Threads

Over the last week, I’ve met four people who have said they follow me on Instagram, and I’ve been really busy!

I couldn’t for the life of me remember being really busy, so I thought I’d take a look. Since the new year I’ve had covid, read some bits of some books, and read two whole, but very short books. I’ve written three blog posts, sharpened some pencils, done some drawing, put up a poster about the sewing circle I’m trying to get going, done a two hour improv workshop, posted a memory about work I did three years ago, and stuck some words to bits of paper.  Hardly two months work is it? What is it about social media that skews your life view so much?

Having said that, I am at the moment feeling rather weary. My joints hurt and there won’t be any relief from that for a couple of years probably by the time I get on the waiting list, work my way up it, get a new knee and then recover. This has made me very grumpy. I’m snappish, angry, sad, and in pain. Not the ideal headspace for making art. Most of the time I do try to push through, and distraction is actually the only thing that does seem to work. If I am doing something, talking to people and so on, I’m not thinking about it, and can be quite productive. The effect that has on the work I think, can be seen. But maybe that’s because I know it is there.

I have a couple of deadlines ahead, that I MUST meet. But today, I just don’t have the bandwidth, as the youngsters say. I do not have the capacity to sort out six of my drawings for an exhibition, attach hangers to the back, and take decent photos of them to send in. Today, actually I want to nap, in between sleeps. Then wake up for a little rest. I want to bang out a bit of sitting.

Tomorrow of course, might be different. Tomorrow I might be rested enough, have the energy, and the renewed determination to do my hair, maybe make up, put on some nice clothes and just get on with it. I seem to spend a lot of my time telling myself to get on with it. My theory being that if I stopped every time I was in pain, or tired, I would get nothing done at all. I want to be productive, creative, and be seen to be so. But sometimes… just some days… today… that work is too fucking hard.

Stone thinking…

I am satisfied with how the twigs sit now. I know what they are, where they came from in terms of my evolving practice, and I know what they’re doing, what they stand for and what I’m doing with them.

I can’t yet say the same for these stones.

As with the sticks, I start to get to know the stones by handling them and drawing them. Stones are connected to the earth the twigs emerge from, the roots surrounded them but do not penetrate them. These particular stones though have holes in them, worn by the power of water and sand and smaller stones, or the burrowing of sea creatures into softer parts of the stone… (these holes could support a plant… I might make it happen… )

Semiotically speaking the place these particular stones came from is not the same environment as the sticks… perhaps my mother was a stone and my father was a stick? Brought together by circumstance from 2000 miles apart… I am already seeking extra layers of meaning for myself. Maybe I do this because of that feeling of rootlessness? A need to create order from chaos?

I will continue to draw them… to see if they start to tell me more…

I’ve started to draw them together, I like how that feels and looks, and threading a stick through a hole in a stone feels like the natural thing to do…