ARTISTS TALKING

Kate Murdoch had a previous career in Social Services before becoming an artist. But rather than take the 'safe' path through art education she decided to go it alone. In this interview she talks to Andrew Bryant, editor of Artists talking, about this and other issues.

Andrew Bryant: Your pathway to art has not been a typical one - could you tell us a bit about it?

Kate Murdoch: My pathway to art grew from a decision I made some ten years or so ago - to stop what I was doing, take stock and make some radical changes to a lifestyle that had become increasingly difficult and stressful. My late Father was ill and my twin sons, boisterous three year olds, full of energy and demands - I was working as a Disability Adviser at the time and just didn't feel capable of doing my job effectively any more. It wasn't a case of not wanting to carry on - I'd built up years of experience in the caring profession and was reluctant to leave it all behind. But it was clear - a lot of people talk about life-defining moments and this was mine - I was burnt out, my health was beginning to suffer and my capacity for sympathy and understanding of other peoples' troubles had been exhausted; the work was simply dragging me down and making me unhappy.

I'd always loved art but it was only through looking for ways to safeguard my own emotional well being rather than that of others that I re-discovered my passion for it. Creating things helped me switch off from my tendency towards over-thinking and encouraged me to relax and feel better about life. I started some short courses at a local community college with a brilliantly inspiring tutor and things just started to grow from there in terms of producing.  At the same time, I started to take stock of a vast, lifetime accumulation of personal collections - vintage clothing, books, ornaments and anything else that I'd found appealing and salvaged over the years. Many pieces of artwork have come out of that sifting and sorting process - from small assemblages to larger interactive installations.

AB: You are one of the few artists I know who hasn't been through the art education system. Do you think that puts you at an advantage or a disadvantage?

KM: I think the short answer to that is a bit of both. My feelings fluctuate and I waver between thinking that an art education might be really worthwhile to wondering if I would personally gain all that much from it.

I'd say one of the main advantages for me of not having had a formal art education is that I've had the freedom to work organically and develop my practice at my own pace. I like to think that my art isn't formulaic. I haven't been taught how to make it; I work intuitively, so it comes from the heart.  I've heard some people speak about having the creativity knocked out of them through attending an art institution. I can't say whether this would have happened to me had I gone, but I do know that as things stand, my creative flow has remained largely uninterrupted.

Another factor in the current political climate has to be the financial implication of studying at HE level. One of the advantages for me was that I wasn't saddled with debt at the start of my journey as a practicing artist - financial restraints are an ongoing issue for most artists as it is, let alone it being exacerbated by government-imposed debt.

In terms of the disadvantages of not having been through the art education system, when I was starting out, I sometimes felt very isolated. I think I would have benefited from having a peer group - a ready made group of students and tutors alike, offering their experience and expertise, constructive criticism and an ongoing dialogue and debate around each other's work.

There's no doubt there have been many times when I have wished I had been taught certain basic technical skills which would have helped to make the actual creating process a lot easier.  There have also been times when not understanding some of the language around the theory and history of art has made me feel somewhat inadequate - almost as if I'm an impostor.

I've occasionally wondered if not having gone through the art education system means that some people don't take me seriously, either when I'm applying for opportunities or just in conversation. Were I to have a qualification, perhaps my status as an artist would be enhanced. On the other hand, I've met people who seem to positively embrace the fact that I haven't been through the system.

As my career has progressed, I've increasingly made use of alternative support systems. When I have access to artist-led spaces such as ZeitgeistAP (formerly Core Gallery) with its extensive DIY Educate programme or Q-Art with its convenors and annual exhibition - all free or at a fraction of the cost of art college  - what extra advantages could be gained through a formal art education I wonder?

AB: In your blog post of 9 January you talk about "knowing your place in society" which you connect with "growing up in rural England in the 1960s, the daughter of working class parents." Do you think there is something about art that enables and even encourages a questioning of 'place', the places we come from, the places we find ourselves in and even the kind of place we would like to live in?

KM: I talk a lot about my identity being strongly linked to the objects in my work, so I'm not at all surprised that you've picked up on that quote!

My sense of place geographically, socially and politically comes through in much of my work.

Recently I read and was really struck by something the contemporary artist George Shaw said:  'An element of my work is about looking at the surroundings that you've come from and instead of being dragged down by the country which tries to keep you in your place - you elevate where you're from and your position and become proud of who you are.' I can relate to those words just as I can relate to his paintings of social housing, deserted bus stops and phone boxes and sparse, somewhat soulless landscapes, albeit that my memories stem from more rural locations.

The whole subject of 'place' in art is an interesting one and I've been thinking about it recently in relation to my involvement in the 'home' exhibition shown at the former Core Gallery in Deptford.

'I Don't Suppose I'll Ever Go There' is a glass-fronted display cabinet I exhibited in the 'home' show.  It's stuffed full of souvenirs, many of which are the original ones brought into the house where my Nana lived for some 70 years of her life. There was a point during an artists'/curators' talk when I was able (probably for the first time since creating the piece) to stand back from the cabinet and look at it more objectively. I was struck by the social history represented by the displayed objects, many of them pre-1960s, kitsch and now defunct. I realised that Nana's displayed objects - ironically brought back from far-flung places which she would never herself visit - said so much about her, the social class to which she belonged and her extended family's roots.

More often than not (and whether consciously or not) the objects I collect and work with reflect my roots and where I come from.  My collections are personal and unique to me and help to create the kind of place that I like to live in. My home environment is important to me so I surround myself with things that appeal to me, comfort me and make me happy. Some people might question my taste for clutter - but I might equally question what I would consider to be the sterile, soulless environments of their homes.

Perhaps this, taken from my artist statement, best sums up my feelings:

The objects we surround ourselves with are loaded with meaning, reflecting both our internal emotional world and the external image we present to others. From the mundane to the meaningful, they are steeped in social and political history. Objects are a part of our identity; they provide us with a sense of self and reveal our connections to the wider world.

AB: You put me in mind of Jeff Koons, an unlikely reference you might think. But he talks about the specific cultural meanings that get attached to the popular objects and icons he uses, and the kinds of attitudes they embody. For example Popeye endures and remains ever optimistic. Do you think about the particular values and ideals your collected objects might both represent and promote? Or, as your title I don't suppose I'll ever go there suggests, are you more concerned with obstacles, with psychological, social and economic barriers, like Francis Alys?

In some ways it's questions like this that make me wish I had gone to art school - I never feel qualified to answer!

As far as my own work's concerned, it's not a question of either or. I think the two things can go hand in hand. Objects that represent values and ideals can also reflect the obstacles that psychological, social and economic barriers present. While I Don't Suppose I'll Ever Go There represents the social and economic barriers that prevented my Nana from ever getting to visit any of these places herself, the souvenir objects brought back from them and into her home over a 30 year period, are indicative of different eras, different cultures, circumstances and particular values and ideals - not to mention the joy and status associated with travel. There are many souvenirs from Britain, for example - travel was less frequent and my Nana's family's financial restraints meant that overseas travel was unusual.

There's never been any accounting for taste in the manufacturing of such objects; mass-produced very cheaply and made financially accessible to all, it's their kitsch appearance that for me gives them their intrinsic value. Another example of such objects used in my work is pomanders; filled with scented potpourri, they have been around for years and were a common accessory in 17th century fashion. They've since been mass-reproduced and those made in the 1970s are iconic reminders for me of that era - the sweetly-perfumed Avon Lady days where everything on the surface was pretty, perfect and smelt 'nice'. The pomanders emit a very distinctive perfume, evoking all sorts of memories - a friend's first reaction to one was that he thought it smelt of 'lower middle class respectability.'

The brass bell ladies used in my Birdcage piece evoke a similar sense of respectability, and I describe the bells on my website as: "Reminiscent of my 1960s childhood"... gracing "many a mantelpiece in respectable post-war homes. Bonnets tightly fastened, hands strategically placed - they exuded an air of being proper, decent and acceptable in their social standing."

Royal Tea follows in a similar vein, evocative of an era that embodied the belief that the best china really should be reserved for the vicar's home visits. To stray from such codes of behaviour would almost have been a sin.

So that's the theory behind my work now I'm asked about it! The truth is however, that it's often a far more instinctive process for me. I'm not always conscious of what exactly is going on when I'm at the initial stages of grouping together any given collection of objects and there are times when the aesthetic value of it would appear to be all that concerns me - art for art's sake? I'm just as likely to gather and present a group of objects on the basis that they blend well together as I am to let a sole object stand alone. There are times, often quite late into the process of making, when a meaning will come into whatever it is I've created. Even the most mundane-looking object can evoke powerful memories and reactions and an object through being very ordinary, quirky perhaps or even just plain weird, left open to the audience's personal response, can become utterly iconic.

Kate Murdoch is an artist living in London.
To view more of her work visit her website http://www.katemurdochartist.com
Read Kate Murdoch's blog Keeping it Together »

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First published: a-n.co.uk February 2012