http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 Keeping It Going Sun, 26 May 2013 00:58:03 +0000 a-n rss generator a-n The Artists Information Company and contributors edit@a-n.co.uk technical@a-n.co.uk http://www.a-n.co.uk/img/logo.gif http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372   I keep thinking about The Lemonheads song 'Into Your Arms' in relation to blog writing. Not that I consciously turned to my blog when I was 'alone' but retrospectively I realise it was a place I turned to as a kind of sanctuary, a place to focus my mind and firm up my own personal position on being an artist whenever things felt shaky. Writing the last blog 'Keeping It Together' proved to be a positive distraction for me at the time I wrote it, helping to allay my tendency to over-think and analyse things during what was an emotionally turbulent time. I used the energy I'm prone to waste on fretting and over-worrying to concentrate on what really mattered -  essentially, keeping it together. While on the surface, writing it was about recording my feelings in relation to the loss of a studio to the finding of another, the blog actually provided me with so much more. The physical act of writing took up a lot of my time; I chose to take that time and allocated myself the hours and space in an otherwise hectic family life to be able to write it. It helped organise my thoughts and had a positive impact on helping me in an ongoing struggle to find a balance between home and studio life. It also helped me to connect with artist/bloggers on the same wave-length, socially and politically and to continue to stay visible within an art community at large - not just in London. But, despite continuing to follow other artist's blogs on Artists Talking, I haven't connected half as much as I did when I was writing my own and consequently felt more a part of a supportive, interactive community. I've missed the camaraderie of it all; I was frequently in good company and felt less alone, feeling a real sense of solidarity at times between myself and some of the artists I was in contact with. I came to really value a place where a mutual exchange of supportive, constructive advice and debate could take place. And, as other people commented on 'Keeping It Together' and I realised that it was being read and that crucially for me, some people were able to relate to what I was saying, the blog became a place I wanted to keep going back to - ' into its arms.' I've been in the new studio space for just over four months now and feel quite settled. But there's a sense of loss with regards to the blog and I realise how much I've been missing it. I miss the psychological space it offered me - it was always 'there' as a support structure at the back of my mind, rather like the consultation room between therapy sessions - a safe haven, a place I knew 'I could go.' And so it feels like the right time to start another, one with no particular purpose or agenda in place - just simply the creation of a new space for myself in which to just 'be.' Somewhere I can dip in and out of, if and when the mood takes me – the material I work with in itself requires it, I think. As I've said before, there's a lot of history tied up in the boxes that are stored in my studio; quite a bit of my past is wrapped up in them and in order not to feel swamped by the associative memories of the stuff inside, being outward looking feels equally as important to me right now as quiet, introspective thinking. I'd only just started the process of unpacking when I was forced to move studios. Now I'm settled once again and I'm curious - both about what I'm going to rediscover in those long-term stored boxes and how I might feel about what I do find. Curious, too about whether or not I'll be able to sustain writing this at the same time as being creative in the studio? Can the two go hand in hand I wonder? Time will tell... Meantime, to a new blog - Keeping It Going.... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 Timing is everything; I'd just been wondering about how much of this week's activities I wanted to share on this blog when I came across one of Eleanor McArdle's posts on 'I've Been Told To Write a Blog.' www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2273788 A conversation has started between Eleanor and another artist/blogger, Franny Swann about how much we 'ought' to share about ourselves, as artists - in public. Eleanor raises an important question: by uploading our 'every thought'  she asks, are we 'diluting the artistic narrative?'  