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Drawing can be an intimate act.

I’m now feeling desperate to start the task of drawing my chairs. When I think about it my heart beats a little faster and my pupils dilate.

There is a part of my brain connected to my eyes and my hands that can’t let go. I need the ink to flow in steady lines beneath my fingers. I want to feel the texture of the papers… Tracing paper… Layout… Tissue…. Anything that lets the light and truth through…

If I close my eyes I can imagine the lines appearing as my hand sweeps across the paper. Cool fingers make creases and smooth them out again. Caressing the tissue into a smooth plane for the ink to flow across. The line is even. The line has a slow rhythm. I have to keep the ink moving… If I stop, it blots…

I imagine the close surface of the layout paper… Ink gliding across gracefully, there’s no grab at the ink like there is with the greedy tissue… The touch is sleek….

The tracing paper has to be a virgin surface. I use gloves sometimes… And I remove a sheet from the Middle of the pack. If I get greasy finger marks on it, ink resists… I need it clean…

My brain, in that state of flow keeps the line almost continuous. Errors in observation of line only matter if I falter and stall. What matters is a confident line…

I can keep the line going for hours once I start. I forget to drink and eat.

A sigh escapes as I finish… A deep breath… I close my eyes and put down the pen slowly… As if commanded by the FBI at gunpoint….

I put up my hands… Surrender…

Fantasy drawing porn……
Is it just me?

 

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I had a gentle afternoon with a fairly newish but very lovely friend Sarah Goudie.

 

http://sarahgoudie.com

 

We had about two hours of earnest conversation over pots of tea and assorted things to eat.

We have enough in common to understand each other, and enough differences to make life interesting.

 

Being Earnest is a good thing. I like the word earnest. It implies trust, honesty, seriousness, but not stuffiness I think.

 

We had a few laughs, certainly. We talked about studios, work, earning a living, students and teaching, and what we would like to get out of this artistic life we both lead. We didn’t talk of ambition, but the ambition was implied. We are both striving for something. The something might be fairly modest in the scheme of things, but it is there nonetheless. We discussed mutual support, crits, outings, and generally making time to let other people into the processes. It is important to share, to express, to hear myself saying things out loud is vital to discovering what the work is about, and what I am about.

 

I’m hoping, as I mull over this conversation, that I didn’t totally monopolise it… I can remember talking about Sarah’s work too (which is beautiful by the way, do go and look) Sorry if you feel harangued, Sarah!

 

We talked quite a lot about my impending lack of studio, and how this state can be “handled” so that I can feel positive about it. I also talked about the stage that my work is at and how that can easily be done at home. Until voicing my concerns out loud to another artist, I hadn’t actually realised that I have quite a lot to do with these chairs before I need a studio. I’ve been going on about how I need to spread them out in a line, together, in a real space… but actually, I’m a way off that yet… I will need it… but that need isn’t imminent! Once I had actually said these words, another little weight lifted, another bit of sensible calmness settled upon me.

 

My previous post talked of the danger of containing the work within the sketchbook. Little drawings, with notes and plans of installation is one thing, but taking the drawing out of the book and into the larger space is another…

My intention, as I did initially with the bras, is to document the chairs as they are. I will perform a sort of archaeological dig on them. I will draw, using a similar method to the bras, on translucent papers, layering up details and different views. Gathering the information. Record them as they are, as they came to me. I can’t do this within the confines of the sketchbook. it’s different:

As I spoke to Sarah, I came to understand more deeply the importance this part of the process holds for me. My relationship with these found objects, be they garments or furniture, starts with this. This close observation establishes my position as care-giver. Call it arty-bollocks if you like, but I feel it is part of my responsibility to do this before I begin working on them.

I have four chairs. That’s a lot of drawing. So these first couple of months of the year I can spend at home in the warm, drawing. Meanwhile, looking for the right studio space, for the right amount of money, in the right place… without the mad panic.

