Threads

Money.

If I want to get my shed out there in the world, fill it with music and loveliness, and give people a good time, it costs me.

A van with a man, volunteers to lug it about and help me put it up. Fuel, time, beer maybe, and cake.

At some point, I had it in my head that the shed has the chance of making me a bit of cash. But that’s not happening yet. And if I’m truly honest with myself, it probably won’t ever. So at what point do I stop hoiking it about in a van and get on with work that doesn’t cost me so much?

This summer I’m hoping to get the shed to 3 different events. None of these will bring in any money, all of them will cost me. Last ditch attempt to show the world this lovely little self-contained performance space, in the hope someone might spot it and see its potential? Maybe?

Not sure. Because you see, I love it.

And will probably be hoiking it about for years.

(deep sigh)

Busy day!

The great thing is, it’s half term week, so haven’t got to go into work tomorrow, so I can mull things over immediately instead of putting my brain on hold for 48hrs.

Had a short first meeting about final show and catalogue… crikey!

Then a series of student seminars, always the risk of these being a bit patchy, but there but for the grace of God go I, so we listen patiently and clap appreciatively, even though inside occasionally we groan. However, it was interesting to hear one of the speakers talking about anonymous blogging. She has done this since her BA, and is now thinking about “coming out”. She seems scared about this, and guards her anonymity feverishly. I, however, am thinking about starting another blog, elsewhere, under a pseudonym, in order to say all the other stuff I feel too risky to say here. That terrifies me so much I probably won’t do it. I fear the flood gates, once opened, will reveal the madness within, in a way that is uncontrolled, unedited, and not at all respectable.

I suspect that eventually I will end up doing some sort of performance, as some sort of alternative persona. I can see the merits, but can also see the perils. I don’t think I’m ready for it yet. But thinking about it is a useful exercise that gives me a certain insight. I shall start with the removal of personal pronouns, and see where that takes me first. Baby steps.

Had a post-assessment tutorial, very useful. Thought about my development as an artist over last 5 yrs, and the direction that my work might go in from here. Onwards and upwards hopefully!

Earlier in the week, Julie Dodd sent me a link to the work of artist Miriam Schaer who has embroidered text onto baby dresses. At first I was thinking that this was similar to my work, but it is not. Any more than an artist that puts paint onto canvas with brushes is like any other artist that uses the same material process. The technique is not the same, the message is not the same, the aesthetic is not the same. It just interested me that we fell into the trap of thinking that it might be, when we wouldn’t do it with 2 painters.

http://handeyemagazine.com/content/baby-not-board

I found myself thinking I had more in common with the designer of a Morrison’s babygro who emblazoned “Help I’m being kidnapped these are not my real parents” onto the garment. The Sun and various child protection organisations are in uproar. I don’t think I’d put my baby in it, but if it was in a gallery, I would find myself considering it very seriously, but would also see it as something that had humour.

http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/4108037/…

Am I just a bit sick?

The line begins to blur… I have always considered the things I make to be “The Art”… and only when they are finished. This whole debate about open works and performance has me rattled a little. A few things have happened to make this so:

The whole singing at the station urge (see previous post)

The puzzling over how to site and (dis)play a lullaby that is heard and not seen (many posts, further back)

The other day I was scrubbing one of the collars with bleach to try to scrub out the words so they were less readable. I sensed some hidden viewer on my shoulder watching me do it. Then end result was interesting, but so was the act of scrubbing, the smell of the bleach, the rhythm and the sound. I’m going to do another one, and at least record the lovely scratchy swishy noise it makes.

I am stitching again. I have drawn a fairly large outline on the child’s coat that I am now filling with stitches. My hands hurt, I shall have to stop if I don’t want to develop tendonitis… Again. But the Barely Controlled Urge rears its ugly head again, and undoubtedly I shall carry on sewing unless someone finds me something else to do. I like how this little coat is looking, is the pain incurred implicit in the amount of stitching seen? Or should I also show the photo of my swollen tendons to beat viewers over the head?

Do other people, and by this I probably mean artists, have a little audience sat on their shoulders, or am I developing some sort of personality disorder?

I think today’s work plan will be scrubbing, filming, recording and photographs. I’ll post something here if it works out, or perhaps even if it doesn’t. That might ease the achey hands for long enough to enable me to sit sewing for a couple of hours this evening?

Its nice to hear the things you think said by someone else, particularly from someone you regard as being in a rather more exalted position than yourself…

“Oh I do things instinctively, there isn’t a direct relationship with any theory I might be reading or other work I am interested in. I don’t know what it means when I make it. I go with what I think is aesthetically right. Any real meaning happens later”

(I’m paraphrasing one of my lecturers)

So it’s OK then. Keep it simple, do what you feel. Have confidence in the voice your work has. Don’t worry, be happy. Easy peasy.

Also had a bit of a mad moment this morning that has prompted much thought since.

I am having one of those obsessive listening spells I often have, and have described here somewhere before… The object of my obsession is a Doves song “The Man Who Told Everything” (my iPod tells me I have listened to it 36 times in the last few days). I was listening to it whilst waiting on the platform for my train into Birmingham. I had a barely controlled urge to dance to it and sing along. I didn’t know the words very well (I do now, I looked them up). I wondered while stood there tapping my feet and humming inside my head, would I sing if I knew the words. What would I change that would make it possible for me to give in to the urge?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ubJx_5x3yOE&ob=av2e

With this whole songwriting, singing, recording thing going on, people (fellow students, tutors and so on) have been going on at me about performance. To be honest, apart from the occasional urge as above, this fills me with horror… actually, the above urge fills me with horror too, as it would be unplanned and the men in white coats would be out before I got to the bridge (pun intended). At the moment, any performance on my part is contained within the recording: controlled, manipulated. I think the sight of me sat there doing any live performance would detract from any message I was trying to say. I would be like that bloody chest of drawers that I used as a display device. Everybody talked about the furniture and not the work.

So lets keep me out of it eh?

I’ve been making, as I promised myself, and here are some photos of the first stitched shadow. Rubbish photos as always, much too yellow… apologies!

Hands, around the sleeve of a child’s dress, grasping perhaps… or guiding?

I think the stitches may be too dark. I think I’ll leave them, not unpick them, but may do the next a bit lighter. It is impossible to tell when you hold a single strand against a piece of cloth, the effect of a cluster of stitches once worked.

Still reading fiction. Bliss!

Still listening to Tom Waits. Ditto.