Wales, a country nestled within the west of the British Isles, is a land steeped in history, mythology and legends.
Arguably descendants of the Beaker people who settled in southern Britain at the beginning of the third millennium B.C.E, with some claiming ancestry to those Mesolithic (Stone Age) tribes who first arrived in Wales some ten thousand years ago, the Welsh are an ancient people. In fact, the Welsh language, which has its roots in those early times, can still be heard across Wales, be it in the farmers markets of Builth Wells or the streets of Cardiff, to this day. Though, whilst Wales has retained a distinct culture to that of the rest of the U.K it has nevertheless changed dramatically over the course of its long history - and not always as a result of internal factors.
From the arrival of Roman missionaries who brought Christianity to the use of the Welsh Knot by the British Government during the late nineteenth century to eradicate the Welsh language, the Welsh are a people who have adapted to change whilst at the same time successfully preserving elements of their ancient heritage. Interestingly however, such preservation has occurred not through war (the last unsuccessful Welsh revolt being led by Owain Glyndwr in the early fifteenth century), but art; and one modern Welsh artist who works hard to present and subsequently preserve Welsh history and culture in the twenty-first century is Meinir Mathias.
Raised in West Wales a region renowned for its Welshness, such as its high number of Welsh speakers, Plaid Cymru voters and ancient historic sites, like St. Davids Cathedral (Wales' patron saint), Meinir was born to a Welsh speaking family, in fact her name itself is a Welsh one. As is often the case for creatives, Meinir's family themselves are very passionate about the arts. One of her sisters for instance is a ceramicist, whilst the other is an art teacher. Yet someone who would inspire Meinir from a young age to fuse together these aspects of Welshness and creativity that surrounded her, would not do so through art but instead conversation.
The Welsh landscape, shrouded in mist, rain, dense forests and vast mountain ranges, has provided for centuries the nourishment for many an artists' mind to flourish. Yet it's not often what is seen in Wales but what is heard that stokes the fire of one's imagination. For in Wales there lies a strong oral tradition (I myself, growing up in South Wales, am all too familiar with this custom. I know for instance all the names and stories of relatives from the mid-1800's thanks to stories that were passed down to me by my grandparents) and throughout her childhood Meinir's grandfather would tell her a plethora of historic tales and episodes. And it wasn't long before the young Meinir began to express these episodes visually on paper.
'I have always loved traditional methods of working, like drawing and painting', Meinir tells me. 'Though', she explains 'the trend in Art Colleges for a long time now has been to move away from those traditional methods of working, so when I was studying, they would often say to me things like "oh you're too illustrative", so I did explore lots of different methods of working... I think we're in that post-British art era of Tracey Emin [an artist who uses more physical and
of confessional forms artwork; she once erected a tent and placed the names of everyone she's ever slept with inside for instance], so we were pushed to do more installation work, such as sound and film, but I was always drawn back to painting and drawing'. As our conversation continues it becomes obvious that Meinir is an art aficionado. Indeed, given her experience, why wouldn't she be? For after she had completed her master's degree in fine art she then went on to teach art in secondary schools and then at degree level in the Carmarthen School of Art. No matter how far her knowledge has expanded however, it is still Wales that Meinir remains fascinated with when it comes to her work - a theme which has since become her primary focus after recently becoming a full-time artist.
Though, whilst Meinir's central topic may be Wales, her works are not just recreations of historical people and events but instead the reinterpretation of them. It could be easily thought for instance, that the figures Meinir paints in her oil works, draped in traditional Welsh dress and surrounded by distinctly Welsh scenery, such as non-conformist chapels and rural farmhouses, are posing for a photograph. Yet they are expressions that project a sense of seriousness.
'I want them to have attitude', Meinir explains, 'I want them to be non-apologetic because as a nation I think we can often be quite apologetic'. Take her painting, Cranogwen, for example. For if you were to observe an old photograph of Cranogwen, whose real name was Sarah James Rees, with her long dress, crossed legs and expressionless face, you might well think of her as being a typical woman of the age.
Yet, as Meinir's painting of her expresses, with her trousered open legs, determined face, strong looking hands and with the rugged coastline behind her, Cranogwen was anything but your standard Victorian. A poet, teacher, a master mariner (which meant that she held a master's degree in seafaring with the subsequent ability to command ships all over he world) and - a capital offence at the time - lesbian, she was in fact an extraordinary strong and daring woman of her time.
By providing figures, like Cranogwen, with such expressions, Meinir is able to bring these traditional and often forgotten Welsh people and stories back to life in a new light. Of course, these depictions may not be historically accurate representations of what these people looked like, but they do present contemporary audiences with a more truthful portrayal of their character. Yet such characters, Meinir is keen to point out, not only bring distinctly Welsh stories to the forefront but also those issues historically confronted by the working-classes.
