Keeping It Going

The crit at which I presented my work two weeks ago has continued to play on my mind. Perhaps the anxiety stirred up for me that night hasn’t ever really gone away – all the feelings associated with making a public presentation – feelings of exposure, vulnerability – being not quite good enough, even.

I keep coming back to thoughts about how useful the crit was – for me personally, in terms of helping me understand more about the piece of work I presented. I’m still processing all of that but I did come away with a feeling that on the whole, I’d found a safe space with sensitive and compassionate people – one that I’d be happy to return to.

The past eighteen months or so have been a huge learning curve – the word ‘crit’ hadn’t even entered my vocabulary up until very recently – and yet here I was, taking the plunge to present at one.

I think retrospectively that I could have improved my preparation – but then, if I allow myself to really think about it, I’ll probably feel that I could have improved just about every single aspect of the crit – the way I introduced myself, the way I spoke, the way I responded – and so on. I could go on but I’ve decided to put it down to experience and hold onto the lessons learned – it was my first ever group crit, after all.

It was certainly useful to see how the other three presenters/artists introduced their work and how they responded to the critics’ comments – and to listen generally to the conversations that were going on throughout the course of the evening.

I’ve wondered about my fellow presenters since, naturally curious about how they felt at the end of their presentations. My fantasy certainly, was that they were self-assured and confident and concluded their allocated presentation slots feeling more certain and assured about the direction their work was going in. In reality, of course, I will probably never know whether this was the case or not.

Attending the crit was also an indicator of how immersed I’ve become in learning about what being a practising artist is actually about – how to be an artist, critically engaged with one’s work. It’s clear that speaking out loud, publicly to other people about my work doesn’t come easily to me – especially to a large audience of people and especially when the work’s still in its early stages of development and can be so full of uncertainty.

But that of course is exactly what the crit is for – to open up the work and to encourage conversation and debate around it; to open it up to other artists’ objective insight in order to be better placed to gauge whether the work is moving in the direction you want it to – to be authentic, a sustainable piece, able to stand its ground and so on. Or not, as the case may be.

My curiosity isn’t likely to stop here and having worked in isolation for so long in the past, it’s the recent conversations and information exchanges with other artists I realise, that I’ve grown to value. They’ve become such an integral and important part of my practice and I hope they’ll continue – with people I ultimately trust – here, on Artists Talking, in my new studio space, from my past and in the bigger, wider art community at large.

And I’ll continue to carry on these conversations in the future too, I’m sure – so long as I stay receptive and continue to look outwards; I have no doubt that both my practice and personal development will continue to benefit hugely from such interactions.

I’ve been reflecting on the stimulating conversations I had around the subject of value and worth and barter and exchange in the build up to Christmas. Firstly, with artist/blogger Jean McKewan for her ‘Reciprocity’ zine and then, for an interview with Jane Boyer, artist/blogger and curator of the impending ‘This Me Of Mine’ exhibition in which I have work.

It’s great to have had the opportunity to revisit these issues, particularly in relation to 10×10, reminding me of the project’s continuing relevance – both in a wider, global sense as the recession continues to bite – and on a more personal level, as the narratives build and the stories attached to the exchanged items determine the project’s real worth.

I wrote about the subject of barter on my website when I first launched 10×10 in 2008:

What happens when currency fails? According to the dictionary: ‘In times of monetary crisis, barter usually replaces money as the method of exchange.’ We haven’t quite reached that point yet, but in the current economic climate, it might be as well to prepare ourselves.

Five years on and by all accounts, it seems as if the already struggling economy is set to get worse – a triple dip recession could well be on the cards. There’s a growing awareness of the impact that government cuts are having on people and the resulting increase in poverty. Certainly, it’s a prominent topic of conversations amongst artists – here, on these blogs and in the art community at large. I’m also aware of more people talking about alternative monetary systems and ways of living – it’s all largely about survival.