 

My afternoon of earnestness was joyful. I’ve talked before about certain people who charge my batteries, enthuse me, inspire me, challenge me, but also reassure me… Sarah is one of those.

 

 

Merry Christmas, thank you for reading.

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If you’re not careful, practice stays imprisoned in the sketchbook.

Because of the impending “no studio” situation, and the fact many of my things are packed into boxes already, visits to the studio are not now about practice. Until I move everything back home just after Christmas I won’t have a space to get on with what is in my head.  I am intending to re-appropriate the dining room…. But things have changed in the intervening two years, my practice (and equipment) will no longer easily be contained on the top of a four feet by five feet table. I’m going to have to set it up properly, because I don’t know how long it might be for.

Meanwhile… My sketchbook exists to remind me of these thoughts I have about the chairs. These four oddly proportioned chairs are drawn over and over…. Placed in order in a line… My intentions drawn upon the line drawings in a different colour…

The problem is, if they stay there on the paper too long, they may reach some sort of conclusion, some sort of resolution before I make them. It won’t be right, necessarily, but right enough for the paper, and I will move on. The resolution reached will be that which concerns drawing. It will be about the lines, the colour, the forms depicted and composition. These are the wrong resolutions. I need to constantly remind myself that what I’m looking for isn’t a drawing but a relationship.

The relationship between these chairs is a little bit Goldilocks. One is too small, one too tall, one is wide, but low down…. One is the right size, but not comfortable. My plans for them are about the relationships with each other and the people who might sit (or have previously sat) in them. This work can only be done in the physical world, with my whole body. It’s not an end of arm with pencil thing. It’s not proper to confine it within the pages.

So I write this blog to remind myself that I might be able to move on in terms of the sketchbook, but I must return.

I have to make the chairs how I want, in order to leave the gap for the chair that isn’t there…

 

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I was surprised that another artist was surprised when I insisted upon a certain level of professional conduct.

 

It is, for me, another aspect to the Paying Artists campaign. If I behave as a professional, I will be paid as a professional. Fair’s fair.

 

I try to behave in a professional manner. I like to get things clear, I like things written down, signed. I like receipts. I like everyone to know what is expected, what will be paid and when, and for how much time the payment covers.

 

These are the things that worry me greatly. I became self-employed about two years ago, and it terrifies me. I am worried about tax, national insurance, allowances, or not-allowances. So therefore, to cover all the bases, I keep every piece of paper. I write things down. I do this in the hope of keeping things straight, but also, should something go wrong, someone else will be able to make sense of it all.

 

Numbers don’t come easily to me. I have to triple check and get someone else to check, because even when using a calculator I have been known to transpose 7s and 4s particularly. I know I am not so good at this, which is why I am like I am. My husband can spot my mistakes as if they are written in red and have a neon arrow pointing at them. I am like that with spelling mistakes. Everyone has their “thing”.

 

But I think we artists have to start with each other. I have learned many things from the Master (Dan W). When we first worked together we didn’t really know each other. We had this conversation about the work and how it would be done. He insisted that everything we wanted was written down and signed and paid for. He insisted that we would be open and honest because when you’re paying by the hour there’s no time for pissing about and being polite. We had professional respect, we were organised, and we said what we thought. Actually it was liberating. This man wasn’t a friend (yet), so it didn’t really matter if I disagreed with him, or vice versa. It was my work, so I had the right to speak up. It was his professional standards we were working to, so if what I was doing wasn’t good enough, he said so. The friendship has followed on from this.

When we embarked upon Nine Women, we did the same. Talk about it, make notes, write it up, agree it, sign it. Then get on with it. I believe whole heartedly that our working relationship is excellent because of this.

 

So now, this is my working model for projects I embark upon. Who wouldn’t want things clear, up front, and open and honest? I would think twice about working with anyone who didn’t want clarity and professionalism.

