Threads

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!

I’ve posted before about sketch books haven’t I? As have other bloggers here.

My sketch book has been untouched for several weeks now, other than the odd scribbled note or phone number. Why is this? I think it is because I have resolved things. I know what I need to do for the final show, so I’m doing it. I know what to make and how to make it, and more importantly for me, given my history in these matters, how to show it and where.

I have other ideas in my head of course, but I daren’t put them down just yet, for fear of derailing my thoughts in this crucial time. I suppose that’s why I’m blogging instead. Somehow I can do words but not pictures. The pictures conflict with the other pictures, and I get confused. But I can rattle away here and it’s ok. Is it a right brain/left brain thing do you think?

It is the same when I’m writing, I can’t listen to songs, but I can listen to instrumentals. The words of what I’m hearing get tangled up in the words I’m writing.

I talk a lot about the music I listen to, treating you to lists and links to my favourites. Over the last 2 weeks I have hardly listened to anything else but my own song. I am in fear that it is a fragile thing that will get washed away in my busy brain. That I will have an idea so ethereal that it will float away on the tide of music from someone stronger. A little perfect 3-note harmony, that will go POOFF! when faced with the might of a proper song.

The last recording has now been done, Dan is mixing it all up beautifully, while I nod and bravely say what I think. Sometimes I still have to be brave. I think I’ve got a way to go yet before you could call me a bossy songwriter/producer, but I’m getting there!

So now I visit iTunes again…

I started with a little bit of Agnes Obel, to break me in gently… chuck in a bit of Dan Whitehouse, to nod and say thank you…a bit of old Elbow, Asleep in the back… now feeling in the mood for something a bit meaty… Red Hot Chilli Peppers maybe -bass that plays your guts? I’m open to suggestions!

Not much to say today folks, but a few photos of my working hanging at Junction Festival of Contemporary Arts, Chapel Ash, Wolverhampton.

It’s been fun, and there are some amazing pieces of work about!