On the basis of respecting the value I put on the two recent conversations with Jean and Jane respectively, here are links to them:

www.a-n.co.uk/p/2540360 (scroll down to post #7 & 8 dated 7th November 2012:

I’ve also ‘re-found’ artist/blogger Alinah Azadeh through her most recent blog ‘Burning the Books‘ over the past couple of months. Alinah’s previous blogs on Artists Talking were amongst some of the first I ever followed some five years or so ago.

www.a-n.co.uk/p/2540360

and ‘This Me of Mine’ curated by Jane Boyer here:

Last night I presented my work alongside three other artists for a group crit event organised by Q-Art. It was my first ever presentation under these circumstances and I came home feeling absolutely exhausted. I had a rough idea of what to expect in terms of how the evening would pan out, having attended three crits held by Q-Art over the past year. It’s clearly a different ball game however, when you’re presenting your own work – all that emotional energy and andrenaline – I wasn’t prepared for feeling quite so tired afterwards.

Maybe it’s just me? I’ve been wondering today about the impact crits might have on other artists. Last night’s presentation of my work certainly felt like a big deal for me, specifically I suppose as it was my first. Does it, through repetition, become easier to present your work – as well as easier to accept any constructive criticism? Do you ever get to a point when you become almost blasé about presenting your work? Does the critical scrutiny feel any easier over time?

As a self-taught artist, I’ve never experienced presenting my work on a regular basis for formal critique. It’s only in the past year, in fact, that I’ve become familiar with the word ‘crit’ and what it means, it being a term used primarily in art schools. And up until acquainting myself with Q-Art, my naïve perception of what a group crit might be was of a rather harsh, unforgiving place where art students, metaphorically speaking, could be ripped to shreds – a place in other words to be avoided! Was I then, through committing myself to present at Q-Art’s 33^rd cross college crit at Central St Martins, leaving myself open and vulnerable to being potentially torn to shreds in a terrifying, hostile environment?

All very exaggerated, of course and nothing anywhere near like the reality of the past Q-Art crits I’ve been to, including last night’s experience. But I’ve been wondering today about where my impression of art crits has come from, how I’ve come to pick up on so much negativity about them. Maybe it’s because the ones that back-fire and go horribly wrong are the ones that get most spoken about – the most memorable, the ones that stay in people’s mind and are always mentioned?

In a short space of time, I’ve come to recognise and appreciate the value crits can have. Last night was my first public one but I’ve had two one-to-one crits in the past year, too. I feel my understanding of my work has benefited as various conversations and dialogue about it have opened up – and through them, I’ve come to know who my audience is. It’s helped me put my work into some sort of context, too and helped shape its relevance in terms of social and political history, helping me feel more associated and involved with it.

For me, last night felt like a sound example of a situation created to help and support artists to develop and move forward with their practise. Any criticism, suggestions and advice about the presented work was handled in a gentle, caring and sensitive way. In some ways, with my counselling experience, it almost reminded me of group therapy. There was a sense of kindness around and I was hugely comforted by the person who, immediately I finished presenting my work last night, congratulated me on my courage to do what I’d just done. That was a really nice gesture and a far cry from the scathing, callous criticism I’d only ever heard about crit participants being subjected to. It was the release of tension and anxiety I suspect that made me sleep well last night.

After receiving the heart-shaped brooch gift last week, I’ve continued to think about the whole question of value and worth. I pass the shop I mentioned in my last post every time I go to the studio – shutters permanently down since last week, the cruel irony of the shop’s demise reflected in its name above the former shop’s entrance: ‘All Our Yesterdays.’

Yesterday coincidentally was another significant day – a day when, in the grand scheme of things, the whole issue of value and worth was put very much into perspective. An estimated 20,000 people turned out to protest against government proposals to make cuts to Lewisham Hospital’s A&E and maternity departments in SE London – cuts based entirely on profit over people. You can’t put a price on the strength of a community of people gathering together for a common cause like they did yesterday. I was proud to be a part of it; thanks to the tireless campaigning of the Save Lewisham Hospital Campaign, it was a truly inspiring day.