It's an interesting debate. I've always been conscious of not wanting to write for the sake of it and the old adage 'If You Don't Have Anything Worth Saying, Don't Say Anything At All' springs to mind; on the other hand, we're all at liberty not to engage with the blogs and just like with twitter, have a choice of whether to follow or not. I'm a great believer in sharing the truth as a rule but this past week has involved a certain matter that I've been feeling reticent about revealing. Something's prevented me from hitting the publish button on this recent post, one of the reasons being that what I have to share is a little unsavoury.... … because it's primarily about vermin - rats, to be precise; rats who have recently infiltrated and wrecked some of my art materials I've had stored in the garden shed. I've shared my dilemma with some other artists I know and the shudders, the looks of disgust on their faces says it all, really – I don't blame them! Because rats are vermin = dirt = unhealthy =sewers = fear. I could go on. I've been keen to emphasise my use of rubber gloves, the disinfectant, the scrubbing clean sessions - everything in fact that might convince people that I've taken this rat elimination business very seriously; that I'm aware of how abhorrent these creatures can be and the diseases they're capable of transmitting. But I still feel slightly unclean, not to mention a little paranoid that people might think that I live in filthy conditions at home - it's the lot of many collectors, the fantasy others have about us that we all live a Collyer Brother kind of existence – eccentric and more's to the point, in filth and squalor. It's just not true! And of course there are always certain issues that people just don't want to know about. It's not for nothing that the definition of rats and vermin include the words 'pest' and 'nuisance.' So, what's to do? Gloss over last week's activities and pretend they didn't happen? Just present the 'prettied up' version of life as an artist and leave aside the real version of what for me, this past week, has been very grim indeed? To return to Eleanor's question: 'How much of ourselves should we, as artists, expose to the public?' And, as Franny asks: Do we feel inclined/pressured into editing 'all the difficult and hard bits out?'  I don't have any hard and fast answers. I just know that I'd like to portray as honest a picture as I can of my day to day practice as an artist. But we're hampered by constraints as Franny points out and it's not always easy (or sometimes even possible) to tell the truth. Whether or not sharing too much information will be detrimental remains to be seen – for me, personally though, it's as if somehow, writing from the heart will see me through. I had the choice of course, of not sharing anything at all about the recent rat invasion - but the materials the rats destroyed are my work - and that's pertinent to my practice. Pertinent, too is the fact that the word 'rat' is an anagram of 'art.' This week I had to face up to a very sad truth - the rat(s) had eaten a part of my art.        ... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 The last post on here was all about vermin and I concluded with writing about the irony of 'rat' being an anagram of 'art' - the rat ate my art! I've just had confirmation through of the dates to take part in Coastal Currents, a contemporary arts festival in Hastings, East Sussex this coming September. It was a welcome piece of news following the whole sorry rat saga and there's irony too, in the fact that the work that's been selected happens to be my 10x10 Project. Because 10 x10 was inspired by a rat! - true! A pack rat, in fact - a small North American mammal which has a habit of taking things but leaving something in its place. 10x10 was originally launched in 2008 for the Deptford X arts festival and was created in response to a call for art around the theme of trade and currency. I gave up 100 objects that all had some meaning for me, were precious to me in one way or another and invited the public to respond to them as part of the 10x10 exchange project. What is an object worth to you I asked? How much do you want it and what are you prepared to give in return? More can be read about 10x10 on my website here:http://www.katemurdochartist.com/ten_by_ten.html I'm really happy to be given the chance to resurrect 10x10; it's turned out to be a fascinating project and taking it to Hastings will be the fifth time it's been displayed for the public to interact with. When I first talked about the idea I had for the project, a friend's response was that it would be a 'comment on humanity.' It's certainly been that; humanity's come out of it pretty well so far, too - very much as I thought it would - and I'm already intrigued to see how the people of Hastings will respond. Rather better than the common London sewer rat, I suspect who showed no hint of kindness or benevolence - taking away some of my art materials but leaving only droppings and urine in its place. But onto more positive things ... if you happen to be in the Hastings area on Saturday, September 22nd then do please come along and see and take part in 10x10 for yourself. You can visit the new Jerwood gallery at the same time, have fish & chips by the sea and celebrate some late summer sun.... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 I usually have a clear vision of what I want to say and the direction in which my thoughts will take me when I sit down to write these posts - this week is different. It's been a week of extreme emotions and there's been a significant shift in my focus. If writing this blog helps me in some way get back on course, then the answer to whether or not blogging helps or hinders my practice is, in this situation at least, obvious. Experience has taught me that in order to get back on track with any kind of creativity, I need to get back to paying attention to what I'm doing and get myself grounded again; back to being focussed. And so, honouring my commitment to writing this blog is a first step in trying to do that; this blog after all, is about keeping it going. That said, it's clearly not always easy to stay on course, especially when there's been some sort of disturbance or disruption as there has been for me this past week, one which is too hard to talk about openly. My mind's been elsewhere for a lot of the time and the flow of things has been interrupted. I've hesitated many times about posting here this week, wrestling with the question: what do I feel comfortable with being made public versus what do I prefer to keep to myself? Do I indeed, need to say anything at all? It's that old familiar dilemma. On the basis that this blog acts as a place to record both the highs and lows of my artistic practice, however, it would feel strange to simply ignore the fact that in the days since last posting on here, something bad happened; something that knocked me completely sideways - I'm still reeling slightly from the impact. I don't want to go into the details, but suffice it to say that, in the course of doing someone a favour, some accidental damage occurred, for which I felt at least partly responsible. The person involved has been incredibly kind and forgiving – I however haven't found it quite so easy to forgive myself! Over the years of following other artist/bloggers on this site, I've read many of them discussing how difficult writing about the real truth can be. What's said is said in a wide-reaching public domain and fear of perhaps offending or betraying the trust of college tutors, employers, colleagues or even other studio group members is an expressed concern. There's a tendency towards skirting around certain issues and the whole truth's never quite revealed; deemed too risky and potentially detrimental to an artist's professional practice. My focus is now on getting back on track and concentrating my thoughts on the positive things that have arisen out of this particular incident. As things have turned out, my inherent faith in humanity has yet again survived intact in spite of the most difficult of circumstances. I believe that most people are essentially decent and good and that such people tend to gravitate towards each other and act in each other's best ethical interest. I'm delighted to see the things I fundamentally believe in playing themselves out so positively and if I am to continue to promote my work as being primarily about the wonders of humanity, then it only feels right to write about it here. Humanity yet again has proved itself to me to be a wonderful force for good. Back to that Lemonhead's song, then – I know a place I can go when I'm alone. Into your arms, into your arms. I can go. I've found my place amongst some artists who are decent, sincere and have great integrity; are sensitive, generous and kind as well as fiercely protective and supportive. It's a wonderful environment in which to thrive creatively and despite the disaster that occurred this past week resulting in me feeling utterly crushed, I know that the hub I've become a part of is a place that's conducive to surviving bad things happening. I feel nurtured and supported by my peers and I feel very lucky; I'm in good hands - especially for the future of Keeping It Going, in what feels like all senses of the word.... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 Writing an honest account of what happened last week was cathartic - 'better out than in' as my Nana always used to say. She was right of course - sharing the angst felt liberating and brought in some unexpected but welcome sympathetic support. I've successfully got myself back on track this week and have been more effective in applying myself to my work. The impact our emotions can have on our creative life is obvious and goes without saying probably but I do think it gets a bit lost sometimes. We soldier on regardless - struggling and wrestling our way through creative deserts, not making the connection between how an unsettled emotional life can affect everything around us - and not least, our creative life. After the upset of last week, I'm slowly beginning to regain my composure and have started to feel more centred; that's after a lot of talking. And though not created on a conscious level, it's interesting I think that I've opted to present a piece of work for this weekend's Open Studios that has essentially put a real sense of fun back into my practice. Creating an entirely new piece of work, Going for Gold actually felt quite effortless, namely because it was easily executed and great fun to make. And simple but true - it really is a genuine pleasure to see rather dull looking objects transformed into objects of beauty and splendour with a spray of gold paint. I know! … the phrase 'Little things please little minds' is conjured up, another of my Nana's favourites - but it's exactly what I've needed this week, a bit of fun and some respite from the emotional intensity of last - I'm playing! Going for Gold is made up of discarded  objects. It's laid out on the studio floor, ready and in preparation for Open Studios during the last weekend of the Deptford X arts festival, this coming Friday and Saturday. In line with the Olympic Games currently taking place in London, the piece is all about celebrating; while the world's top athletes celebrate winning gold medals, I'm inviting an audience to