Exhibitions
Shaker: The Art of Craftsmanship; The Art of the Harley (Barbican Art Gallery, till 26 April)
Rocking and raving
Leslie Geddes-Brown
The Shakers, or Shaking Quakers, were an American religious sect known for their ecstatic dancing, their pure furniture design and their celibacy. So it was a surprise at the press view of the exhibition Shaker: The Art of Craftsmanship to be confronted by a queue of grey-haired men with beer bellies and long ponytails wearing leathers and T- shirts with skulls on; also by teams of tele- vision crews from Germany and Italy; blonde bimbos in skin-tight catsuits and earnest young architects in minimalist Japanese black. I knew Shaker was fashion- able — but surely not that fashionable.
As it turned out, none of the above was remotely interested in cherrywood rocking- chairs to hang on wooden wall-pegs, cup- boards with pure fruitwood handles or round maple storage boxes with character- istic 'swallowtail' seams — or, for that mat- ter, celibacy. They had come to the other show which launches the Barbican's Year of American Culture: The Art of the Harley. Thirty of the world's most bizarre and baroque motorbikes were in town. Or, as the organisers would have it, the exhibition explores the Harley-Davidson's 'extraordi- nary contribution to contemporary visual culture and the broader cultural context including film, fashion and bike festivals'.
It was, I'm sorry to report, far more fun than the Shakers' sensible tables, beds and cupboards. These are not all that different from plain English country furniture except that they are a great deal plainer. As Elder Frederick Evans put it in 1875: 'We have no right to waste money upon what you would call beauty in our houses or daily life while there are people living in misery.' Evans and the other dour brothers and sis- ters here photographed would be a good deal surprised at the way the fashion for Shaker design (though not its moral pre- Basket, c.1840, Ken Hakuta Mount Lebanon Collection cepts) has spread throughout America and Britain recently. Their lives, intended to recreate heaven on earth, were actually governed by prohibition. They were required to get up at 4 a.m., dress in 18th- century clothes almost as unflattering as today's Paris couture, and eat all meals in silence. Celibacy was enforced by building each dormitory house in two completely separate parts, with different entrances for each sex. Cleanliness was paramount. As their founder, Mother Ann Lee, who emi- grated from Manchester to found the sect in 1785, dogmatically remarked, 'There is no dirt in Heaven.' The dourness is under- standable.
While a few design groupies dressed in long black garments were contemplating the spare purity of dustpans and brushes upstairs, rock music drifted from the gallery below. A biker's moll in snakeskin was posing by her snakeskin-painted bike called Medusa and made by Peter Jeluemyr of Balls Choppers. When anyone breathed on its gleaming parts, a grey ponytail would dart forward to polish the blemish. Knots Shovelhead Chopper, Arlen Ness Collection of other grey ponytails massaged their black leather and gossiped around Tank Ewsichek's retro-style shocking-pink FXR, Flight DeVille and Cyril Huze's Florida pastel and palm-treed FL called Miami Nice. Two Bad, Arlen Ness's purple and gold leaf Liberace piano (`modification: extremely custom'), was elevated on a altar-like dais. British bikes were represent- ed by, among others, George `Suttle' Sav- age and his 1993 Ultra Classic Electra Glide, Dresser Light, lit with 380 bulbs like Harrods at Christmas. Subtle it wasn't. Also from Britain is Andrew Peters's Ele- gante, his evocation of Art Deco, stretched, raked and customised by Jeez Louise and Cockney Dave.
If it seems I know what I'm talking about, it's because the press kit included a glossary. Even if Knucklehead, Shovelhead and Panhead (something to do with over- head valves) are beyond me, from now on Apehanger (tall handlebars which need outstretched arms), Sissy Bar (a backrest for faint hearts) and RUBs (Rich Urban Bikers) will figure regularly in my conversa- tion.
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