Keeping It Going

I’ve continued to think about the comment my Mum made about me ‘not working.’ Some things people say just get inside you and won’t go away – you need time to mull them over and process them. And some things that are said just make you want to stop, to think and reflect on what’s going on all around you. I’m sure my decision to apply the brakes this past week and allocate myself some time off from the studio is related.

Consequently, I’ve had the space and time to notice that today marks the first year of me writing a blog, here on Artists Talking. Not of any real significance to anyone but myself, I know, but I’m beginning to realise how important documenting the various aspects of my work is – and this blog is as good a place as any for doing just that. It’s a good reference point for recording what works and what doesn’t and a sound indicator of whether or not (and how) creative practice of any sort is developing.

Certain anniversaries feel important to acknowledge and never more so than when there’s cause for celebration. Starting a blog on Artists Talking felt like a big deal for me, being naturally quite shy and a fairly private person. But I was hugely inspired by listening to the experiences of established Artists Talking bloggers who Andrew Bryant (on-line editor) gathered together last summer to speak about the advantages of maintaining a blog. Artists Jane Boyer, Aliceson Carter, Rosalind Davis, Alex Pearl, Emily Speed and Rob Turner presented an extremely positive picture and through listening to them, I felt motivated and able to make an informed decision. I published my first ever blog post a few weeks later.

Once I started the process and realised that other artists/bloggers were reading and connecting, the writing came naturally and the on-line conversation exchanges encouraged me to keep going.

There is a diverse community of artists using the blogs in a diverse number of ways on Artists Talking. It means there’s always something fresh and exciting being written about and I’ve really enjoyed (and still am enjoying) being a part of a stimulating, creative community.

I had no real idea how it would turn out when I first took the decision to blog but I’ve made no secret of the many things I’ve gained from doing so ever since. And I’ve started to think about the writing itself more as an integral part of my practice rather than a separate entity; my practice it seems can be enhanced through it, in a more in-depth, positive and constructive way than I could ever have imagined; the benefits can be huge.

Something I wrote in the conclusion to ending my first blog ‘Keeping It Together’ sums up perfectly for me what the past year’s blog writing has been about:

… there’s a vulnerability within all of us, a deep desire to be accepted – to be heard, to feel needed and to feel included. Encouragement and empathetic understanding from like-minded artists is invaluable; it’s what all of us at some point or other crave and need in order to flourish as creative people.

And so, as I’ve gravitated towards artists who – whether through their website, their blog, their tweets or simply through their presence – have been happy to share a little of themselves, my contacts and support systems have grown. These artists have also invariably been generous, not just in sharing their own work but also in contributing their thoughts and offering support to others.’

Being an artist is not always easy but the mutual exchange of ideas and sentiments and the ongoing mutual support shared on Artists Talking over the past year has introduced me to a whole new way of communicating. And rather like the studio, the blog acts as a psychological space, a place to bear in mind, a space to contain the whole host of feelings associated with being creative – even when you’re not physically engaged in it.

And so, on November 20^th 2012, I’m acknowledging a year’s anniversary of blog writing. My thoughts keep flitting back to what my Mum said… but more of that another time, I’m sure.

Once again I’ve found myself appreciating being part of a community via Artists Talking. Being partially deaf, it’s infinitely easier for me to communicate in writing. Listening requires a lot of concentration, I often miss quite a bit of any given conversation and I get very tired. There are a whole host of other complications that come with not hearing properly, too complex to go into here but when life around me starts feeling a bit frenetic and a little too fast paced, immersing myself in what other artists are up to feels like a good place to be.

I received an email from someone I know recently who described the art world as one ‘where it seems like everyone is talking at once and no body is listening.’ That really struck a chord with me. It’s true of many professions, I think but maybe the sense of urgency around being seen and heard has become more pronounced in an ever increasing climate of cutbacks and fewer art opportunities. Reading and getting absorbed in other artists’ blogs means that I’m able to process and respond to what’s being said at a pace and in a way I feel more comfortable with – ie. in a slower and more considered way. I gain a lot from it.

Another thing that resonated with me this week was something that Stuart Mayes posted on his blog ‘Project Me.’

My ‘work’ as an artist is hard to define (not what I produce, I mean all the things that I do that sustain my practice), many of these things are ‘soft’ and informal and sometimes I get something back (rarely money!) but it is all work. And I am very glad to be able to think of myself as a working artist!

The work is hard to define – having come from a working background where job descriptions clearly outlined the role and responsibilities you had as an employee, I’m acutely aware of how open-ended our work as artists can be and how the hidden aspects of what we do can be largely ignored – the ‘soft and informal things’ as Stuart calls them.

