Threads

When I have had a weird day, the studio calls.

Headspace is required to filter out, digest, absorb… then reject what is of no use to me, or to cast off those things that cause stress or discomfort. Then to accept what is left and move on.

My choice of music this afternoon was unusual. Not the sort of thing I usually go for but it’s been interesting nonetheless, and has had an effect, which of course, is what it is all about.

So…

Portishead, ‘Dummy’;

David Lynch, ‘The Big Dream’;

Slowdive, ‘Slowdive’;

and at the insistence of a friend

My Bloody Valentine, ‘Loveless’.

All in my collection, but I can’t remember ever playing them all in one sitting before. I now feel sort of spaced… floaty… bit trippy maybe?

Consequently I’ve done weird things with the drawing too.

Following the vague path trodden over wet grass by my poet partner Leah Atherton… I attempt to leave less of a trace… a softer pencil…rubbed… I’m not very brave yet… do I rub it all out? Or just leave enough so you know it was there?

When I leave, do I take everything with me, so you quickly forget me… wonder if I ever existed, ever said what you think I said?

Or do I leave a trail of crumbs so you can find me if you need me?

It is always a bit of a dilemma to decide what to reveal of the personal life of the artist in this blog.

A recent conversation has made me examine this a bit more.

Those who read regularly might know that I have osteoarthritis, and that it is getting worse. Because of this my world is shrinking. I can no longer zoom around the country (let alone the world) without considerable research and planning.

It takes courage and energy to say to people “I can’t do that” and face the “oh why not? It’s right by the tube station!” Well no. “Right by…” is subjective. Off the train, up the platform, across the concourse, down two escalators and through three tunnels is not “right by”. And I feel resentful that some people demand medical details in order to believe me when I say what is too far for me. (Admittedly it’s not made easier by the fact that some days I can do it and some days I can’t)

So, anyway…inevitably this situation makes its way into my work. To me it is obvious which drawings were done on good days or bad days. One day maybe I will explore this, maybe part of my brain already is. I think the few people that know my drawings very well can see it too. I thank them for this. It helps to have people understand without asking or commenting.

The thing is… this is my information to reveal. I don’t want people saying loudly “Elena has a BAD KNEE!! Clear the way to the lift!” I’d rather be slow and dignified and do it at my own pace, only revealing when I choose, or as needed.

I reveal it in the drawings, or rather, it is revealed. It is expressed in all its glory: my rage and fury and pain and frustration. The paper takes the punishment, absorbs it, feeds back to me a gentleness.

I fall into that deep chasm that contains millions of people. I am not DISABLED and at the moment I don’t want to be labelled as such. But sometimes, somedays, I am disabled.

I don’t need a stick, crutches, a wheelchair. I just need to be believed.

I don’t want me or my work to become prefaced by “Disabled Artist” any more than I want it to be labelled “Female” or have any reference to my age or marital status or how many children I’ve had, or where I live. It’s just Artist. Any qualifier makes it lesser: “Not bad for a girl”

But the other thing is, I wouldn’t be working like this if my body wasn’t like this. The work comes directly from my brain, down my arms, into my fingers. I sit in the chair, leaning across the table as I cannot stand to make these drawings. Whatever is encountered on the way from my brain to the paper drags at the pencil and makes its mark.

But it’s still mine. You can look at the drawings, love them or hate them, be indifferent to them, buy them even! But how and why they are like they are? That belongs to me.

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Maybe I was always going to be a songwriter, but it took me 50 years to actually get round to it?

And maybe I was always going to be a lyricist? I love words, the way they feel in my mouth as well as how they sound. The words Lemon Meringue Pie or Chocolate Chip Cheesecake to me taste as delicious as the dessert. Those close lipped sounds together, and alliteration… yummy!

(I also have a talent for “tasting” a menu… almost synaesthetic (oh what a word!))

I can remember being read to as a small child, especially Winnie the Pooh… and the poems from Now We are Six. My mum must have loved them too because she read with a delightful rhythm and lilt that sang the words to me. Impeccable timing. I remember singing Mud, Mud, Glorious Mud, and I also remember her teaching it to my eldest son on the arm of her chair when he was aged about three.

