take their first ever touring exhibition to Paris just as the city descends into turmoil. There are no discernable signs of trouble, though, at the UNESCO headquarters, as the world’s ambassadors arrive en masse to see Calum Colvin’s show.

Ossian has toured the Highlands and Islands over the past three years, and the Gaelic labels and text panels remain firmly part of the package. With the addition of French, the trilingualism looks totally natural in this cosmopolitan space. “It’s a normal part of life,” says the show’s host, the UK Ambassador to UNESCO; “It shouldn’t be exceptional”.

Colvin’s show is inspired by the historically disputed legend of Ossian, unearthed as a third century Gaelic poet by James MacPherson in 1760. The “Celtic Homer” inspired a generation of international writers and artists including Burns, Goethe, Longfellow and Mendelssohn. Even Napolean was said to carry the blind bard’s poems with him into battle.

But the popularity of this noble savage was short-lived. MacPherson was accused of forgery by Samuel Johnson, and producing no definitive document to prove the existence of the original Gaelic text, MacPherson was discredited. In these postmodern days, the issue of authenticity is not so black and white, and MacPherson’s contribution is valued for what it is: the piecing together of fragments of oral tradition with a generous helping of romantic glue.

UNESCO has a special phrase, “intangible cultural heritage”, to describe the unfixed treasures of the world, and in particular, oral traditions. The organisation has a programme dedicated to its worldwide promotion, but the UK, stuck in Johnson’s way of thinking, has never bothered to sign up.

The way Colvin has constructed his 24 images is a perfect visual metaphor for the vexed problem of Scottish identity. Physical sets, made of everyday furniture and stones, have been painted carefully so that seen from a certain angle, they merge to create a coherent image. From that one point of view Colvin takes a photograph which is the finished, illusory, work of art. Like the story of Ossian, these pictures are made up of disjointed fragments, where the line between the real and the concocted; the old and new; is hard to identify.

Most of these works are based on historical portraits such as Sir Walter Scott. In Paris, Colvin unveils a new work which is markedly different. It shows Napolean, riding his galloping horse into battle (with Ossian, presumably, tucked into his pocket). This dynamic vision is overlaid on the mundane reality of an office cubicle, complete with desk, filing cabinet, and a swivel chair for the rearing stallion.

“We all know Napolean the great warrior,” Colvin tells me, “but there’s also Napolean the great administrator”. The Emperor is resplendent in red and blue, and could almost be mistaken for Superman in flight. It’s this vigorous energy that sets the new work apart from the old, stone-bound portraits of 2002. I wonder whether Colvin is differentiating between France’s vigorous identity and Scotland’s more stolid image.

Standing in front of his new work, Colvin is surrounded by new fans. A representative from the Lebanon is keen to tour the show to her country, “because this work has a lot of echoes in the Lebanon. We are rebuilding with whatever we have at hand”, she says, referring to the painted fragments of stone in Colvin’s photographs, “and what we have at hand is what has been destroyed.”

Catrìona Black, Sunday Herald 13.11.05