Hereford College of Arts

If my analogy with driving a car in my last post bears any strength then I would have to say that I’m now pulled up in a lay-by half way down the slope with a flask of coffee and a sandwich. (The brakes didn’t repair themselves but I managed to swerve into this lay-by and came to a miraculous standstill!)

My hunch to keep on working right up to the bitter end is proving fruitful. In  part because I’ve been working closely with others. My practice has shifted from working in a solitary way to working closely with one of the college technicians and with a first year photography student. In each case I have taken that leap of faith involved in sharing your ideas with someone in the hope that not only will they get what you are trying to do, but they will also support you. (In both instances with technical help).

I’m working with the 3D printer and have had just the right level of help from the technician – not too much, just nudges in the right direction. Rich in the 3D workshop is very knowledgeable in a range of processes and happy to help students experiment. He is making sure I get plenty of time in the workshop and has the ability to let his imagination wonder all over the place when we are discussion the potential applications of the technology. It feels supportive and validating and eggs me on in developing new processes. This time is after all a beginning as well as an end. My work with the 3D printer is very experimental and I’m incorporating support structures in the work to allow for the printing processes to be more apparent.

In the photographic studio I have needed lots of technical back up and fellow student Bob has been fantastically helpful. Bob is a first year photography student and is happy to work in a really spontaneous and experimental way. I  feel as if I have got some really interesting results and have grown in confidence in expressing ideas and making changes. Asking for help has opened up lots more options and I feel far more confident in the creative choices I make. So thanks Rich and Bob – you are stars!

I’m not the only third year student to still be experimenting – most of us are trying new ideas in some way – so there is a great buzz in the studio right now.

My car has no brakes – metaphorically speaking of course. A month left to make work and I have embarked on three new strands of work, exploring new materials and processes. Yeah it feesl a bit crazy at this late stage to be making new explorations but take away the time frame and it feels like the most natural step to make. I’m moving my work on, unearthing new possibilities.

But I have to say that this morning as I pondered the work  I’ve been making this week I did wonder if I was doing the right thing getting entangled in new ideas – hence the reference to having no brakes! Anxiety and paranoia are creeping in.. then …. I sat down and begun to read the a-n news and blogs pages and I feel inspired, re-assured and settled with my self again. There are so many dedicated artists making work that is true to themselves and exciting that I can’t help but feel re-affirmed . Checking in at a-n is a little like taking a paracetamol for a pain – that nagging feeling of unease has disappeared! All is well, just keep moving along.

I’m reading back through a book a studied for my dissertation Evocative Objects  Things We Think With edited by Sherry Turkle (MIT Press 2007). The book is a series of short essays by guest writers who talk about objects that have personal value. These guests are all academics and include  scientists, designers and educators. They talk about their respective objects in great detail, some from the perspective of their chosen academic field. All the essays create contexts and are reflective.  Turkle’s essay concludes the book by summarising the experiences the guest authors have connected with their chosen objects. She talks about objects working as enablers in our emotional lives, for example they might exist in the liminal spaces of our emotional experiences ; they might act as transitional objects or signify desire and longing.

I wonder if the work I am doing about my own evocative object – the figurine – goes any way to express the bigger ideas that Turkle talks about. In working with such a personal subject am I able to step back from it to see its meanings in a broader sense? Sometimes I think I have created a trap for myself, too caught in the personal to connect with other contexts. Perhaps this is just how it feels to be looking in depth at something – the intensity, near obsessive involvement with a subject. I guess like any in depth study there are stages – identifying an area of interest; delving in and exploring; stepping away and looking at the work in a wider context.

If I think about this reflective summing up stage now I see my object as a touch stone. Situated at a place in my psyche that allows for ‘safe’ recollection of significant childhood experiences and that acknowledges my use of the object as transitional. When I think about the figurine as it existed in my childhood ( not as I see it in the present) it stands alone. I am able to approach it and circumnavigate it as I would a large sculpture. It is during this circumnavigation that I not only read the figurine – its form and detail – but loads of associations made as a young child also come to mind. They are tiny details of places, situations, sensations. The object as viewed by my five year old self is alive with references.

The figurine allows for recall then, and as I have studied it I have begun to use it as a tool for examining formative experiences in a safe and structured way. It is enabling self-analysis I guess. If as a five year old the figurine allowed  me to traffic “between the outside world and the inner self” then today it enables me to examine elements of my identity formed back then. It helps me make sense of who I am in adult life and importantly what lies behind some of my life choices and motivations.

But these ideas aren’t expressed in the work, they simply exist within the process of making. This process is self-analytical. I know through the greater context of the meaning and value of objects that what I’m exploring is universally experienced: the placing of highly personal meaning on to objects as a process of emotional development. Will any of this be apparent in my work? I think my current work is an ongoing process of self recognition and response. Its subtle and ambiguous and it has to unravel at its own pace.  This is ‘a work in progress’.

College has broken up for the Easter holidays so I have been back in my studio carrying on with work.

Although having a studio is a big commitment  I’m so glad to have it. It’s my bolt hole and my space to work freely. I recommend putting studio space high up on your list of priorities after graduating. It really does pay off.

