Keeping It Going

I’m delighted to have been asked to exhibit my work as part of a group show at the Collyer Bristow Gallery at the end of this month. ‘Me, Myself and I’ is an upcoming exhibition curated by Rosalind Davis which investigates issues around identity and expressions of the inner self. The exhibition opens on February 27th at the Collyer Bristow Gallery in London and runs through to June 10th, 2020. I’m very grateful for the opportunity and excited by the challenge it presents.

For my contribution to the show, I decided to take one of my existing pieces of work, ‘Sweet Nothings’ and use it as the springboard for a new, site-specific installation. I’ve placed the work, composed of a dressing table with small, ceramic vintage figurines, at the heart of the new piece, providing me with a strong starting point for an exploration into the many aspects of female identity, particularly from a feminist perspective. The muted young women, presented on a mirrored dressing table, have their backs to the viewer – their faces reflected in the mirror. You have to look quite closely to see that their mouths are covered in Elastoplast. Bound, gagged and with no voice, they call to mind the well-known phrase: ‘girls should be seen but not heard.’ In other words, decorative and ornate but without having any sort of opinion, let alone voicing it. I’ve always wanted to expand on this piece of work, and particularly to explore the many aspects of restriction and confinement that are so often entwined with female identity.

Selecting the other objects to build on this starting point has been an interesting process; a huge amount of editing has already taken place – largely because the theme of identity is such a wide, open-ended subject – but also because I’m lucky enough to have been given such a big expanse of physical space to work with. It’s also been interesting in terms of the sort of materials and objects that I’ve selected so far. The theme of identity ties in nicely with a piece of work that I’d already been working on in the studio. ‘Babes in Arms’ has so far focused on vintage images of babies in the arms, predominantly of their mothers, but also of fathers and other carers, such as grandparents.

There’s something so comforting about these images – a soft, quietened aura emanating from them, perfectly portraying themes of being loved, cared for and contained. Focusing on them has led me away from the harsher elements of life – and specifically, thoughts around the mess the world’s in right now, as well as the closer to home political situation, post-Brexit. I’ve felt completely overwhelmed by it all at times and immersing myself in more intimate work around themes of home, motherhood, love & remembrance, has felt like a welcome distraction.

The same can be said for working with materials and objects of a softer nature – powder puffs, brushed cotton nightdresses, remnants of my nana’s soft woollen blankets, and even kittens! There’s nothing quite like pictures of cute kittens to distract you and convince you that all is right with the world. But as we all know, things aren’t always what they seem and however sweet and winsome things might appear on the surface, there is sometimes a darker, more ominous side to idealised portrayals of innocence – the girls and young women with their mouths taped over being a case in point.

The finished piece ‘Objectification’ will cover a much larger physical space than I’m used to working with, and experimenting with the ongoing construction of the work has been a challenge, as I’ve had to adapt it to the confines of my shared studio space. I fantasise about having a vast, open studio in which I can line up all the various objects, stand back and look at the work from a distance. That’s unlikely ever to happen, however, and so I do what most artists have to do – work with what I’ve got and make all sorts of compromises. It won’t be until the work’s in situ that the final tweaks are made, but I would like to arrive at installation day as prepared as I can possibly be. The sorting, placing and constant editing in installation work always takes way more time than I think it will!

That said, the final editing and tinkering with objects is the part that I enjoy more than anything – those finishing touches and the deeply satisfying moments when ‘just the right thing’ is found to unite a group of seemingly random objects. There has been a marked increase in references to ‘surviving’ ‘getting through’ and building a ‘creative resistance’ on my social media timeline lately – strategies for coping and helping us through the next five years (at least). We all have our own way of managing the more difficult aspects of our lives; for me, it’s head down in the studio and getting on with the work.

It can’t last forever, but the decision to take a temporary break from immersing myself in national and international politics has helped me survive the toughest of times. Aside from everything else, a recent memory on Facebook reminded me that, as well as being affected by severe ear pain and complications for much of the past 18 months, I also had two cataract operations. They were very successful and I am, as ever, enormously grateful to our wonderful NHS, but operations and hospital visits still take their toll, emotionally and physically. I am very tired!