 

Well, as I said, I have been surprised… shocked even. But then, as I have written before, I am really quite naive and idealistic. But if it carries on like this, my cynical and paranoid self might have to come to the fore, for self-preservation purposes.

 

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For the first time in ages, I’ve been feeling a bit of a stall in the way I write about my work. I have the work in my head, and in my sketchbook, but due to lack of space and the impending lack of studio, felt unable to start the new work in earnest, and also feel unable to write about it as to me the two things go together. I was feeling a little lost and a bit self-pitying. I was unable to see a way through my middle class/first world problem of not having a studio. I have got over myself a little now, and realise that I will at some point find a new studio, but putting work off because I don’t have one is a lazy cop-out and in the long run won’t do me any good at all.

 

Sonia Boué’s blog, as always has been thought provoking… this started as a comment on her blog in response to it, but actually turned out to be far more about me (me, ME, MEEE!) so thought it might be better placed here.

 

Sonia, thank you for these words, which, as often happens, they’ve got me going again. (Phew!)

Your blog prompts a reconsideration of my own childhood. We did not shuttle back and forth between either country. Prevented initially by finance, but also by worry about what would be awaiting upon their return. At least as a child I was blissfully unaware of both the lack of money, and the worry. As I get older, my perception of my parents’ relationship changes, no doubt coloured by the development of my own 34 year marriage. Their relationship becomes more real, more three dimensional, and I see motivations for behaviour and a re-colouring of events. This is of course an illusion, I have no way of checking. I also have enough insight to see that this creation of an uncheckable narrative is where so much of my work resides. Memory affects me, as much as I affect the memory.

 

In the middle of November I withdrew (for a short while) from Facebook. I was having difficulty processing what happened in Paris, and even more so, other people’s responses to it. I either found the no-response you spoke of, or an uncontrollable over-emotional response. I couldn’t manage either, so I withdrew.

I admire your courage and ability to risk the trauma of revisiting those things that your family endured. I can’t expose myself to those extremes, but support whole-heartedly those who can and understand the importance of doing so.

I keep my world small, as a self-preservation tactic. But when my small world expands – such as when my friend Bruford went to Calais, I am able to support him… secondary support, not primary engagement.

 

But the studio, oh yes… and the work, oh yes…

Finding solution and solace in the creation of the visual that did not previously exist, a thought previously unexpressed… for me also, an exploration of the song. There are times when I wish I knew more music theory, or at least had some of the vocabulary, but also, as I learn more with every song I write, or co-write, I also regret the passing of ignorance and intuition. I am sad to discover that what I have done has a name and is a well trod path, even if not by me!

One of my artist teacher students is looking at post WW1 films about shell-shock and the music in them is curious… The responses elicited by the music with the images is disturbing, but draws you to the end of the piece, where the visual alone would not. The music is soothing the passage of the visual… I have yet to decide what and why this is happening… it might be obvious if I had more knowledge, my voyage of discovery is slow here.

When I write lyrics, they usually have an emotional feel. I know where the protagonist sits in the field of human condition. I use a lot of arm waving, words, drawings even, to express this feeling to whoever is writing the music.

If I knew more about music I could explain more succinctly and accurately. But…. what I get from the arm waving etc is a re-interpretation of emotion through my collaborator; a reflection; a new understanding from another human. I have come to realise this as a power and not a weakness.

 

As for Art and Trauma, my friend Bruford, mentioned above, says that the Jungle in Calais has loads of art and music. In awful places, where human survival is tricky, real people are also striving to be their most human… art and music are the most human occupations. Anger, hope and love and complex combinations of all emotions are expressed through art and music. It is what we do best.

 

Our dreadful government is able to take the arts off the curriculum. They are able to withdraw the funding. They are able to ATTEMPT to de-value it by placing more value on profit and personal gain and commodity.

 

But they can’t take it out of our heads.

 

When Andy Dufresne (played by Tim Robins) in The Shawshank Redemption locks himself in the office and broadcasts Mozart to the entire prison…. yeah…. THAT…