In a similar vein, whilst the Black Lives Matter (BLM) protests demanded a greater respect for the lives of black people, many aspects of the protests simultaneously sought a more liberal re-interpretation of our history.
Swiftly, the BLM movement became one of historiography, one which demanded a re-evaluation of not only who should be seen as being important in our histories, but who should be remembered. Most people remember this historiographical development as one of statues; some, such as the slave-trader Edward Colston, were torn down, whilst others, like Betty Campbell, who was the first black head-teacher in Wales, were put up. In reality however, the extent to which the movement began to alter our understanding of not only how history should be written, but who should be included, was far greater than just statues alone. Significantly, it is a development which has evolved to push for the inclusion of all those who have been oppressed in our arts and our histories - and one such advocate is Meinir, who, at the time of the protests was keenly reading about the Rebecca Riots in West Wales.
Unless you're from Wales itself, and perhaps even if you are, you're not likely to have heard of the Rebecca Riots. In fact, you're probably asking yourself right now 'who is Rebecca?', well, she certainly wasn't anyone who was alive when the riots started in 1839. What was very much alive, however, was the anguish local townsfolk in West Wales felt toward a small group of greedy businessmen who were charging them exorbitant toll fees to transport their livestock. And it was through this anger that Rebecca spoke - 'possess the gates of those who hate them' she said. Although this is a quote taken from Rebecca in the book of Genesis in the Bible, something the non-conformist Welsh would have been all too familiar with, it was one which these farmers now furiously, along with axes, pitchforks and torches, armed themselves with. Indeed, Rebecca might not have been there, but 'her daughters', as these men called themselves were - and they were certainly dressed the part.
Marching upon the toll gates, these Rebeccas, as the rioters were known, were in fact a most unusual sight for the time - for these burly farmers, with their raised fists and torches, were dressed in traditional women's costume. In fact, these are the very men Meinir portrays in her work, one such piece is called 'Beca's Hat' for instance, and much like Cranogwen, these men have attitude. Yet whilst these works by Meinir bring such working-class struggles back into the limelight, they also depict themes of Welshness that go beyond the likes of traditional clothing and architecture. Take a look at her work Mari & The Piper for example, indeed, it's hard not to miss the horse skull - but why is it there?
If you ever find yourself traversing the streets of South Wales one cold winter night, or between Christmas Day and the Twelfth Night (the 5th of January) to be exact, then you might just well encounter a ghost-like figure with a horse's skull at its head. For this would be Mari Lwyd, the legendary ghostly white horse which is represented within many of Meinir's works. Although its origins are not fully known, it is a tradition that is thought to have its roots in pagan times, when white horses were thought to have been connected to the Celtic mythological underworld. Resurfacing in the nineteenth century, Mari Lwyd, the horse's skull itself, was carried around by a group of people who knocked on stranger's doors and sang. In fact, as some of these tales go, the people who answered not only reciprocated in song but also entered a competition - for if they failed to continue singing, then those holding Mari Lwyd were allowed to enter into their house and drink all their grog.
Myths and legends help knit together the very fabric of Welsh culture and its ancient people, so it's perhaps little surprise that they feature so consistently across Meinir's work; be it Mari Lwyd, Gelert the dog (a sad yet meaningful story about how we shouldn't jump to conclusions) or St. David's mother - again, bringing lesser-known figures to the forefront - St. Non. In fact I first came across Meinir's work on a walk down St. David's (the U.K's smallest city) in West Wales in October, where I found her portrait of St. Non which had recently been placed on the site of where she is said to have given birth to St. David. One key way in which Meinir conveys her themes and messages however, is through symbolism. Taking a closer look at her painting of Catrin Glyndwr for example. Much like her husband, Owain Glyndwr, her hair is wild and rebellious yet, in resemblance to the Welsh revolt, the flowers in her hands are wilting away. Though, whilst the bulk of her symbols are historical, Meinir intelligently applies them to the context of modern Wales.
'This one's not for sale' is the caption of one of Meinir's works. At a glance, you could be mistaken for thinking it's just two Rebecca rioters, yet Meinir here is expressing the view held in many parts of Wales, that the country is being used as a commodity. Such a sentiment for instance, can be seen in her work Cerrig Cochinor 'Red Stones' in English, whereby a boy sits in front of a well-known sign in Wales, 'Cofiwch Dryweryn', which refers to the flooding of a town of the same name in order to supplement Liverpool's water supply.
Nevertheless, such pieces are still more cultural than they are political. For Meinir's art conveys a feeling in Wales; one that has become particularly exacerbated throughout lockdown; the recent World Cup and the Autumn Nations; of not only wanting to preserve but promote Welsh culture. In this regard, perhaps the most consistent theme throughout Meinir's work is not one which is seen but heard, belting out a song that has echoed across the Welsh Valleys to the Ahmed bin Ali Stadium in Oman, 'Ymr O Hyd', or as it is English: