I’m in the dark place. It’s no good in the dark place. I don’t want to work because I’m getting all churned up about making something that’s not good.
I don’t visit the dark un-trusting place often these days. I’m on a much more even-kilter than I have been in the past. And to top it off I’m making work I enjoy and feel a real sense of connection to. But there’s a whole gambit of pressure with enjoying my work. If I hated it, it would be fine if it exploded in the kiln or smashes or turns out just rubbish.
Alongside this, I’ve been shirking my responsibility as exhibition co-ordinator. I rock at fundraising, proved by the fact that we have hundreds left in the pot. But the marshalling of exhibition books, photographs, artist statements and ordering wine just makes me feel tired. Because we all have to make the decision, so there’s a lot of arguing the design you like but trying to keep your mind open in case someone points something out. It’s exhausting. So Emma has taken all of the slack over the last couple of weeks, which isn’t fair to her, and I end up feeling a bit weird and rubbish and she ends up feeling a bit overlooked. It’s no good, I have to step up to the post and do the job I was elected to do.
To fight this rubbish feeling I’m having fun this weekend, going to a knitting event at the Customs House, celebrating a mates engagement, going for long walks with Daniel, reading and baking. Idylic calm before taking this thing on next week.
Oh-in other news, I had to present my work this week and managed to distract my class through asking them to make figures out of play-dough. Wonder if a board of funders would take to the challenge with the same amount of vim and vigour?
Spring is hear, hurrah for spring! More of that vitamin D stuff, more green stuff and a little bit more energy. It’s nicer to leave the house now, although, for a while, leaving the house has been the highlight of the day. Refurbs are horrible, if I ever move house I think I may just live in it and change nothing but the bedding. This, thoroughly bizarre thing, is a sculpture I made that was supposed to be suspended so you could look through it. The (very vague, first year of art school) idea was that the light would flood through the gaps, which were the same shape as the gaps between branches. They were a technical nightmare for me at that stage, and became so heavy, cracked and patchily glazed as to be considered a bit of an ‘epic fail’. They ended up in my mothers garden. I’m sure lots of undergrad art goes in the garden. But this did something truly odd to the dwarf daffs my mum plonked this on. For a while they were sheltered from the frost and ice and then suddenly, without warning, as if in some heist film, they started their escape. At the moment, I feel all sheltered and protected and am scared witless by the idea of suddenly growing up but if a daffodil can do it, so can a Lily.
Saturday’s usually feel calmer than this. At the moment, I’m hiding in my bedroom as a plumber methodically rips out pipes and radiators from my lovely house. I am, to say the least, distressed by the whole thing.
But eventually I’m promised working heating and something to do with a wireless thermostat. Get me. Fancy.
Perhaps it wouldn’t get to me if I’d had a more productive week. I’ve been struggling with my figures, or they’ve been stuggling with me. It’s difficult to tell any more.
My main problem is that when you make a person, they immediatley become emotive, cunning little buggers. And since I’m trying to make a congregation of angry little blighters it’s proving difficult for them not to be a little overblown.
I made a lady, she was supposed to be glum, but she looks so ruddy pathetic. And when people come visit me at my desk, she’s the first thing they reach for.
“Awwwh” they croon “She’s so sweet!” Oh great, she’s sweet. Like a teddy bear. And no one won the turner prize for a teddy bear. Except Grayson Perry.
My mission for next week is to make all my figures less melodramatic, more human. Small order.
