Bare Bones

Ever ordered a meal at a resturant to find everyones plate looks more inviting than your own? I find at times this is the curse of having other peoples work on tap on the internet. I often spend pointless time gazing at other peoples work thinking – why couldn’t I be that sort of artist, why couldn’t I do work that was as colourful/socially engaged, technically complex/ easily transportable, sellable/ permanent/ humourous etc etc. you name it – anything but what I do – and I can’t do anything but what I do. Is it just me that has these moments?

Well, I’ve booked my flight to Ireland, and booked two gallery directors so far to meet up with. They still have my work in the national permanent collection over there from my days before the children. The Arts Council very politely asked to use it a year or so ago to be photographed for some publicity and I agreed in return for some photos which, incidently, I never received.

Katie in Geneva is meant to be forwarding me some written piece about my work but perhaps needs another gentle nudge to make it happen. Finally got the piece of film I completed from the all the interviews conducted with women on the subject of night. It’s on my axis site if you want to take a look, entitled ‘Night Vision’. Leading on from that I have another two film pieces I would so like to do.

On a freezing cold,wintery walk by the lake in Tisbury today, with her rather unhappy baby playing up in the backpack, I talked to my friend Alison about pulling forces on the next film project. Alison, originally from Australia, is a composer of choral music, and to work together would take us both outside our comfort zone, – I would so love it.

Can’t type much as carpal tunnel is playing up. Had a really positive portfolio crit with Artsway gallery though – so pleased. It’s given me the oomph to keep going so am booking Ireland to meet up with curators there. It’s going to be a mad two months as my grant period comes to an end, squeezing the last drop of it out. Saving my hands for the report writing.

The playing out of a memory from 2002 – recording that action through drawing.

Have just got back from a rather hairy photography session. Late last night, when pondering alternative sites to photograph work I had a flash of inspiration. Helga, a patent lawyer, unstoppable socialite and, whenever we do meet up, good friend (I’m much too poor  to move within her circles on a regular basis), has recently bought a crumbling farmhouse to be transformed into something wonderful. Aha, I thought, a photographic opportunity so a quick call and we were booked to meet this morning. With her BMW 4×4 crammed full of my work and bits and pieces we set off through the snow, Helga impeccably turned out and me in my rather scruffy, poor artist attire with Bertie, her spaniel on my knee.

 When we got there work men were busy on the outside while the inside downstairs was deserted and almost demolished. Helga set off with Bertie in the snow while I hawked my stuff upstairs and set to work. There is something achingly beautiful about an old, deserted house, and it was all I could do to get on with work and not just stand and stare. Time was short though so I got to work pinning up my origami butterflies, folded from the many lists gathered over the last year. Collections of things to do, items of shopping, family obligations etc, the worn and discarded records of an ordinary life. Pinned to the faded, flocked wallpaper they whispered of passing days and endlessly repeated tasks, the measuring of an everyday existence.

I can spend hours attempting to get good results with photography but Helgas toes didn’t hold out long in the cold and soon I could see her in the distance,  hovering around the garden, ready to pack up and go. I called for ten minutes more and began to grab as many shots as I could. Before long there was an almighty bang downstairs and the ceiling began to shake. Not knowing I was upstairs, workmen had come in to finish the job of demolishing the building and I realised the wall below me was about to go. Racing around grabbing my things, I just about managed to stay upright, pull the last butterflies off the wall and stagger down the shaking stairs to the ground floor. The workmen stared amazed through their respiratory gear as I left with my collection of oddities.

Not quite the unhurried session I would have liked but I was pretty lucky to get in at all before all that once busy, family home disappeared. Helga dropped me back, refused a coffee as I could see from her face my kitchen was way too dirty and cluttered for her to cope with, and we returned to our rather different lives. To her credit though, Helga went out of her way to help this morning, as she would at any time, and I am very grateful.

Everyday I wake up with great intentions and seemingly swathes of time ahead but no school and snow everywhere seems to have a kind of soporific effect, trapping us in a weird kind of suspended dream world. The day has to be punctuated with monitoring sledging until our toes can’t bear it anymore, but in between times I am attempting to be productive.

Organising a crit group with a tiny group of brave souls who are spread widely apart geographically, not too mention under pressure time wise, is kind of tricky. In a splurge of enthusiasm I decided to set up an online group – ‘artconnector’ – so that, rather than constantly email back and forward, we could discuss dates etc together online and perhaps even host discussions on local issues and share advice between meetings. Still grappling with this though as the hotmail group doesn’t entirely have the ‘functionality’ ( a word I loathe but has suddenly for once become applicable) needed, I am also trialing a few others in case we have to change. For anyone in the Wilts/Hampshire area though, who may want to become a group member please let me know. It could just be a really nice thing to keep in touch over local developments, possibilties for collaboration and mutual support, and may make it possible to keep the ball rolling in between and in addition to physical meetings. I’ve also got to grips with Twitter finally.

Techno developments aside, I spent a bit of time developing drawings in the studio today. I was pleased with the results but disappointed that it is so diffficult to photograph delicate pieces. This is such a pain in the neck for me as my work is often very fragile and depends largely on the surrounding space to give it scale and context. Walking around it, the experience is very physical but trying to capture that on camera is almost impossible. Trying then to relay that experience to a curator with only phographic images to go on is extremely difficult. Perhaps I should try to film someone in the space instead. Does anyone out there share this problem?