Notes from an obsessive/compulsive butterfly

continued from post #6

I can’t agree with much in the second to last paragraph though, other than one doesn’t have to stop painting white squares, but even then, must it be in the context of Suprematism? The symbolic, or meaning, in art history comes from what’s already been culturally metabolised – not the art we create now, not the art we will create in the future. White squares do not, and will never, mean only one thing. If you expect a teacher to help you to know that it means man’s ascendency over nature, will you not be ‘inhabiting someone else’s desire’? Indeed, much has happened in almost 100 years: nature may be about to reverse that ascendency: what was once the status quo may not always be so. We learn a new vernacular the first time around, but we should also learn that it is not a law.

I have often made a nod to the past; after all, it was probably the art of others that inspired me to be an artist, and I have since been influenced by many artists. As subject matter, art and art history is as much a part of the cultural sediment as OK! Magazine. If I confess I have never heard the term Suprematism, it doesn’t make me any less of an artist. I may or may not have come across the work. I wouldn’t rely on the assumption that a tutor knows about Malevich’s squares either; it’s not just that they’re fallible like you and me, it is that it is only possible to be aware of a tiny percentage of what has been done. Perhaps that is yet another reason why everything else is irrelevant – if we don’t know about it, it may as well not exist. When I need to know, I prefer to take my chances in the library and with Google.

Rather than teacher or tutor, the terms mentor or facilitator might be most appropriate. Nurture. Sooner or later we hope to reach a point where, either with some help or just by being within a conducive environment, we suddenly need to nail that book closed. Then do it for ourselves.

I make mistakes. I have created work which seemed a good idea at the time. I move on. Someone said that there are only seven stories – but if a similar statistic were applied to art I would still go on searching. Isn’t that what it is all about?

The issue is undoubtedly one of individuation. The question remains of how to assure oneself of that, not least because it is decided upon by others. The phrase ‘contemporary art practice’ is extremely prejudicial.

Statement time again. Writing a statement isn’t on my list of Things I Most Love To Do.

I have decided to try to write it now for a couple of reasons: one, because my current statement (and its variations, when required) is no longer relevant; and two, I’m not currently under any pressure to provide one for something specific. The latter, it seems to me, may be the best reason of all to go for it now. This is why:

I ask myself: who does a statement benefit? No, who does a statement really benefit? Perhaps, in that ideal other world, the artist should benefit first and foremost. It is an opportunity for the artist to privately reflect on their own practice, to put it into some kind of context, to explain why his or her work issues from them in the manner it does, and so on.

I imagine that a few artists genuinely need to go through that process, perhaps a handful know instinctively what they are all about, and are able to capture that succinctly, but I suspect that the majority write something only because it is asked of them.

Most statements I have seen patently fall into that category, mine included, and they are absolute nonsensical drivel. The product of the minimum of an afternoon, most likely much longer, in the company of Roget. Complicated, meaningless, often gibberish. The most artfully constructed (and disingenuous) are those which say nothing at all, just vague enough, twaddle to suit all eventualities.

So now we come to the next potential beneficiaries: curators, galleries, judges, et al. Whilst there are those that deliberately ignore statements, there are those that fully expect a statement. I would imagine that most worth their salt will be pretty adept at seeing through the something-and-nothing variety. Which suggests that if one is going to write a statement, it will only have real value if it is genuine. In other words, some serious thought has to go into it. At the same time, and in the same vein, I question the validity of producing a statement tailored to suit a particular purpose, because by inference it cannot be accurate. Equally, surely any potential judge of such a statement must also acknowledge that?

I don’t feel a personal desire for a statement, but I do expect to be asked again in the future. I will try to make both the process and the end result as useful as I am able. Or I might go into the studio.

