anyway,
Having nagged and cajoled my 16 yr old son into constructing a detailed, yet realistically achievable revision timetable, I felt it was ridiculous that I just wasn’t doing any reading. I’d got really good at ordering them from Amazon, and would write my name inside the cover. (This is my book, but I might lend it to you then we can have intellectual and philosophical conversations whilst drinking espresso, that sort of thing). Trouble is, I wasn’t ACTUALLY doing any reading!
So the assorted pens from Muji came out. These pens are bought for exactly this sort of occasion, so at last I felt vindicated that all that money had been spent, they are CRUCIAL to my intellectual development as an artist, see! A grid was constructed, dates inserted… and best of all a narrow column at the end for ticks! (Asking my husband to stick a gold star on a chart for every 5 ticks is possibly a step too far… I am an adult for goodness sake!)
So. The four books mentioned in the previous post are now being read. I’m very realistic, I know my brain will explode if I read more than 10 pages of the Baudrillard or de Certeau, but Sennett and Turkle I can whizz through. I think it’s the French in translation thing I think, I need a further level of translation from the translation.
I also find that if I set myself up for the reading session with about 3 digestives (would prefer hobnobs, times are hard) and a large mug of tea, and put the MacBook upstairs and under the bed. Reading is being done. When I do my allotted small chunk for the day, I smile smugly, tick the chart with a jaunty turquoise fine liner pen.
The result is actually quite happy. I have already found a gem or two, especially with Turkle. The children’s clothes I use are inherently evocative before I do anything to them. My shadow falls across them and I stitch it in. While I do this, uncannily I have found the shadow of the work falls across me too. Who’d have thought it eh?
I’m off to put the espresso machine on.
Reading:
The Craftsman, Richard Sennett
The System of Objects, Jean Baudrillard
Evocative Objects, Sherry Turkle
The Practice of Everyday Life, Michel de Certeau
I’m only reading a little bit of each book at a time, having trouble committing. I’ve had to create a timetable of reading, much like my son’s A level revision timetable, just to make me do it. It’s not that I don’t like it, but I prefer making, so will always pick up my sketch book or sewing before the book.
Listening:
The Kings of Convenience
Bon Iver
Dan Whitehouse
Stylusboy
Anja McCloskey
I’m listening to Bon Iver over and over again, but punctuated by the others in an attempt to not be so obsessional.
Playing with:
Footprints
Bits of silk
Water soluble fabric
Bondaweb
Water soluble fabric keeps getting thrown about the table because it won’t do what I want it to. Bondaweb is marvellous and keeps the bits of silk from fraying.
I should really be sewing the footprints, but get distracted easily.
Baking:
Chocolate cupcakes, with sprinkles that won’t stick to the topping.
Scones
Chocolate orange cookies
Eating too many choc orange cookies. Bloody delicious!
I’m not going to talk about the group blog GOING PUBLIC, ( www.a-n.co.uk/p/2133404/ ) very much, because that’s not the point, except to say, just once and move on, how much fun it is already; it has surprised me, already; I can see it being an important part of my practice, already!
…in a different space…
These footprints are going to take ages. I have stitched 5 in just over a week, there are 25 to do in all. It will be tedious at times I know, but I’m happy with them, they look “Nice” (ref David Minton’s blog – www.a-n.co.uk/p/484092/ )
But along with the tedium goes something deeper. I know what I’m working on for the next 3 weeks at least, maybe more. I have made all the decisions about size, shape, stitch, colour, density of stitching, composition, and even – for me a rarity – method of display once finished.
This gives me a head space I relish… repetitive stitching absorbs, yet gives your brain time to compute all the other crap. I will settle, digest, roam about my thoughts. I shall do a certain amount of wallowing in smugness that this piece will work.
I had yet another look at Bhimji’s Yellow Patch at Walsall yesterday. The fifth time of watching was as wonderful as the first, and as always I’ve come away inspired by the sound and its stillness. I have had an idea hot on the heels of it, that will need careful consideration as it is about how I display all of my work for the final show at the end of August. I might even make a bit of film… so the obsessional stitching will give the chance to do that considering in the best way possible for me… big smile!
I briefly considered dyeing this dress I’m using. The yellow is intense, buttery and egg-yolky. My own little Yellow Patch. How could I give that up?
Well. The Secret Project has been exposed! Julie Dodd, Franny Swann and little old me, we’ve started a group blog. It stems from an email conversation that started a while back, that may, or may not, lead up to us working together in some way.
These two relatively unknown women have become part of my online life. I just hope this weird and wonderful friendship can survive GOING PUBLIC…
www.a-n.co.uk/p/2133404
Oh yes. Stitches can be unpicked. I have the thought in my head quite a lot of the time, “oh yes” I say to my tutor, “unpick-ability is very important to me”. We nod sagely. But have I ever unpicked any of it. No. Not unless I’ve made a mistake. Never as a conscious artistic decision. I’ve been talking the talk, but not walking the walk.
The last picture posted on this blog is of stitches that no longer exist, other than as a pile of snipped threads on the work table that I haven’t yet bothered to throw away.
The fabric, the old, buttery yellow linen, looked really interesting with its footprint shaped area of holes (more dots, David Minton, just in case you read this), with little bits of fluff. The pile of ex-stitches on the table is interesting me too. The photograph I’m finding is haunting me somewhat. I killed these stitches. Then I trampled on their grave by stitching over with a different colour, in different holes. Such a betrayal.
There it is then… I have respect for the stitches. I often rescue embroidered items from charity shops, embroider over stains, or chop things up to re-use them, giving them extra life. Respect for the stitcher. So to undo my stitches for the purpose of the work, has up to now been a step too far.
Today, I think I shall ferret out a bit of someone else’s embroidery, an anonymous stitcher, and unpick it, just to see how it feels. I shall be a sociopathic dis-embroiderer.
Then when I’ve spent the month doing all these footprints, I might… MIGHT…. Unpick some of them….
Melodramatic? MOI?