“Hold that note!”

“Muuuuuuuuuuuuud!”

This week I find myself obsessed with finding pairs of words with particular rhythms… that don’t at the moment make much sense, but could eventually end up in a song or two…

Unnecessarily blue

Coincidentally choose

Predictability groove

Totalitarian fool

And this is sometimes how it starts… not always… but the words that feel nice, and the themes I think about… there’s a soup in my head that gets stirred up together and eventually out pops something that says what I want to say, in a way that feels good.

And there it is…

Big Red Shiny Button pressed.

Except it is none of those things.

I’m thinking of suggesting to Arts Council England that they make it so.

It always feels momentous.

The immediate feeling is one of relief after weeks of work to get it done and off. I can ‘forget’ about it for a while – six weeks.

I’ve done a few of these now and it’s never got any better.

I’ve been moderately successful… but the ‘No’ still smarts.

At this point, although I think I’ve done my best and I’ve had people read it with me, and for me, and had people edit bits for me here and there too, I never know. This is in fact a re-write of one I submitted at the end of last year. Simplified and clearer. I’m good at spotting over-complication in other people’s applications, but not so good with my own it seems! Of course, when it was rejected, and I read the letter, it was obvious.

But at this very moment, this one is Schrödinger’s Application. Both dead and alive.

Crossing fingers etc.

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Meanwhile…

Back in the rest of my head are these drawings. Here I have been thinking it’s a new thing, then while searching through my photos I came across a digital image I had made in 2013. Oh. Not new then? No. The image showed lines/veins/branches… in very similar formation to the rivulets of watercolour that my drawings are built upon and through. 

I suppose I should take comfort in the fact that at least I am plagiarising my own work, not someone else’s. But it is rather irritating that I didn’t even recognise what I was doing. 

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I’ve run out of the big beautiful paper, and can’t at the moment afford to get any more.

But that’s ok, I think… it gives a natural break in order to assess if that is in fact what I need.

In order to do this I’ve returned to some pieces…

I’ve returned to some larger pieces deemed unsuccessful, chopped them up a bit and then returned to the pieces as new. This has been moderately successful. I’ve learned some interesting things about composition by doing this, as some of the drawing falls off the edge of the paper. This prompts me to think about the unseen drawing in potentia… which sounds a bit pompous as I write it down. However, as my drawing is still concerned with touch, affect, relationship, it does have relevance, thinking about what might be, what could be… hmmm… to go back to…

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I have also been doing some smaller, very small drawings. Four inch squares. These tend to also be on old chopped up paper, as trials of materials and techniques in the beginning… or as a sort of warm up exercise. Useful. They also have me thinking about composition.

I think (as in a previous post about my tendency to go at things a bit frantically, to always hit for the six) that I have neglected the negative space and the empty spaces on some of these drawings. When I look at the ones I really like, as opposed to the ones that are merely ok, there is an imbalance of sorts in the composition. There are areas of the paper, more than 50% I’d say, where not a lot is happening, and then where I have drawn, it is heavy, at one end, falling off the edge again…

There’s something in this, I’m sure.

Brinkmanship.

How close can I get before I fall off too?

Who can I dare?

Who shall I take with me?

Having worked on these smaller pieces at least I have decided one thing.

I do need more big paper.

By working on big paper, I commit. I know that I will be working on a piece for more than a couple of hours. Some of the big drawings gave been a couple of weeks in the making. There are times when they are right, go wrong, then become right again. I go away, then come back into the room two or three days later, and know what needs to be done, that I didn’t know when I left. That simply does not happen with a small drawing. This isn’t about having a nice thing to hang on the wall at the end (although I do have lots of nice things you can have on your wall if you like). It is about that commitment to the paper. I need to feel the size of it, stretch across it on my table. I need to swipe my arms across the lumps and bumps made by the paint before deciding how to use the pencils.