I was at the ENT department in my local hospital again this week, where it was confirmed that I don’t need to have a follow-up appointment for another four months. I feel I’ve seen quite enough of the inside of hospitals over the past year or two. No wonder then, that the chance to be able to focus on a new, ambitious piece of work made my heart sing. Once again, I’m grateful to the Collyer Bristow law firm for their support of artists, and of course, to the Gallery’s curator, Rosalind Davis, for asking me to be a part of another ambitious group show.

Click here for further information: https://mailchi.mp/13761e44ad4f/me-myself-and-i-preview-27-february-at-collyer-bristow-gallery-6299943

‘Keep faith in love, friendship and democracy & never surrender your human light to the darkness of demagogues.’

The above quote was taken from a new year’s tweet by the late Harry Leslie Smith, an activist for the poor and for the preservation of social democracy. I ended my New Year post in 2017 with this quote: two years on, it feels as pertinent as ever. I’m copying it and sticking it on my fridge door in the hope that seeing it enough will help keep me focused and perhaps, more optimistic about the future of a world that currently feels so fragile & fragmented.

My late father was always interested in what was going on in the world around him. I think of him more frequently during times of social & historical importance. What would he have made of Brexit and the latest General Election result? Of Dennis Skinner losing his parliamentary seat for the first time since 1970?

And my Dad being Scottish, my thoughts are also very much with him at this time of year. A new year beckons and I feel the need to start looking forward and not back – however hard being optimistic feels in the current political climate, both close to home and universally.

But that doesn’t mean denying a past – one that’s held me in good stead and one for which I’m grateful; the legacy of kind, loving parents can ever be underestimated, I believe.

The photo below is from a series of work created around my memories of my Dad: ‘The Ties that Bind Us …’ I’m hoping to build on more work around my father in the coming year – celebrating the kind & unassuming manner of a sweet, gentle soul. The world could do with more like him, especially in these uncertain, troubled times.

‘Bread and Roses’ – created in May 2015 and revisited in December 2019 to coincide with the third General Election of the past four years …

Yesterday I revisited ‘Bread and Roses’ a piece of work which has been ongoing for the past four years.

It was created in response to the election results of 2015 and was inspired by a statement put out on Twitter by artist Jean McEwan a few days later. In May 2015 when Jean asked the question, ‘How Do We Get Through This?’  I focused on the austerity measures imposed by the Tory government, recognising the impact that withdrawing financial support from the most vulnerable people in our society would have.

I remember those first soul-destroying days very well – when it became clear that we had another period of Tory rule ahead of us. A number of people responded in various ways and a zine was created to include artists’ contributions.

Cut to another General Election, December 2019 … the remains of the bread and roses hanging on for dear life – dried-out and husks of their former selves – all but gone, though there are traces still. The neglect and lack of care is well and truly set in and the images below represent the very real and devastating impact of austerity measures imposed upon the most vulnerable and poor.

Current sorting and sifting through boxes and files in the studio continues to throw up reminders of past work. Today I came across a series of images of my ‘Sweet Nothings’ assemblage – a collection of altered ceramic female figurines. My intervention four years or so ago involved making the figurines mute – covering their mouths with Elastoplast – silencing them. At that point in time, pre the Me Too* movement, I was thinking about the universal abuse directed at girls and young women – a push from certain quarters to keep them in their place, compliant and impotent.

I remember that there was a powerful response to the work when I first launched it. It was clear I’d hit a nerve with some and that there were deep concerns around the issue of keeping girls and young women silenced. Four years on and this piece of work keeps coming back to me – a harsh reminder not just of the historical abuse that’s still unfolding, but also that which is ongoing. I was pleased to be asked to exhibit the work again this year by curator Aidan Moesby. The message behind it is something that I feel ought to be ‘out there’ – shared and up for discussion. Because it’s a sad but undeniable fact – ‘Sweet Nothings’ has rarely lost its relevance since I first made it and continues to be as timely and pertinent as ever.