Back to the studio, meanwhile … and as I move closer to starting the process of unpacking the boxes in my studio, I realise I’m soon going to be staring the whole issue of what things are worth right in the face, albeit in a very different context to the protests of yesterday. Some of the stuff hasn’t been properly sorted for a number of years and I’m going to have to make some firm decisions. What, amongst this huge collection of things is worth keeping – and what isn’t?

There never appears to be any real rhyme or reason to what’s considered to be something of ‘worth’ versus what isn’t. The criteria for decision making is hard to define – it’s based purely on a gut level instinct and comes from a deeply personal perspective. Just as the dolls I played with as a child were scrupulously examined for having the ‘right’ kind of face in order to be accepted into the fold and loved accordingly, so will each individual item be assessed to see if it passes the ‘test.’ I might end up throwing an awful lot of stuff away. Or, I may end up not able to bear parting with any of it – I just don’t know.

The practicalities of collecting need to be constantly monitored – with limited space, you simply can’t keep everything. I’ve had to come to terms with that fact rather reluctantly over the years and sporadic de-cluttering sprees have been essential in order not to – literally – crowd myself out of spaces.

Amongst the actual physical sorting, I’m aware that there will be some sadness to confront – deaths of dear, beloved members of the family, reminders of a broken heart (or two), sharp reminders of the rapid passing of time, the ageing process and so on. It probably goes some way to explaining the the current resistance to start the unpacking process.

So. What has the passing of time done? Has it changed things? Will the contents be ‘worth’ more to me, I wonder – now – after all these years? Will any emotional energy still be invested in the items, assuming they were originally kept on the basis that they were of some personal value at the time I put them into storage. Will I be affected still by the associative memories of them and will this be reflected in their overall value and worth? Or will I be disappointed at the unearthing of a pile of valueless rubbish? It remains to be seen….

So many times what’s happening in my art work is reflected back in life. I’ve been thinking about value and worth again a lot recently and it’s clear I’m not alone in this. In 2009 I wrote this about a participatory piece of work, Stock Exchange which I exhibited as part of the Deptford X arts festival:

‘The year 2009 has been a year of uncertainty and in the current economic climate, nothing seems to be safe. People are struggling to cope with the possibility of losing everything – their work, their income, their relationships, their communities.’

Four years on and nothing’s changed it seems. This weekend I said my good byes to another local, independent shop and its owner. I’d already done this, a month or so ago on the premises of another brilliantly creative, independent shop in my local area. So here I was again, in yet another abandoned, empty shop, chatting to yet another emotionally bruised and battered casualty of the recession. There’s nothing much to say except how sorry you are; sorry that yet another creatively led business you valued has gone, that yet another person is left feeling devastated about their business ‘failing’ – all that time, all those hours, all that money invested – all for what?

As we spoke, people were loading vans with the few remaining items – bargains galore – the owner’s voice was despondent as he gave things away for virtually nothing. On the one hand, I wanted to buy something – a way of showing my support, I think – and yet, knowing at the same time that I wouldn’t have the heart to buy anything at such ridiculous prices – the exact same things I’d seen in the shop window at sensible, realistic prices just days before.

The fifteen minutes or so I spent in the shop saying good bye summed up value and worth in a nutshell to me and as it turned out, I came away with something of greater value and worth than anything I could ever have paid money for – a small heart-shaped brooch which the owner handed to me with a quick ‘here y’are, have this.’

It’s a reasonably common brooch, made for the British Variety Club – you see plenty of them around and I know I have some of them somewhere in my collections in the studio, bought at a car boot sale some time ago. When it comes to value and worth however, clearly this one is unique. The shop owner’s action for me is a pertinent reminder that even in these difficult, cash-strapped times, kindness costs nothing.