celebrate their own personal achievements in other fields, to reward themselves or someone they know with a piece of gold from my assemblage of golden objects. Unlike with past projects like 10 x10 and The Stock Exchange, I'm not asking people to leave anything in place of what they take; I'm asking them simply to take something away. I hope that as the Olympics 2012 comes to an end over the weekend and the crowds slowly disperse, so too will the assemblage of objects - depending of course on how much of an audience the Open Studios attracts. It will be fascinating to see how an audience responds to being invited to take something for nothing as opposed to taking something in exchange for something else. The objects in this particular project aren't promoted as being precious to me - and they're golden, not gold. Their true, intrinsic value can only be found in the eye of the beholder; it's the emotional associations people make with the objects that determines their real value and worth. I'm intrigued to see how it pans out - will people feel less comfortable about taking an object without being asked to leave some sort of token in its place? Or will being allowed to take them for free make it more difficult? Will the objects perhaps seem less attractive through being free? I can but wait and see. For today, it feels good to be back on course. I have a holiday planned after this last burst of energy required for the Deptford X Open Studio weekend. I'm looking forward enormously after that to having the opportunity to take a break, to be able to stand back from my work and to look at my practice in terms of the bigger picture - how to continue to sustain it and essentially, keep it going.... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 Am I able to sustain my practice at the same time as maintaining a blog, I asked when I started writing 'Keeping It Going.' In the absence of a studio and access to this blog over the past two weeks, I've been giving this question some thought. My hope is that I can and that the two will coincide and complement each other, the writing in some way providing the groundwork and the impetus for periods of creativity. I thought that being away from the studio would make me want to get straight back there on my return - to get busy, creating the things I've been thinking about making while I was away. The space will still be bearing the marks of Going for Gold, created for the Deptford X Open Studios just before leaving for my holiday - there's clearing up to do when I do get myself back in there. And yet I'm drawn to prioritising writing this, not quite able to motivate myself to be in the studio just yet; there's work to be done in preparation for two upcoming exhibitions in the Autumn and I'm still in holiday mode - nothing like easing yourself back in gently, I suppose. The family holiday I've just returned from was good - everything I'd hoped for, in fact - hot, sunny temperatures, warm sea to swim in and time for being together as a family as well as plenty of time for relaxation and quiet, reflective time to myself. I'm conscious of trying never to take things for granted and I feel very lucky. I'm also conscious not just of how ready I was for this break, but also the feeling I had that, this time round, I'd somehow earned it. This marks a real change in my thinking because up until now I haven't believed deep down inside that I had any real entitlement to a holiday. It's all part of the ongoing reservation I've written about on here before - about how hard it's felt for me at points over the past few years to quantify and justify my existence as an artist; that inherent Protestant work ethic worming its way to the surface. It's all tied up with why holidays have proved problematic for me since giving up my 'proper' job and becoming an artist. I knew where I stood as a public sector worker in relation to annual leave entitlement and other terms and conditions of employment. Hours of duty, salary, sick leave entitlement and so on were all clearly defined - boundaries are useful. It's been a real learning curve working in a profession where employment rights have been considerably thinner on the ground, and of course, I was able to rely on guidance from the unions who have traditionally been strong and consistent in support of their public sector workers. Thank goodness, then for A-n - I've just literally, this minute renewed my subscription! But as I said, this year was different in that I felt I had earned and deserved a break. But what had changed to make me feel this? I've always worked hard. What was different about now? As is so often the case, it comes down to timing. Changes taking place for me on the work front were happening because I was receptive and ready to embrace them. I was at a crossroads when I made the decision to move into the ZeitgeistAP studio hub in February of this year. I made the decision to continue and move forward within the hub and on a personal level, made a further commitment to sustaining my life as a working artist. There's been a significant internal shift as a result and the way I feel about being an artist has altered. I feel like I've grown comfortably into the role and a lot of the anxiety I felt in the past has reduced as a result. It's taken time, but I feel liberated by it, this trust and confidence in a new found vocation - hence I believe, my strong desire for a break, for a chance to stand back from it all and celebrate how far I feel I've come - not just in the past six months, but in the past five years, too.... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 I still seem to be playing catch up after the holiday; there's a real sense that I'm clearing the decks in preparation for some hard work ahead. I feel in limbo with regards to 10 x 10 as there's nothing much I can do now until the installation on September 18th. I'm grateful to Coastal Currents staff in the meantime who've been brilliant at getting some great publicity for 10 x 10 in the local press: http://www.hastingsobserver.co.uk/news/local-news/... I'm hoping it will help to bring in an audience for the exchange on September 22nd. The importance of documenting my work is something I've learnt from others and I've got better at it, the more work I produce. It feels particularly important for events that involve audience participation - catching the moments, preserving snippets of conversation. Shelley Rae kindly captured a couple of 'Going for Gold' moments on film when she participated in the event. They're seconds long but nevertheless sum up the energy and enthusiasm of some of those who took part. I'll post Shelley's films on here just as soon as I've worked out how. I was also able to document the evening with a series of photographs. So, for the recent open studios, I invited people to celebrate the Olympics in their own way. Whether feeling curmudgeonly or filled with joy about the Games, moaning about the traffic queues or feeling overwhelmed by the wealth of athletic talent worldwide, I assumed that people (surely!) had something to celebrate - either for themselves or on behalf of someone else. As the world's top athletes continue to celebrate winning gold medals - the amazing David Weir just last night - I invited people to celebrate personal achievements in other fields, to reward themselves or someone they knew with a piece of gold from my 'Going for Gold' assemblage. Made up of golden objects, some in their original state but many of them sprayed gold, giving the most mundane objects a whole new lease of life, the objects were laid out to form the numbers 2012. As visitors to my studio gradually felt more comfortable and able to reward themselves with a golden object, so the original outline of 2012 started to disappear, echoing the impending end to the Olympic and Paralympic events. It was a simple idea - one that grew out of consciously wanting to inject some fun into whatever work I presented for the open studios. Those of you following this blog will be aware of how a negative experience had impacted on me in the previous weeks. People's positive response to 'Going for Gold' felt good, then - and retrospectively, was brilliant in helping me restore my faith in humanity. It was interesting to see people's response to being invited to take away something for nothing - a different experience from 10 x 10 where people are asked to leave something in place of whatever they take. Exchange adds another whole dimension – all the emotional implications associated with it come to the fore, raising the question around how much you actually want an object, what it's worth to you and ultimately, what you'd be prepared to give up to secure it? Did the objects I offered for free, immediately diminish in value on account of costing the receiver nothing? Did it make the objects more difficult to accept? There was a bit of hesitancy amongst some who said they didn't feel right about just taking things and there were suggestions amongst others about leaving money in place of what they'd taken. Others entered into the spirit of rewarding either themselves or someone else who they felt deserved it by simply taking away a golden object. There were a few pieces left over but the numbers 2012, just as I hoped they would be, were indecipherable at the end of the evening on Saturday, August 11th. I rushed home afterwards, just in time to witness one of the most incredible live televised evenings of athletic history ever - to see two of the world's top athletes Mo Farah and Usain Bolt achieve their considerably more challenging attempts at 'Going for Gold.' http://www.shelleyrae.net/... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372   Just before I went away, I wrote about how for the first time, I felt that I'd actually earned a holiday this year. I've been thinking about this, intrigued about where this new train of thought has come from. I've had other holidays - why did this one feel more 'deserved' than others? What was different? What has changed? It's now six months since I decided to become a part of the studio hub spearheaded by the founders of Zeitgeist Arts Projects (ZAP), Rosalind Davis and Annabel Tilley. Despite its initial, obvious attractions for me, it still felt like a brave decision at the time, not least because certain aspects of the actual physical space didn't appeal. I also had my doubts about whether as an artist, I was good enough to be a part of such a dynamic group. Doubt and anxiety - it all takes energy! Although I'm now comfortable with the decision I made, I'm conscious that the move has affected me in ways I wasn't quite