On a more personal level, a recent conversation with my Mum highlighted precisely how hard it is for me to define what I actually do – what constitutes ‘work’ in the good old-fashioned sense of the word. My Mum recounted a conversation she’d had in which she’d been talking about her two daughters – one who ‘worked very hard as a social worker’ and the other who ‘didn’t work.’ I’m the latter one – the one who doesn’t work, while my sister is a social worker – has a ‘proper’ job as my Mum called it.

My Mum’s comments came after I’d just completed a particularly intense week of work – preparing for a show, delivering work for another and attending that gallery’s Sunday afternoon launch, joining in on my first ever East London art tour, visiting exhibitions before they close, supporting another artist and answering questions for three different interviews, all of which required some pretty in depth thinking. So I was really taken by surprise to be described as a person who didn’t work.

I’m in no way suggesting that my work is harder than my sister’s; I’m acutely aware of the imbalance of responsibility between what she does and what I do. There are life and death issues in her work and I know from my own past work experience in social care that the workloads can be vast and feel unmanageable at times; chronic stress seems to go with the territory. But whatever it is that I do (and don’t) as an artist, I feel 100% committed to my art practice and dedicate as much time as I can to it. And essentially, I think of myself as someone who works. I’ve been thinking a lot about what my Mum said and why she might have said it – but that’s another whole post I think.

There’s been a lot of activity here on Artists Talking – so many interesting conversations going on and so many questions being raised. One thing I’ve been thinking about in particular recently is the issue of documentation. When I write about my work, why am I doing it? What’s the point of it? Who am I documenting it for? How much context should I provide for the viewer; how much should I let the work stand alone?

With much of my work, I don’t feel a need to document it. I like to think that it speaks for itself. But for some pieces, the process of recording it is very much a part of the work. This is especially true of 10×10 and I’ve come to realise that it’s the interaction and the narrative behind the exchanges that makes the work what it is.

Despite the great turn out and the many interesting stories that people brought to 10×10 in Hastings, I had found myself feeling a bit reticent about writing it up for my website in the usual way. I started to worry that there are only so many times that you can write about people’s generosity, the thoughtful and considered exchanges and so on. At one point I thought about simply compiling a list of all the exchanges made and leaving it at that.

When it came to compiling the list, however and I thought about all the stories associated with each object, it became clear to me that it wasn’t enough. To exclude the narrative associated with each of the objects would surely be missing the point of 10×10.

To simply state that a hairbrush was swapped for a plate for example, tells you very little. But when you know that the plate had initially been received as a gift from an Iranian asylum seeker and that the hairbrush belonged to the estranged grandfather of a woman who brought it along as an act of penance for not having made her peace with him before he died, the exchange starts to take on a whole new significance. To my mind, it’s the stories behind the objects which make 10×10 infinitely more interesting. And to keep those to myself without documenting it would be to ignore the very essence of the piece.

It would also ignore the amazing generosity of the people I rely upon to make 10×10 happen – without audience participation, after all, 10×10 would simply not exist. The 10×10 cabinet of objects has now been placed in five different venues and each time I’ve had no idea how many people would turn up to take part. I’ve approached each event with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. So far, I’m delighted to say, I haven’t been let down.

For all those reasons, I’ve decided to continue documenting 10×10 and sharing the stories that help to make it what it is. It feels good to be more clear about why I’m doing it.

There wasn’t enough space in my last post to include the titles of two books that people have recently recommended – they’re both well worth a read, especially if like me, you’re interested in the emotional attachments we make to the things that surround us in our everyday lives. I’ve been reading specifically around this theme, partly in response to resurrecting 10×10 over the past couple of weeks but also in preparation for responding to questions currently being sent through to me by artist/curator, Jane Boyer. Jane is interviewing all artists included in her ‘This Me of Mine’ exhibition to be launched in March 2013.

‘Evocative Objects: The Things we Think With’ is a book which was recommended to me some time back – here, on Artists Talking by artist/blogger Elena Thomas. On the surface it’s a book made up of people’s personal accounts of the attachments they make to the various everyday objects featuring in their lives. But the book digs deeper than that and editor, Sherry Turkle teams up the autobiographical essays with comments from philosophers, psychoanalysts and other professionals with great insight. It’s an informative book and I’ve really enjoyed reading it; it’s written in plain English – accessible and easy to read and understand.

Another book that’s really drawn me in came from another recommendation, this time by Graham Crowley – ‘Important Artifacts and Personal Property from the Collection of Leonore Doolan and Harold Morris, including Books, Street Fashion and Jewelry.’ The title slightly unnerved me – would this be another of those art books I was destined to not ‘get’ – the language being too complex to understand. In fact it’s turned out to be one of the most accessible books on art I’ve ever come across (well, it is primarily photos!) and at less than £3, secondhand on e-bay, it feels like a really good investment.