In recent days, there’s been a lot of news coverage around Prince Andrew’s past association with the late Jeffrey Epstein, a convicted sex offender, trafficker and paedophile. One thing that struck me in this week’s publicly broadcasted interview with journalist and newsreader Emily Maitlis, was how common the statement of having ‘no recollection’ has become. There’s a real familiarity to it and the phrase is invariably spoken in relation to specific young girls and women. ‘No – no memory of meeting this woman, whatsoever’ – a phrase so often uttered by men in high-powered, privileged positions, in spite of damning photographic evidence suggesting the opposite. I chose ‘Sweet Nothings’ as my title as it’s indicative of the way so many girls and young women are treated by certain men; viewed solely as decorative beings, sweet but nothing, essentially – other than sexual objects, denied of having any real substance or a voice worthy of being heard. Suzanne Moore as far back as 2015 wrote this in a Guardian article:

‘The war against women is waged routinely and globally. Equality of the most basic kind cannot exist when a woman’s life and her words are always worth less than a man’s.’ 

Moore’s sentiments and high emotions around the subject of unsolicited exploitation of girls and young women rings as true now, as it did then – a sad and uncomfortable truth. (The full article can be read here: https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2015/mar/04/india-turkey-oxford-state-of-war-against-women-sexual-violence )

‘Sweet Nothings’ is currently on show at The Foundry: a place for change, Vauxhall as part of the ‘Contested Spaces’ group exhibition, curated by Aidan Moesby. I couldn’t think of a more appropriate venue for it to be shown in as the building offers office, meeting, conference and exhibition space to social justice & human rights focused organisations. Click here for further information about the show & the participating artists:

https://disabilityarts.online/events/disability-arts-online-contested-spaces-london/

* For more on the Me Too movement: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Me_Too_movement

‘What percentage of this stuff really is raw material for my art work? How far is the sheer volume of it a reflection of how hard it is for me to let go?’

These questions came to my attention again recently as a memory on Facebook. They’re from a blog post, written here in November 2015 at a point when I’d finally managed to get my entire collections in one place.

Four years on … it’s a long time, but some changes are finally happening. I’ve started the process of letting go, with the question ‘what percentage of this stuff really is raw material for my art work’ in mind. New additional questions include: ‘Will I use it? If it’s not for my art, do I need to keep it? Do I even like it?’

The sorting is all part of my working process and historically, though enjoyable, has caused me a certain amount of anxiety – afraid to throw something away on the basis that it might ‘come in handy one day’ as my Nana used to say. I also often get overwhelmed by the sheer volume of stuff. Over the years, I’ve grown increasingly aware of the difficulty of giving up things that are of sentimental value and in this respect, make allowances for myself. And yet, what do you do with all this stuff? Do you, as so many self-help books suggest, become weighed down by it, so that eventually you’re no longer able to fully exist in the present?

So many questions and so far, not too many answers. But there’s been a definite shift in my approach recently and the actual task of getting rid of things and the willingness to do so, has started to feel easier. In the past couple of weeks, I’ve managed to empty two 30 litre boxes in the studio and offload their contents to a charity shop. I now feel that I want to start reducing the amount of stuff I have in storage. That’s a very different mindset from feeling that I have to and being psychologically geared up makes the process that much easier.

