Thwarted by a broken down car, a crashing film file and a lost photo image I have a few minutes to spare.
I’m not going to go into depth about the days shortcomings, I’m going to talk about a moment, a little thing but quite immense in some ways. I am not a mother who draws her children but last week, waiting at piano lessons, Esme asked me to draw her portrait. And I did. Time is at such a premium I tend only to draw as part of a greater process, tightly embedded in my current practise, certainly never purely for pleasure.
The moment happened as I drew Esme’s mouth. I caught something of her character that sent a thrill of pleasure through me, and I remembered how drawing used to fill my days, before art transformed into work, before rigourous and critical life drawing classes had made me walk away from the thing I loved most. It was as sharp a sensation as a scent which brings you back to a particular place and time. It caught me by surprise.
Sometime soon I’ll make time to do some more.
If there’s one thing I hate about this blog it’s when my husband reads it over my shoulder. He got a real chuckle over the line ‘art has consumed me from the word go’ in a previous post, dancing round the house and repeating it in a rediculous voice until I had to resort to violence. ‘But it did’, I yelled,’When I was a child I spent all my time drawing’ , ‘Yeh well – he said – That was just cause there wasn’t much on the telly in those days!’ I knew I shouldn’t have married a scientist.
Anyway, I am being consumed by editing this film at the moment from the interviews I did earlier in the year. I am absolutley loving it and learning so much about the process. I could easily become hooked on this. The more I do the more I understand about the other film work I have seen in galleries etc., why artists have worked in a particular way, the technical constraints, timings, sound etc. how the various aspects works together. All basic stuff to those on film degree courses I guess. But something else I love and that’s working it out through trial and error, absorbing the process through my own exploration – and the thrill of grasping a process and making it work. Other people are sharing their skills as well, from Alison who composes choral music to Steve who I pass in the street most days and had no idea worked in film and audio. Everyone has been so enthusiastic and ready to share their knowledge. In a way I’m finding gaining knowledge away from an institution in this way a really positive, organic and people centred way to learn.
How did my life ever get so complicated. Sometimes I feel so weary at having to fight so hard to get anything done on this R&D project. Geneva looks like it may bear some fruit though as a gallery is interested in including me in a show which will be right up my street with another four women artists next year. Nothing signed yet but I hope to meet up with the director in London soon.
At the moment I am trying to set up a visit to Glasgow both to speak to curators but also to visit Cathy Wilkes (Turner prize nominee last year). Cathy and I grew up together and walked the route home from school daily, stopping off at the shop for white mice, caramacs and mojos. We went right through school to sixth form and I distinctly remember being the only two to tackle drawing the pigs head in A level art, with hours spent in concentration, the rather repulsive object placed between us. We went our seperate ways, both to sculpture degrees and lost touch until a year or so ago when a curator suggested I look up this artist called Cathy Wilkes as we worked around similar themes. Ironic, maybe. Well hopefully we will meet up when I go to Glasgow but right now it’s giving me a huge headache trying to match up childcare, Cathy, curators etc. I thought I had success but now I realise the date I picked is St Andrews day and I’m not sure what that means to people’s availability.
I also made the mistake of looking up safety for women travelling in Glasgow. I did this for Marrakesh and it said, no problem, the city is surprisingly safe for women alone. Glasgow – oh dear!- it more or less says you must be mad to go alone. But I can’t believe that’s true – people survive in Glasgow don’t they? And don’t forget, I did grow up in Belfast (although I’ve been turned into a bit of a soft Southerner). Someone out there from Glasgow reassure me please.
Also I realise I double booked myself as I’m meant to be running the village lantern parade for our local church on that weekend -ooops, it’s all so damn complicated to get away. On my fathers last visit when discussing health issues he said ‘You’re punishing yourself too much with all this’ Perhaps he’s right, but what is the aternative. Art has consumed me from the word go.
