PROFILE:Gerard Mannix Flynn's art, and his short-lived resignation from Aosdána's inner circle over issues arising from the Cathal Ó Searcaigh controversy, both stem from his experiences as a child in Letterfrack and other institutions, and his desire to argue the case for those who would otherwise remain unheard, writes Aidan Dunne.
WHEN GERARD Mannix Flynn took on Aosdána over issues arising from the controversy generated by Neasa Ní Chianáin's documentary on the poet Cathal Ó Searcaigh, he saw himself once again cast in a familiar role, as a lone voice, a marginalised outsider taking on the might of the establishment, arguing the case for those who would otherwise remain unheard. In conversation after what he felt was a deeply unsatisfactory meeting of the Toscaireacht, held to set the agenda for the General Assembly of Aosdána, he said that he found himself "in a very dark place, a place I really didn't want to be in again", and wondering if anything had really changed in Ireland over the last 30 years.
But hang on a minute - is this marginalised outsider the same Mannix Flynn who in recent years has carved out a successful career as an installation artist of some renown, whose work as a writer and actor has been widely acclaimed, who sits on the board of the Irish Museum of Modern Art, who is a member of Aosdána - an honour for any artist - and was, until he quit on April 25th, part of Aosdána's inner circle, the Toscaireacht? Or, indeed, the Mannix Flynn who brought the proceedings of a prior Aosdána assembly to a halt and demanded an apology from a member who had cast aspersions on Imma as an institution? Isn't he, in other words, about as much an insider as an artist is likely to be in contemporary Ireland? Certainly, on the face of it, his experiences since the late 1970s tell the story of someone progressing inexorably from the periphery to the centre.
But, perhaps with good reason, Flynn has never been comfortable with the idea of becoming part of the establishment. When the then minister for arts John O'Donoghue appointed him to the board of Imma at the beginning of 2004, he cited Flynn's "contribution to the work and art of the 'outsider'." And by all accounts, he has lived up to that description, never seeing himself in a corporate role, always nervously alert to the dictates of his own conscience.
Read his autobiographical novel, Nothing to Say, or his drama James X and its attendant catalogue of documentation, and you can see why. James X is substantially built from a dossier of documents obtained under the Freedom of Information Act. Excerpts from these documents formed Flynn's powerful solo exhibition at the Kevin Kavanagh Gallery in December 2003, Not to be read in open court.
Brilliantly conceived, the show was economic in its physical form but devastating in its exposition. In forensic and chilling detail, the sequence of enlarged excerpts from original documents allowed us to trace the history of an individual from early childhood as he was passed through a succession of agencies and institutions run by a seamless alliance of church and State. For all we know, the professionals and functionaries who assessed and processed him may have been well-meaning, but what comes across on their part is a cold disdain, an ingrained lack of empathy that amounts in the end to callous cynicism.
Although he has never said so, it is an open secret that James X is Flynn himself. Born in 1957 in Dublin's inner city, he was from early on a troubled child, with a boisterous, rebellious streak that soon put him on the radar of officialdom. Truancy and a series of petty thefts eventually led to his being removed from his family and dispatched, aged 10, to St Joseph's Industrial College in Letterfrack in Connemara, run by the Christian Brothers. St Joseph's has since become notorious as part of a network of institutions managed by religious orders where abuse was systemic and, until relatively recently, unacknowledged. Flynn was there for 18 months and has related accounts of the appalling treatment he and other inmates endured. It is hardly surprising that a pattern of minor and some more serious offences, and periodic incarceration, subsequently ensued, including spells at Marlborough House Detention Centre, St Patrick's Institution, Mountjoy, and the Central Mental Hospital.
A turning point came when he met and collaborated with Peter Sheridan of the Project Arts Centre in 1976. Together they worked on a play, The Liberty Suit, substantially based on Flynn's experiences at St Joseph's, which became, Sheridan acknowledges, Project's greatest success up to that time. Because it demanded a larger production than the Project space allowed, it premiered at the Olympia in 1977, when the cast included Gabriel Byrne and Gerard McSorley, with Flynn in the lead role. It was immediately clear that he had great verbal and dramatic facility, and he has acted professionally since on many occasions, although the occupation has never seemed to completely absorb him or harness all of his prodigious energy and talents.
