Random Writes.

Regression: A return to a former or less developed state. Where was I? Oh yes, my dog died, or rather after four months of procrastination we took our beloved sixteen and a half year old pet on her last trip to the Vet’s, it ought to be called Dognitas. I am making jokes but I know that anyone who has experienced the hideous see-sawing of guilt and compassion that accompanies pet euthanasia, will empathise. So I mention this because, ever curious, I am interested in the effect of this mental trauma on my work. The empty, hairfree, house was too much to bear so we headed off back to my “special place” Lyme-Regis to take advantage of its restorative powers. Lately I have been working on an engrossing writing project and although it stretches me creatively in other ways, I had begun to miss the materiality of making. While out rummaging in a wonderfully eclectic second-hand shop full of treasure or “tat” (my mother’s definition), I found a small statue of the Manekin Pis, slightly larger than one I already own. Later in the lavatory of a rustic pub I was forced to steal an unused paper towel because of its gorgeous colour and particularity of embossed pattern. And so it continued, greedily feeding my starved aesthetic senses, this bit of plastic bag (but only this bit) that bit of gold card this bottle top. Back at home the drive to play with and assemble my recently found found objects was stronger than ever, so I just gave in. Much, playing, arranging, etc. Later and two works have made it through the passport control of my self-consciousness and both seem to refer back to earlier more naive work. Having felt so driven and then rushing to finish, I must confess to feeling a bit lost, I am not sure where (if anywhere) this is leading. But then Thursday night I was present at the opening of Curiosity: Art and the Pleasures of Knowing at Turner Contemporary and saw a film by Tacita Dean of Claus Oldenburg in his studio. On the surface it is a quiet unremarkable film of an old man pottering about in his studio, where he is apparently tidying and dusting objects on rows of shelves. After a while you notice his constant, slightly obsessive re-arranging, posing and re-re-positioning of objects, and slowly there is an awareness that he is making new connections, relationships and dialogues between things, reflecting on old ones and re-seeing, re-imagining and opening up possibilities for new work. All of this is so familiar to me and I would imagine resonates with all artists to some extent, this realisation shored up and validated my bag lady tendencies, inappropriate collections of the lost and broken things, and hours spent arranging my weird stuff with the zeal of a fashion stylist. It takes one to know one. Review of Curiostity: Art and The Pleasures of Knowing to follow.