Threads

Just a while ago I was panicking about what I was going to work on when the show was over, and the fat lady had sung (yes, that’s me).

Now I’m starting to wonder how all this stuff will fit!

I have an idea that I want to work with other people’s old clothes and textiles, and other people’s stories. I want to collect some tales, sew some words, write some songs. So at the end I have some sort of oral history/sound work/exhibition of a community… anyone interested? I’ve almost finished writing the proposal.

Franny and Julie and I have a few ideas up our sleeves, (see our joint blog GOING PUBLIC) and these ideas are starting to get flesh on their bones. How we coordinate ourselves between the North, the South and me smack bang in the Middle, god only knows, but I’m sure we’ll think of something!

And I’ve started talking about some sort of joint project with Bo too, as we desperately cling on to our studenthood, trying to make it last a bit longer.

In the meantime, I’m back at work on Sept 3rd, with all the small children. Trying to step back from all of this and try to make their art experience as rich as I can make it. I am only in school for 2½ days a week, and my feet don’t touch the ground much when I’m there. But it is like being two or three different people.

I am my own Venn Diagram.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1RZnSlPe5H8

Artists Talking. Yes. It really is all about the conversation for me.

I can make stuff, always have, but it’s the conversation that makes it real.

Having my work hung in the foyer is great. Better than I thought. I’ve had conversations with all sorts of people that I wouldn’t normally, about the work. Lecturers I don’t usually chat to, librarians, technicians, security people, cleaners, students I’ve never met before, visitors, nervous people waiting for interviews. Each has a different take on these gently twirling “children”. Some think they are cute, some that they are very disturbing, some interpret different “children” in different ways, some they think are being handled aggressively (by handled, I refer to the embroidered hand marks I have made on them all), violently, being abused: others are being loved and cared for.

I wonder afterwards, how much of the person has been revealed by them telling me what they think is going on.

The conversations remove layers, get down to the nitty gritty, help you articulate your thoughts. Only talking to artists is no good though, you have to talk to all sorts of people.

Making yourself talk to people can help solve problems. Sometimes you don’t know there is a problem till you start trying to explain yourself.

Arguing with Bo every week has been brilliant. He’s so good at that “throw in a hand grenade” comment that blows the doors off your idea. Then I argue back and bluster about and go “yeah, but…” but at the end of it I have clarity, and can communicate. In this very blog post I am stealing his words, but they are good words, so I don’t care, and I’m hoping he won’t. To communicate with others is what’s required. To articulate my thoughts is needed. To not be able to do these things causes some sort of emotional halt.

I thought I had finished but I hadn’t. Serves me right for being complacent. Getting organised and getting the work hung nice and early is great. But it is a double edged sword, as it also gives you time to reflect and make last minute changes. I had been very conscious of the fact that I am hanging my work in the middle of a thoroughfare, access to fire exits and such have to be maintained. I am also very conscious in this beautiful building, that I am privileged to be able to string things from it. All this caution was preventing me from seeing what the point was. Putting up as few wires as possible from these stone pillars (cushioned, to stop the metal biting into the stone) and maintaining a path to the exit, had all my “babies” snuggled up one end of the space. It was possible to mingle with them, but only if you were brave. So a change was made. Another wire was hung, so they could be spaced out a bit more, so now it is not only possible to mingle, but you have to mingle to get across the space. There is room between them to crouch down and look them in the space where their eyes would be if they had them. There is also space to race to the fire exit if needs be!

Also, in this final self appraisal, you want to say it all don’t you? On 2 pieces of A4, in 10pts? Tricky. There’s also the balance between the description of what you’ve done since last time, and the critical-without-negativity thing that I’m not sure I’m very good at. I’m never too sure if I should be stating-the-bleeding-obvious, or leaving it out.

I now think I’ve done all I can (even though I thought that last week too). But I do find myself just wanting to be in the building. These “babies” are mine, and I feel neglectful leaving them there. I cannot fight the compulsion to implore the security man “Please look after them while I’m gone” as I leave.

I’m starting to mourn the end of the course. What an amazing two years I’ve had there!

I think I’m pretty much there. All twelve babies are swinging and dancing gently in the air currents, sometimes with a bit of help from me. To be honest, I could do even more, but adding three didn’t seem to make much difference, I think I’d have to add 20 to make it different. And then I don’t think I’d need to do the embroidery, as people would see all those children as a group, and not bother with the individuals perhaps.

I like them. A couple of them have names. One of them is me – the fat frantic swirly one with bluebells and a falling hem.

If you’ve read this blog for a while you’ll be fed up with the angst over whether the sound piece should be in the same place as the garments. I’m fed up with it too. Being in this space has made this a bit of a no-brainer. The acoustics are bloody amazing. To make people sit with headphones would be criminal. The song sounds creepy and poignant… to me anyway. That violin line that Tom Bounford did just hits the spot.

I played the song there, from the balcony, quite a bit yesterday, trying out changing levels and so on. Later on in the afternoon I was up in the balcony and heard someone walk through the foyer humming it. Brilliant. Such a kick! Just what I wanted, that people carry bits of my work in their heads, and maybe wonder where it came from.

So thanks to all involved, it is a proper song, with a hook that hooks, and a waltzy feel that inanimate babies want to dance to.

That’ll do me. In my mind it’s all working. It’s be nice if the people marking it thought the same. But I find that’s it… I don’t really care if they don’t. I’m happy with it.

Nine little babies seemed so many when they were hung against my studio wall, especially as I had originally thought I’d have just three. Nine little babies hung in the foyer of the school of art look somewhat insignificant. Time is short. A friend has let me plunder her collection, so I have three more dresses to work on in the next two weeks. I may have to go and hunt for a little boy outfit though too (it’s really hard to find old boys clothes). I shall shuffle them about a bit. I’ve decided (or should I say re-decided, as I’ve changed my mind a few times now) to use the yellow linen dress with the footprints on too, so that the child I had stood to one side can now join the throng, and the adult can stand a little apart, in a supervisory role. Then I think I’m probably done.

The long loop of “Keep Calm” has been burned to cd, and is ready for me to play with it on Tuesday and Wednesday.

I may post a sneaky peek photo of some of these goings on, when I’m a bit closer to what I want it to look like. After the private view evening I’ll post loads more, and maybe the song too.

My sleep pattern is non-existent. I go between eating rubbish to trying not to put any weight on as the posh frock then won’t fit. It’s touch and go, but having told everyone I’m wearing this 1950s creation, I have to don’t I? I have wrinkles, spots, and bags under my eyes. My knees are shot. My back aches. I have violent mood swings. Some days I feel giddy as a schoolgirl. Some days I feel like a miserable old bag.

Good job it’s not a three year course. My family and I can’t take much more of this!