Sleep-drunk I dance

My favourite gadget is my iPad, which resides right next to bed, within reach even when the kitchen moves out of walking-range, sitting up is hard to do and my arms are too tired to – almost anything. I use it lying down, iPad on belly in bedstead so-to-speak. It keeps me – intermittently – productive and in touch when much else fails.

Lately I’ve been writing my talk for the private view at R-Space Gallery, under extremely – shall I say ‘lacklustre’ – circumstances energy-wise; a pouring, or at times, trickling out of text through fingertips – one hundred cheers for the invention of virtual keyboards! When I finished early Monday afternoon champagne bubbles burst from my head and an imaginary high-octane song&dance ensued. Tala dee – it’s done!

I will deliver my talk via Skype-link – a first for me. As I do my daily read-through to see where the text needs tightening up I wonder how much harder it is to hold an audience’s attention via Skype instead through real presence. Occasionally a whirl of worry-thoughts hits. I haven’t got any jokes! What if my internet is down on the day? Or the gallery’s? What if I can’t sit up long enough? (Here’s an idea: I’ll give it lying down…) The worst though is ‘what if nobody comes?’.

Anyway, it is written and I much enjoyed finding my trail, my trajectory. Reviewing one’s work is a curious mixture of critical consideration from within and a bit of stepping back; of self-regard, doubt, smugness and exhilaration. Envisage a flurry of movement between down-grading, up-lifting and sinking-again feelings – quite dizzy-making actually. In the end though intro-specting my adventures with hair, my move from childhood-memory to post-memory work, and finally my #artling-series showed me how much my art-practice has expanded, in terms of scope and media, and stayed true to what I want to do. My father/daughter/history project esp. required adjustment, change. For years I produced discrete pieces, carefully, painstakingly crafted, often over months. Lately process has become important, and contingency. And with my #artlings I found ways of playing and experimenting, letting accidents happen (difficult with crochet), kindling on-line conversations, and working faster too. Of course I ask myself if my work is good enough, or maybe too small, too homely, too comfortable, lacking in cutting-edgeness (edginess too). Oh, of only it can stand up (or lie down) for itself, in Lisburn; if only people will find it charged, and full of interest and energy.

This last one, #artling no 67, also happened under my fingertips, on a day when my hands could hardly hold. What pleases me is that for a wee moment I moved away from representation. More to come.

Marion Michell
Strands of wishful thinking: Hairlings and other things

2 – 30 May 2015
Artist’s talk at 3 pm on 2 May 2015

R-Space Gallery
The Linen Rooms
32 Castle Street
Lisburn BT27 4XE
Northern Ireland

On Thursday my work arrived at R-Space Gallery in Lisburn/County Antrim. Two large but lightish boxes filled with smaller ones containing selected hair-work, crochet-pieces, photographs and artlings, crossed the Irish Sea, all carefully labelled with instructions as to how I’d like them installed.

Packing is hard to do when your arms aren’t up to much weight-bearing, raising, carrying, holding, and esp. when you spend most of your time lying down. At the moment exhaustion, nausea and vertigo are fighting for dominance during the day and insomnia reigns at night, so physically assembling the work was a very slow process. Pleasure&pressure were in balance though: the process of considering and (ever so tenderly) preparing individual pieces, one at a wobbly time, choosing #artlings to send, imagining how it might all be presented in the gallery – ooooh! My art was about to go places. I got there in the end, on a (ping)wing – new cultural reference! – and a non-pious prayer, some days wringing only moments, minutes from the grips of fatigue. Good thing I knew what I had to do – I rolled like a rock down a rubbly slope, taking care of one wee thing after the next, as and when I could.

All other activity had to be cancelled/postponed. In a month I only left the house once for a lie-down health-appointment; unattended mail collected in a drawer; phone-calls were curtailed; blogs and tweet-rolls overlooked unless I was directly addressed; etc. etc. – focus of my meagre energies was of the essence. I felt like a very tight bundle of muscles and nerves. At times hysterical giggles were heard…

Why am I telling you this? Partly because I want to get it out of the way (during my Skype artist’s talk next Saturday I want to concentrate on my work, not its conditions, although supinity will feature), partly because I’ve been thinking about professionalism&competence and wondering what they mean and if&how they can be counted when you literally don’t appear in the world much. Producing my work is the easy part; getting it seen (other than on-line) is a challenge when I can’t network, easily meet other art-professionals, explore exhibitions and connect&contextualise. I have days when I cannot get dressed, answer a phonecall, sit through a meal, open the door to the garden or do any kind of mental arithmetics. Although I reach for the crochet-hook or something to lay out on the floor as soon as I can achieving a real sense of competence, of professionalism, is bloody hard. But here is a wonderful opportunity and I’ve done my thing, at my own slow pace, and while I sometimes despaired at my ponderous progress I am delighted by it all: This is what I really want to do and do well: get my work into the world, have it encountered, evaluated, acknowledged. Because the only question has to be about its quality. The proof will be in the exhibition pudding.

