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Networking Events are bloody hard work if you ask me.

I’ve been to a few, wandering about with a weirdly flavoured crisp in my hand and a glass of warm white vinegar… or perhaps a strangely metallic orange juice. I might have a name label. If my name is spelled correctly I might wear it. If it’s not, I might just leave.

I look around the room for someone that I already know. If there isn’t anyone, I might just leave.

Sometimes a keen enthusiastic person might say “Hello! who are you?”. I am mostly horrified by this, and at the earliest opportunity without appearing rude, I might just leave.

Sometimes I make myself stay.

Sometimes I make myself talk to someone.

On these occasions I never give a good account of either myself or my work. I might as well have just left.

Sometimes, Private Views are like this too. If the work is good, I might stay. If I don’t like it, I might just leave.

All of these things I enter into with a sense of optimism, that can be seen on my car park ticket. The event runs from 6-8, so instead of paying for the hour I struggle to manage, I have paid for four hours, having in my head some ideal situation where I discover a bundle of like-minded souls who say, “Let’s go to the pub!” and we continue the scintillating conversation and live happily ever after.

This never happens. Or if it does, I’m not there, because they’ve all been waiting for me to leave before anyone suggests it, in case I decide to go with them and make it a miserable affair.

On the other hand…

I have a network.

My network consists of people with whom I have had accidental, incidental conversations with. These people might have said things to me in a corner of a pretentious exhibition, that have made me snort wine down my nose. They stayed with me to provide cover while I composed myself.

These people have, over a period of several years, been kind to me…offered wisdom and consolation… sworn derisively… posted interesting articles on Facebook… made pithy comments about my work on my blog… asked really difficult questions that make me think… shared cake… made me tea just how I like it (or not, but they have hobnobs, so it’s ok) … I have chatted about everything and anything. They have made a beeline for me and we have hugged… I have cheered and spilled milk all over them… I have sung songs with… played bad percussion with… I have laughed, or cried with them…I have held very serious political conversations that are ended with comments that cannot be argued with like “Yeah, but he’s a knob and his mouth frays at the edges…”

This is PROPER NETWORKING… this cannot be faked. The real thing. These are the networks that provide opportunity, support, friendship and love – yes – love… and I’ll take that over the professionally plastic sort any day.

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The closed boxes….
Whether they belong to Schrödinger or Pandora…

While closed, they hold the possibilities.
While closed, the world is safe.
While closed, everything holds promise of wealth and glory, but can never be achieved.
We stand still, permanently in a state of waiting, watching, and never realising, never growing or knowing or learning anything.

I don’t think it is in the artist’s nature to leave the box closed, “just in case”: but to open it, “just in case”

Endeavour is the thing.
It’s no use holding the key unless you use it.
The box, the case, the email, the file, the brown envelope are useless.
They are not things of purpose unless you open them.

There is no point in collecting the trinkets.
What you have to do is open the box, the case, the email, the file, the envelope…
And face the consequences.
Deal with it…. Pause…. Reflect…. Refuel…. And move on….

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Every one the same, Every one different.

So I return to these little vests.

I worked out a pattern, as I went along. Gradually getting closer to the original, but not quite there yet.

I still don’t know why I am making them, other than for that haptic reward.

I feel I am tickling around the edge of my work at the moment. I am working on the small and attainable because the large scale installation of furniture in my head is impossible without a studio. So I work on the pocket sized.

However, this does have value. I find that other conversations I am having can be interpreted here.

These vests, intended to be all the same, are not. If the original bought item is the norm, my copies are divergent by varying degrees. I’ve knitted using different yarns, and on different needles. I have used different scraps of ribbon according to what is lying about the house. Some have buttons. One has turned into a dress. A couple have keys embroidered. My original intention was to create a perfect pattern and then get other people to help me make loads. But what has happened is I am absolutely fascinated by the small differences that have occurred along the way: I knit while I watch TV so I change stitches a couple of rows too soon or too late. I decrease for arm holes too soon or too late, or by one too many or too few stitches.

I talk about divergence in other fields, with other artists, and end up creating divergence between my fingers. I’m not getting deep and meaningful here. I’m just saying that because I am inherently lazy about the accuracy of my process here, I have created difference. And because I talk about difference, I have drawn a tenuous analogy. I don’t care how tenuous it is. I like it.