Not only do you have dedicated space to make and store work, potentially you also have other artists working along  side you. This network of creatives is going to be vital once we leave the comfort of our college friends around us.

If you are looking at potential studio spaces my top tips would be – make sure the space can be well lit – it doesn’t have to be natural light;  if you are sharing the building with other artists make sure you meet everyone first and see if you get on. Artists are each others assets! The artists in my building  work in very different mediums using different processes and have varying levels of experience but we all value the importance of creativity and really do support each other . So this covers a kind of giving that artists do – giving to each other in support, encouragement and kindness. (There are more advantages to having a studio of course such as having a place for people to come and look at your work and a sense of your own legitimacy. Having a studio also brings opportunities for exhibitions and open studios.)

My work today demanded that I give of myself emotionally –  its work that is personal, it concerns memory and how  memories shape our identity and behavior. The subjects of memory, collective memories and history are very much intertwined and I’m interested in how artists respond to ideas around these subjects.

Today I finished a painting about my twin. The painting is based on a photograph taken when we were about 9. On the face of it I could have made this painting at the beginning of this project – made a painting from a photograph in a simple responsive way. But its taken me a year to get to this point and so the thoughts and ideas behind the work are quite considerable. But is this evident in the work? Does it make any difference?

For me there is a huge difference – making this painting has left me drained – I really feel that I have ‘given’ to it. Sensations of returning to that time and place and to the close relationship I had with my twin as a child have been vivid and intense. I still have a great sense of longing for the freedom and contentment I experienced as a child and the fantastic companionship I shared with my twin. Thinking about it now I would say I experienced life as if we were one person. So I feel as if I have given of myself but I’m not sure if this extends to giving to others. Is autobiographical work self-indulgent? Does it give to others in some way – does it need to ?

The reality is that all work gives something. I guess I’m caught between feelings of near embarrassment –  opening a personal and usually private side of myself – and the vulnerability that openness can bring. I’ll get over it!

My twin has no idea at this point that I am making work about us! I probably should tell him about it….again it goes back to being so close – its actually hard for us to articulate how close we are and as adults we don’t talk about our relationship in this way. I wonder what he will think?  How does he perceive this time in our childhood?

So I have given of myself creatively today – just like thousands of other creative people have  – driven by the need to express ideas, respond to situations, connect with others. We can’t be exactly sure where these acts of creatively will take us to next,  that’s the magic of it all  ‘the unknown’  nature of it. How will we see our work, how will others see it (if we share it) and what will this cause us to do next?

How do we present history? In museums and through art in galleries? In archives inaccessible to most of us? What ‘truths’ are contained in these  curated and archived versions of history? Joan Gibbons looks at how artists challenge conventional forms of presenting histories in her chapter The Ordering of Knowledge from her book Contemporary Art and Memory (Tauris, London and New York, 2007).

She looks at Mark Dion’s work The Delirium of Alfred Russel Wallace in which Dion creates an imaginary expedition campsite of Alfred Wallace.  Wallace was a natural scientist and a contemporary of Charles Darwin. He was said to have formulated ideas about natural selection before Darwin. His research was not so heavily scientifically recorded and more intuitive than Darwin’s – in fact his ideas about natural selection were said to have been based on a delirious insight whilst suffering from malaria. Dion proposes that “Darwin gains the authority (for the theory of natural selection) because of his rigorous methodologies, which clearly reflected the work ethos of the nineteenth century”. Gibbons says of the artist “Dion reminds us that there is not only more than one way of knowing but more than one way of remembering knowledge.”(p125.pp1)

Gibbons poses the question “who controls the knowledge to be passed from generation to generation….(and) who is authorised to do it”. (p125.pp1)

This gives me a feeling of ‘history’ as something intuitive and that history is evident in non-spoken ‘silent’ form in the shape of objects. I’m considering embarking on a period of research after graduation that explores the tangible weight of history that lies within the object.

My brother Robb has been collecting agricultural implements and machinery for forty years. The hundreds of objects that he has amassed have been carefully curated and hang in an old farm building and sit  outside in the yard. The objects do not gleam with new paint and are not adorned with explanations – they rust and gather cobwebs as my brother works on his tractors. Stepping into his shed feels like a spiritual experience – this seems to be a shrine to toil and the land now changed. I wonder what triggered his fascination and his need to collect? There are lots of conversations I need to have with him. Unlike the labelled museum artifact that has been detached from its roots these objects are full of their history – unspoken, unwritten but palpable – tools made by hand for hands to use; names stamped deep into metal; wooden handles worn with use.

This feels to me like a very liberated, authentic collection that speaks for itself, gathered and kept alive by my brother. ( I wonder how many more collectors and personal collections there are like this?). There is so much about the land and agriculture in this country that is misunderstood and overlooked, being a farmer’s daughter I feel a strong need to bring some of this life to view.

My late father practiced husbandry – his physical and emotional attachments to the land and to his livestock were profound. He didn’t appreciate my brother’s fascination with ‘old’ implements as he remembered using some of them as a young man and the hard toil that this involved. A farming life is often a quiet one but not without its joys and tragedies. If this does become my next area of work I will endeavor  to show it the respect it deserves.