I am really not winning here.I have spent all morning organising the Sevenoaks Art Forum that I run.
By the time I have walked the dog in our beautiful snow filled woods this afternoon the light will be going and I will feel more like collapsing with a cup of coffee than starting work.
Facilitating other artists again – I love it, I think I do it well, but its a sort of character weakness in the end. A sort of wanting to care for, or be loved/liked for…..any one else a sufferer?
Don’t do it I suppose. Great things do come from it; an artist network, an artist/curator/organiser profile for myself, great friends, opportunities….but it is so time hungry on one’s own practice.
At the last SVAF meeting one of the artists approached me with a wasp nest…they all know I am quite barking. Beautiful. Pink and grey stripes of wasp made paper mache.
The nest is now esconsed in a bell jar and I am happily painting dead wasps bright red.
I am not yet sure why, or where I am going with the work; but there is somethig here about the vulnerability of home. The nest is disintegrating and the original inhabitants have turned in my head into aggressors.
Maybe the Holocaust connection again. It surfaces unbidden after periods of absence I find……….