Even friends acknowledge that until he stopped drinking towards the end of the 1990s, he could be hard going. Genuinely charming and quick-witted, he was also a compulsive and gregarious performer, mercurial and on occasion irascible. Depending on his mood, those who knew him learned when it was better to avoid him. He is well aware of this, and has remarked that his essentially self-destructive behaviour stemmed from a process, begun in Letterfrack, that subsequently turned inwards. In managing to forgo alcohol, he effected a dramatic change.
One friend describes him now: "He always has a lot to say, sometimes a bit too much perhaps, but he is always smart, engaging, stimulating company." He is passionate, committed and utterly sincere about what he does, and has established a company, Far Cry Productions, to realise projects. Based in Kenmare in Co Kerry, he also spends time in Dublin.
WITH NOTHING TO SAY, which was originally published in 1983, he introduced his consistent fictional alter-ego, James O'Neill. While the novel, which is dark but also hilarious, takes a vivid, relatively conventional narrative form, by the time of James O'Neill's reappearance as James X 20 years later, Flynn had made a fundamental shift in strategy. His work became much more complex and harder to categorise, and more ambitious in form and intent. Rather than merely representing events, in the traditional modes of writing novels and plays, or making paintings, he aimed to intervene creatively in public discourse. He has repeatedly spoken of his ambition to engage his audience in "an act of co-creation", rather than treating them as passive recipients of a predetermined message. He wants nothing less than to provide a transformative experience.
His use of an alter ego not only distances the work from the immediacy of autobiography and, as Fintan O'Toole observed, makes it possible for him to deal with disturbing, psychologically toxic material, it also underlines the point that his is not just a personal, isolated story, but part of a historical fabric. His more recent installations (he prefers his own coinage, "extallations") have broadened their focus to consider the history of the State. Something to Live For featured the Andy Warhol-like portraits of 68 individuals involved in the fight for Irish independence, prominently displayed in the windows above Thomas Read pub on the corner of Parliament Street and Dame Street. Thank You, publicly displayed in Leeson Street, incorporated the proclamation of independence printed in several languages.
Architects Sheila O'Donnell and John Tuomey were responsible for remodelling St Josephs in Letterfrack as a school of furniture design. Rather than demolishing the existing buildings with their poisonous associations, the complex they designed incorporates them in a transformed context. When they based their pavilion at the Venice Architectural Biennale in 2004 on the project, they invited Flynn to launch the exhibition. He spoke eloquently about our need to take ownership of the past, in the personal and public spheres, which is a good description of what his own work has been about from the beginning. He saw the Furniture College, through its incorporation of the old institutional buildings, as doing that both literally and figuratively. James X features a protagonist who is framing a judicial case against the State, but he is not out for revenge. His point is that we need to acknowledge the truth about the past, about damage done and lives ruined, if anything is to change.
Kevin Kavanagh, who worked closely with him on Not to be read in open court, found the experience exceptionally rewarding. He says of Flynn: "What impresses me about him is that the tone of the work, which deals with these terrible areas of experience, is basically conciliatory. It's about learning and healing, and moving on. This might sound odd, because I have a high regard for his work, but in a way I don't think of Gerard as an artist in the conventional sense at all. He is more than an artist. I think it's important that he is there, that he is important as a political activist, as someone who is trying to create change, on a practical level, and who sets out to do that by writing stories, by performance, and in visual art."
CV - GERARD MANNIX FLYNN
Who is he?Writer, actor and visual artist known for his largely autobiographical works detailing State injustice and abuse.
Why is he in the news?He resigned from Aosdána's inner council of Toscaireacht because they wouldn't table his motion endorsing the rights of children and young people. They eventually agreed to endorse it at the General Assembly on Thursday - without reference to any named individual or allegations - after which Flynn agreed to be reinstated to the Toscaireacht.
Most appealing characteristic:Can tackle dark subjects with humour and ingenuity.
Least appealing characteristic:Can lose his sense of humour and become hectoring and relentless.
What his fans say:"Gerard Mannix Flynn's conceptual art events and installations constitute a guerilla history of the State." (Fintan O'Toole, The Irish Times)
What his critics say:Can an insider be an outsider?
