I spent yesterday hanging two pieces of work for Hunters & Collectors at The Gallery at Willesden Green. It’s been a long time since I put work into a gallery – my last show was in a garden shed.
Five artists were there, Linda and Emma brought a picnic along, and there was a good relaxed atmosphere. The show looks really good. It’s good to see my work in a new context. I’d had the handkercheif piece up at home and I’m surprised at how much more professional it looks now that it’s in a gallery (my home white walls don’t make a white cube).
The show opens on Thursday and I’m getting a bit nervous about it. Over the last few years I haven’t made it to many openings myself and now I’m worried that the people I’ve invited won’t come to mine! It’s so easy to lose contact with people I’ve met through other shows or at other studios. On the other hand – there’s all those new people to meet ….
Hunters & Collectors can also be seen at; www.magpiecurators.org.uk
- cover one studio wall with plasteboard
- finish 3 pieces of work
- get some new slides
I'm sitting here thinking through the things I need to do and wondering why I don't just do them. Perhaps it's the fear of living my life by a global sports conglomerate's strap line. Perhaps it's lack of confidence.
Neither of these excuses have any real currency. Perhaps after all this time I'm actually afraid of getting what I want! I'm commitment-phobic! Keeping things at arms length means that they remain fantasties, or even 'fantastic', and making them real might spoil that.
- What is success?
- What am I doing to achieve it?
- What am I waiting for?
I've been spending a lot of time on the studio making a piece for a show later this year. It's an English Pieces patchwork made from two second hand shirts. Unlike previous patchworks this one is going to be a cylinder – that means I've had to work out how many 'blocks' I need to maintain the pattern while allowing it to join around itself 'seemlessly'.
There's something quite satisfying about the pages of isometric grid paper and tracing paper that are mounting up.
I want the the top and bottom of the cylinder to be flat. This has led me to make a shape I haven't thought about since 'O' level maths – the trapizium. Laying out combinations of hexagons and trapiziums gives me an inexplicable sense of pleasure. What is it about this jigsaw-like activity that makes me smile so much?
The Enquire Artists' seminar rekindled my interest in the possibilities for artists in education. I'd gone very sceptical, after getting really burnt out and tired of projects that had less and less relation to my own practice. I noted that the most interesting work was being done outside of London. Projects in both Liverpool and Manchester seemed so much more collaborative, while one in Brighton was specifically concentrating on continuing professional development for artists. It was really refreshing to hear about projects where the artists were 'partners' throughout the project process (as opposed to the situation where I used to find myself agreeing to themes, materials and timetables arranged by schools and galleries without any real discussion).
I have to thank Barbara at Enquire for giving artists the rare chance to get together and talk about the stuff we need to talk about. And thanks too to all the artists who I met and who assured me I wasn't alone in my concerns about the demands put on freelance artists working in schools. Now if we could only get some kind of association or 'trade union' going ….. !
there's so much going on that's not directly connected to my artwork but that impacts on it.
Just over three years ago my partner was diagnosed with Motor Neurone Disease. For last 18 months I've spent at least five nights a week sleeping on the sofa-bed at his flat. He's coped amazingly well with it, it's an awful illness that has left him completely paralysed and now unable to speak.
It feels strange to 'reveal' this – especially here.
I have an (almost) ambivalance about it – it's both essential and irrelevant at the same time. What does it mean for me, as an artist, to have a partner with demanding terminal illness? I don't want special treatment (or sympathy) and at the same time I want people to know why I'm not at as many openings as I should be, or sometimes don't get to the studio for a couple of weeks.
And then again – being with him undeniably affects me and therefore affects what I make.
I leave the studio and get the bus to John's. The TV is showing an early evening game show or soap. He's in his reclining chair, the windows are closed and the volume is up. I turn the sound down and tell him about my day – noticing that his eye's keep flicking over to the silent picture. I turn the sound up and go to the kitchen to make some dinner. John needs a soft diet now, sometimes I long for something with some bite but can't be bothered to make two separate meals. Because I have to spoon-feed him we usually share one plate and cutlery, it's easier than all the changing around. After dinner it's more TV. The night care staff tidy away the plates and do the washing up. The flat is set up for John and there really isn't any space for my stuff so I sit with John in front of the TV. At about 11.00 I help the carer get John into his wheelchair, he takes his medicine and they go off to the bathroom. While John has his teeth cleaned and face washed I make up the sofa bed. I assist the carer undressing John and lifting him into bed. After I've been to the bathroom I go back to the bedroom put John's alarm on his wrist and kiss him goodnight. In the morning I have a shower and make breakfast while two carers get John out of bed, make him tea and take him to the bathroom. I spend some time with John in the bathroom, him sitting on his shower-chair, me holding the cup of tea to his lips (he dribbles more than he did a week ago). When he's ready for his shower I leave him with his carers and go to the studio ….
post Venice
'I'm beginning to wonder if I'm (slowly) becoming the (fine) artists I am meant to be'
'real objects make me happy'
'don't think work, feel it'
Perhaps it was the heat, perhaps it was the strange beauty of Venice, perhaps it was the sheer quantity of artwork but something happened to me and I allowed myself to be guided by what felt right. That's the only way I can describe it.
As a result I found myself completely absorbed by pavillions and exhbits that I might previoulsy have hurried through in search of 'projects'. Pages of dense postmodern analysis given on arrival at shows were politely handed back and if I couldn't see what I was looking at then it wasn't the show for me. It was a kind of act of faith. And I guess I had a kind of epiphany.
In the Gardini I was completely entranced with paintings that were – to me at least – about paint, in particular Herbert Brandl (Austria), Troels Worsel (Denmark) and Gehard Richter (Germany). I'd been looking forward to seeing Felix Gonzalez-Torres in the Amercian Pavilion, and though I think his work is brilliant, it felt like the wrong time and place for this show.
Kris Martin's My Private show (in a casino over St Marco and for three days only) and Jan Fabre both demonstrated the power of articulate, elegant and technically skillful sculpture to function aesthetically, culturally and politically.
Being in Venice for the opening weekend of the Biennale was an amazing experience – I learnt a hell of a lot about myself and who I am as an artist.
I like objects. I like materials. I make sculpture.
Back to the studio …..