Created by Canadian artist Leanne Shapton, it takes the form of an auctioneer’s catalogue and offers us amazing insight into the story of a failed romantic relationship – all through short snippets of text and photographs of invented memorabilia and relics belonging to an equally fictional couple. It’s an astounding book, demonstrating brilliantly how the objects we surround ourselves with can say so much about us – our inner emotional world, our social and political standing in society and the external image we present to others. Shapton gets beyond just the love and sex in her portrayal of her fictional couple’s four year relationship and ‘Important Artifacts ..’ becomes a commentary on class, gender, money and branding amongst other things.

The theme of objects and the emotional value we attach to them continues to be very present, then; there’s so much to think about in relation to it at the moment in terms of my work. The story behind the perfume bottle is ready, waiting to be relayed, my responses to Jane’s questions have to be thought about and returned to her and I’m continuing to dig deep into the recesses of those storage boxes in the studio in search of further memorabilia to complete the work I’m submitting for Harry Pye’s exhibition, ‘I Remember’ in November.

It feels like a busy time, though having caught up again with Wendy William’s and Julie Dodd’s blogs over the weekend, it’s all relative! The pressure nevertheless is on to get some artwork made. And I can’t help but wonder – does writing about it all here, help or hinder my practice? I haven’t even started writing up the vintage perfume bottle story yet …

http://thismeofmine.wordpress.com/

http://therebelmagazine.blogspot.co.uk/2012/08/i-r…

http://www.elenathomas.co.uk/

http://juliekdodd.moonfruit.com/

www.wendycwilliams.co.uk

The days move quickly. It’s now two weeks since the 10×10 exchange day took place in Hastings. Objects are very much at the forefront of my mind and I seem to have developed a sharpened awareness of the things around me. Accepting a new intake of objects for the 10×10 cabinet has sparked off memories associated with the things I already own and I’ve been remembering a lot of the stuff I have in storage. I was away from home for five nights, too during the time 10×10 was a part of Coastal Currents in Hastings. It doesn’t sound like a great stretch of time in the grand scheme of things but rather like my studio, I live very closely and intimately with my surroundings. I miss my home environment very much when I’m away, not purely because it’s the place where my loved ones are, but because both aesthetically and emotionally, so much of me is invested in it. It’s the place I love to be, where I feel safe and secure, a place where I can truly be myself.

A whole new dimension has been added to 10×10, aesthetically and in terms of the stories associated with a lot of the things left behind. The objects people bring to it as well as the items they choose to take in exchange are a continual source of fascination to me. I’m interested in what it is about certain objects that make them appeal to certain people and equally curious about the items they bring. If every object tells a story, then 10×10 has become richer in terms of the narratives contained within it.

I wonder sometimes about where the objects which have been taken might have ended up. How do they look in their new environment? Are they on display somewhere or shoved in a cupboard never to see the light of day again? Do people hold onto the object they take away with them or is it discarded?

There are now only three of the original objects from the initial one hundred remaining in the cabinet, two of them, ceramic pomanders (do people know what these are?) and a miniature teapot, part of a child’s china tea set. My ‘ownership’ of the contents of 10×10 has altered considerably since its launch in September 2008. I’ve become the guardian of other peoples’ objects, they’re no longer my own and though I no longer feel any where near the kind of personal attachment to them I had with my own, they are still precious. Wrapped up with other people’s histories, I feel a kind of responsibility for them and I’m keen to safeguard and protect them.

This reminds me of the communication I had with the director of the Museum of Broken Relationships recently. Due to an administrative oversight, I hadn’t received confirmation that a book I’d submitted in the summer was in the Museum’s safe hands. I was bothered by this; despite wanting rid of the book and submitting it for cathartic reasons, it was nevertheless still a sentimental item and I wanted to feel it was being looked after with at least some degree of respect. I got an almost immediate response to ‘rest assured’ that my book was indeed, very much in their safe hands.

I was comforted by this and it’s been a timely reminder that some of the people participating in 10×10 in Hastings might be letting go of so much more than the actual physical object they submit. Certainly, people generally seem to want to know what will happen to their objects when they leave them and are pleased to know that I’ll be holding onto them until the next exchange takes place. Many told me their story attached to their object on the exchange day in Hastings, some wrote in the ledger book provided, while some simply took part in silence. This evening I’m going to be speaking with someone who’s keen to tell me the full story around the beautiful 1930s vintage perfume bottle she left in the 10×10 cabinet; I sensed when she left it that there was a lot of emotion attached; I’m intrigued and excited to be able to hear her story.