A few days ago I had an idea for another drawing experiment. I had been reflecting on something else when the thought flashed up. Because it was experimental there was not too much pre-thought, other than asking myself what I was hoping to learn from the experiment, and if it was relevant to my current practice. The concept was unpremeditated, and its execution was spontaneous and unstudied. I am quite excited by the outcome, and it has spawned a whole new range of possibilities. I wonder if these may signal a change of direction, but what’s wrong with that? I’m on no-one’s agenda but my own. Carpe diem.

Cheese and whine

I don’t like PVs much. Apart from when I was much younger and the objective of a party was to party, I never have relished certain social situations. Compound that with the effects of a life of working almost exclusively on my own, my social skills atrophied to the point where my wife considered it a success if I got through an evening without biting someone. I have been making an effort though, and it is improving. I can leave the house unmuzzled.

I suppose there are PVs and PVs: those where people go mwah; those where people stand around looking (or trying to look) cool and disdainful and more important than everyone else; those where everyone tries far too hard to look arty; the really good PVs; and combinations thereof.

The last PV I got to in London was shortly before I went to France, for the London preview of the Venice Biennale exhibition I was in. There was little doubt that because it preceded Venice it was bound to be well attended, in fact it was as tightly packed as any rush-hour tube train. Not ideal for seeing the work, of course, but I did manage to have a shouted conversation with a couple of people I know.

More recently I was fortunate to be invited to the PV for the 30th Anniversary of the founding of the Centre d’art Contemporaine in Meymac, France. The event was a wonderful opportunity to get face-to-face with a lot of work by some well known and significant artists. This is a large building, over five floors, and again it was crowded. It was also very hot. I exchanged sympathetic glances with a lady as she opened windows before people started fainting.

I returned a few weeks later, to see the work properly, and the same lady happened to recognise me from the PV. It turned out that she is the Director of the gallery, so we chatted and she said that a PV is just a kind of bonjour. We exchanged cards and as we did so I realised that a PV is more than one kind of bonjour. Maybe I should get out more after all.

experiments with drawing

I love drawing. Sometimes it is a means to an end, sometimes it is an end in itself, and sometimes drawing is about making the first few tentative steps towards a new place, like learning to walk.

I came back to drawing earlier this year. I mean ‘came back’ because, although drawing has always been central to my practice, more often than not it had become largely routine on the way to producing something else. There’s nothing wrong with that per se – there were specific objectives after all. What I wanted to do was re-visit drawing.

I have shown four pieces here which represent where I am just now. ‘Juggernaut’ is a fairly big, detailed drawing, completed in May. This piece says what I wanted to say, in the way that I intended.

‘Dust’ comprises a group of four drawings shown at this year’s Venice Biennale.

The next two were made in France during the summer. ‘luv u’ uses drawing in a very different way, and far beyond the marks I made on the bones. The bones themselves – and the dust – are also symbolic and graphic marks.

The piece is about many different kinds of obsession, but it is equally about a search for other approaches to drawing. I could have used sand, say, but in the spirit of obsession I elected to make the dust myself by grinding down granite with a drill and a masonry bit. It is not so much about a particular message or series of messages (which is often at the core of much of my work, albeit with pathways to ambiguities), it represents a much more abstract series of metaphors, and one in which I also sought to consider the process of drawing. For example, whenever the piece is displayed, first the dust must be placed precisely, then the bones, to a plan. Thus the repeated ritual emphasises the obsession, and also thus the drawing is partially re-made.

‘Time Machine’ contains a message in the form of a small drawing hidden behind one of the controls. A bit like a message in a bottle, except that the recipient is specific.

It uses drawing, but the drawing cannot be seen: it is a conceptual piece. Some of my other work incorporates drawing in a three dimensional context; this is a 3D piece, but it is not a sculpture, it is all about the drawing. Come to think of it, it is a four-dimensional piece, too.

P.S. If you could borrow my time machine to send a message back to your previous self, what would you write or draw? I plan to have a post box to collect people’s thoughts when the piece goes on show (post here, or if you want to remain anonymous please email me). I really would like to know. [email protected]