This shift in my thinking is undoubtedly to do with what life has thrown at me over this past year or so. Being ill and in hospital last year, followed by a long period of recovery, is one of them. I had a lot of time to reflect and all the concerns associated with my ‘stuff’ being a burden to others resurfaced. Very little has changed since I wrote this four years ago:

‘Besides the obvious issues that come up when thinking about the end of one’s life, for me, the what happens if I die question raises, in particular, issues around the amount of stuff I’ve accumulated over the years. Selfish, unfair, inconsiderate are all descriptions that come to mind …’

Coming to terms with the death of a friend has also had an impact and nudged me towards reevaluating what I currently own. My friend David and I shared a love of collecting, would regularly bump into each other in local SE London charity shops and flea markets and compare our respective finds – ‘treasures’ as David referred to them. I found the wonky-faced ceramic cat he persuaded me to buy in my sorting last week, held it close and thought of him, acutely aware that this daft, wonky object had outlived a brilliantly vibrant man. When I heard news of David’s death, I thought about all the wonderful times I’d spent in his flat – always beautifully curated and adorned with the amazing weird and wonderful objects he’d collected over many years. We could spend hours ooh-ing and aah-ing over the latest acquisition. Such fun! But ‘you can’t take it with you’ (another Nana-ism) and David’s collections were confined to his home and didn’t include over 100 boxes stashed away in a shed!

The whole process of letting go is a fascinating one; I’ve been looking back at times in the past when it has felt more manageable to wave goodbye to certain things. Specific objects often remind me of other people and I always feel an urge to unite them with the person in question. I have at times offered these things to people as gifts – it somehow softens the blow of parting with them, knowing that certain things can go to people who might appreciate them. I’ve also offloaded things through my work, by creating various events that invite people to take something away with them. ‘Going for Gold’ for example, during the 2012 Olympics and more recently, ’30 pieces of silver’ at the Collyer Bristow Gallery and ‘102 pieces of glass’ at the OVADA Gallery in Oxford.

Some things are inevitably easier to part with than others – specifically those to which I have no real emotional attachment. There’s also the fact that there are quite a lot of objects that I don’t particularly ‘like’ any more. There was undoubtedly something that attracted me to them in the first place, but as time has passed, their appeal has diminished. I’m not the same person I was four years ago after all – let alone all those years since I first started collecting. My taste has changed as I’ve grown older and my work, largely autobiographical, is changing too. My preference is clearly for old, used objects – things that carry a patina of age and signs of being well-used. I’ve also accumulated things that people have given me – objects that were never ‘quite right’ for me, but that I’ve been too polite to refuse. Any collector will tell you that the things they collect are very personal and very specific.

This extract is from a post written four years ago. It seems as relevant and pertinent now as it did then and so it feels appropriate to include it here:

‘… all questions that I will continue to address as the cycle of sorting, re-evaluating and making decisions about what to keep/let go of persists. For now, at least, I can see more clearly what I have and while it occasionally overwhelms me, I never seem to tire of the sorting process – from writing about it, to the actual physical sifting itself; what the sorting unearths in terms of past memories and how I respond to the feelings they evoke. Some items just make me laugh, while others can stir up a whole host of deep rooted emotions.

Small wonder then, that I have a tendency to flit from one piece of work to another, the butterfly approach to it being as much about survival as it is about maintaining a keen interest in what’s going on around me; not getting too bogged down in the past, especially the sad parts – and maintaining a keen interest in the present; what’s here, right now, in front of me. A couple of weeks ago, I rediscovered a pair of my late Father’s pyjamas, carefully packed away, momentarily forgotten. They will be the subject of a future blog post here one of these days, I’m sure – once I’ve allowed myself time to properly digest and process the impact of finding them again, that is …’

Back to the present, and the memory of the rediscovery of my late father’s pyjamas is as pertinent still and I feel comforted by the fact that such significant moments and finds are recorded here. Even objects of such huge sentimental value can get ‘lost’ in the midst of so much stuff and so it feels important to stop and take stock from time to time – stay on top of what’s what and where it is – and to keep listing the individual items in order to have easier access to them when I want to use them in my work. If I manage to get rid of just a fraction of my collection, I’m confident that I will still have a lifetime of materials and ideas to work with. And while the general cost of living and specifically, studio rentals in London continue to increase, the fact that my raw materials cost me nothing is a very comforting thought … my hope for the future is that I’ll never be short of ideas or raw materials.