Rich Climbing: Art and Tea

I am not an artist in the conventional sense, but then how many artists are conventional?
Rather, the results of my efforts might not be considered art by a conventional audience...

Furthermore, I don’t drink real tea, at least not with the regularity required to be considered a tea drinker. Yet, here are words about both art, tea, and their mingling.

Photo: Laleh Akbarynoor

Sculptures. They may last through the ages of human evolution for generations to appreciate. From carvings barely noticeable at arm’s length to mega structures visible from the stratosphere.

The artist altering the medium. A physical and enduring offering. A work of art.

Theatre. Each performance is transient. Minutes to hours, from soap box to the Royal Albert. Delivered in a style spectrum from reactive spontaneity to rehearsed reproducibility.

The artist acting on a medium. A fleeting and experiential offering. A working of art.

So what is it to climb a rock? Nature provides the sculptured stage, ours is merely an act there on. Art on art, if you will. Climbing art can’t exist without geological art*. And what of the first ascentionist? Simply the first to link a series of hand and foot movements across a stone painting. The vision may be theirs, or inspired by another. The execution may be practiced, or not: a smooth, fluid dance or a jolting, staggered fight. The birth of a route is just the initial rendition. Geological processes gave us the playground, we just find different ways to play. To be playwrights, actors or both.

Where does tea fit in? A mug. Or anything that holds hot liquid. Obviously.

The drinking of tea, however, represents a particular way to be an artist on the rock: the send.

For the actor, this is the performance. This is not the space for working and fiddling. The components have steeped, and from the first sip, it flows until empty. You do not repeatedly spit it out and re-drink. This is not the rehearsal room. You do not knock the cup over and pour another one. You do not have half and then give up. You may cough or splutter, but you continue. The show goes on, from anticipation to fulfillment, with an upward progression in between. As you place the vessel down, you have done the route, the curtain closes, and you have drunk your tea.

Primal Art follows the steep prow.

Primal Art (26)*****

Hard. Aesthetic. Intimidating. Bold. Orgasmic. HAIBO!

Indeed, “No!” is what I thought for a while, until the draw got too strong. It usually does. Top down inspection revealed the Holy Grail: just enough holds! Three hours of practice, re-practice and for good measure, guess what? Yes, some cursing. Despite the toil and preparation, my performance was awkward and desperate. An exhausting illustration that it was indeed possible. A juggling act, were every catch was marginal and seemingly a ball would drop at any moment, yet didn’t.

Primal Art, first crux. Photo: Warren Gans

Happily, scrappy counts, and the satisfaction was sipped from completing a new, difficult and beautiful piece, despite the inelegance.

You could say there was tea in the art.

Fighting time. Photo: Warren Gans

My-T-Chai heads straight up the Rooibosch Wall. Photo: Douw Steyn.

My-T-Chai (24)*****

Now we are talking. The coveted FA onsight. The idea had brewed, but this time the satisfaction was derived mainly from the style. Drank it in. Ground up improvisation; street theatre off the cuff. Writing the script en route. The skill in navigating the unknown gained through experience.

You could say there was art in the tea.