Luckily I had help from friends with what I call heavy lifting and stuff I couldn’t do around the house, like creating paths through topographies teeming with artwork, garment boxes, tissue paper and bubble wrap, and myself curled up in the middle. And, on a different level, I felt wonderfully supported&sustained through daily contact with my art-sister Sonia Boué, who was sounding board, agony aunt, encourager, believer, distiller of worries and utterer of home and other truths.

So: a kind of getting there, without getting there (I’m still mourning that I can’t go myself): supine competence and a kind of compacted professionalism were achieved, I hope (although I’m sure there’s a lot to learn). And all being well my pieces will shine, as ambassadors in Lisburn from the land of in-between.

PS. When I try to even remotely describe my circumstances worries about pathos&pitifulness creep in. I want to make this clear: I do not mean to inspire, do not want to be called brave or heroic or some such (I hate that word). What I want more of is for my work to count, and my artist-self too, in the outside-world; to connect meaningfully, have critical and constructive conversations. And a bit of fun with it too.

My focus is absolutely on preparing for the exhibition at R-Space Gallery, but inspired by Sonia Boué I thought I’d give you a visual post – a sequence of my last seven artlings, featuring old things, new things, borrowed and blue things, made, acquired, refashioned things, assembled and reassembled, always in process.

You can follow my narrative threads on twitter under #artling @marjojo2004

A few weeks ago a friend sent me a booklet, an illustrated version of The princess and the pea, which much delighted me, partly because, as she knew, it brought childhood memories, partly because my body/skin can be fired up with painful sensitivity to every little weight or wrinkle, any kind of pressure, from bedding, clothes, a person’s light touch… But what pleased me most was a twist I had forgotten – the pea, proof of proper princesshood, was preserved and presented in a museum vitrine.

I wonder if there is a kind of test for a real artist? Could I, once and for all, be declared one, and would I believe it? My conception of my (professional) artist-self is ever so brittle, easily pierced. To some extent that’s normal fare for most artists, but my ties into the (art)world are like withered air-roots, sparse and precarious, and constantly under challenge. Not because I ever stop making, but because my not-being-in-the-world means a dearth of direct connection, interaction and exchange.

In December 2013 I accepted – full of delight – the opportunity of a solo-show at the Linen Rooms in Lisburn for this May. I thought that, with help, I would be able to go, deliver a talk at the private view, meet people, see how my work comes alive in another space, and while I’m at it, douse myself in the glorious sound of spoken words (for which I’ve got a thing)… It was just around the time I was diagnosed with P.O.T.S., which seemed to offer a real chance of improvement in health as, unlike with M.E., there was medication to try. I started the year 2014 with a huge infusion of hope and optimism. Unfortunately one drug made me deteriorate, and the other brought no discernible improvement in terms of energy, no move towards verticality. I’m still in bad shape, steadfastly supine if you will, and extreme fatigue often pulls my day under.

At the beginning of the year I had to face facts: I cannot manage the journey to Northern Ireland just now. With a great sense of mourning I wrote to the gallery, explaining my worsened circumstances. I shifted the focus of my original proposal a bit, making my modes of production a feature of the exhibition, and suggested giving my talk via Skype. Then I held my breath until the gallery sent a positive response.

I realise I am still and always measuring myself, the scope and scale of my work and its complicated pathways into the world against how I think things could be if I was well, able to get out, share a studio, go to shows, private views, talks, seminars, apply for residencies, etc. – as I see so many of you doing. I can but fall and fail then, set myself up for frustration. Maybe it is time to be more realistic, dream and aspire within reason so-to-speak, and – with support – explore new ways of getting my work seen more regularly, my practice discussed, evaluated, challenged, contextualised, really engaged with. I need to get myself to a place of clear purpose, confidence and entitlement, a place with a bed of blankets on the floor, yes, but still one of subtle strength, determination and slow-burning intensity.

But first there’s a talk to write. I’ve got a solo-show!!

Marion Michell
Strands of wishful thinking: Hairlings and other things
2 – 30 May 2015

R-Space Gallery
The Linen Rooms
32 Castle Street
Lisburn BT27 4XE
Northern Ireland