expecting. The significance of immersing myself in an artist-led space only really struck me as I became a part of it. And the more I've been a part of it, the more I recognise its advantages. Hand in hand with writing this blog, my place in it has given me far more exposure than I'd ever anticipated, not just as an artist but also as a person. I feel like I've flourished within a very short space of time - it's as if being part of this new space has required me to do so; there's no place to hide - both literally, because of the lay out of the open plan space (specifically designed for our purposes), and metaphorically, through being associated with eight other artists whose work is vibrant and essentially, happening. We're open to each other, to debates and conversations about our work and support and encourage each other in the making of it; the energy that pervades the space is contagious. It's in stark contrast to the more closed off way in which I worked in the studio space I rented 15 months or so ago. My studio is now in an environment where creative work is constantly visible, both to immediate studio hub members and their visitors. And to other artists and curators who are encouraged through the doors by ZAP's ethos of sharing, supporting and nurturing - not to mention the frequent visitors to their extensive DIY Educate programme. My work in the studio is potentially then, being engaged with pretty much all of the time and nothing to my mind can be more conducive to keeping up the momentum for creating work than the knowledge that an ever increasing audience is interested in seeing it. I had been wanting people to see my art for some time. I also have considerably more conversations about my work these days and am gaining confidence in speaking about my practice through them. And despite being autonomous in terms of my own creative practice, I'm also part of a team; there's a wealth of experience and knowledge within that team - painters, photographers, film makers - and amongst them too, a real spirit of generosity and a genuine willingness to share and exchange their areas of expertise. It's DIY education and artistic learning and development at its best, challenging the established teaching systems of art colleges and their ever increasing tuition fees. There's strength in numbers and much to be gained through artists pulling together to make things happen; strength too, to be gained from connecting and collaborating with other artist-led groups and keeping alert to what's happening in a more global sense. I feel I'm in safer hands through being associated with artists who aren't afraid to acknowledge the truth and their position in a constantly changing political and cultural climate. As the recession continues to bite, government funding dries up and college tuition fees continue to rise, there's so much to be gained through the knowledge sharing initiatives that artist-led spaces are able to offer. It's been a fascinating journey so far. But survival is very much at the core of what we do these days - and that in itself takes energy. Small wonder then, that for this year's annual summer break, I was ready for a rest - and crucially, felt like I'd earned one. http://www.zeitgeistartsprojects.com/ www.katemurdochartist.com... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 This is what I wrote on my first blog Keeping It Together last year : … in 2012 I'd love to be able to strengthen the connections I've made with some of the artists I've met; not only are they people who have social consciences and share similar values to my own, but they are people who have encouraged me and complimented my work, instilling in me the confidence to keep on doing what I do.' So far, so good, then; I've nurtured those relationships and, without being particularly conscious of it when I sat down to write the last post on here, it turned out to be a kind of a celebration of that. I haven't been through a formal art education and started out as an artist feeling pretty much on my own. Forming close, meaningful and professional relationships is a relatively new thing for me and has contributed enormously to helping me feel much more rooted as an artist. I've written about it on here before - how at the heart of all of us there is an innate need for compassionate understanding; I'd forgotten and underestimated the strength and impact of being around a genuinely supportive peer group - I've experienced it in past work placements in social work and education - I'd forgotten the positive effect it can have, both professionally and personally. Being involved in crits with Q-Art and Engine ChatChat has also contributed positively to my overall personal and professional learning and development; they've increased my conversations with other artists and their informal nature means I haven't felt intimidated and have felt able to speak and contribute. Yes, there are moments when the theory of art is being discussed that things can go totally over my head, but to find myself in environments which feel all-inclusive and non-judgmental and have allowed me to feel comfortable enough to ask questions and to respond to other artists' queries, has felt really refreshing. And of course, blog writing on Artists Talking has furthered that even more. I also wrote this: … as well as nurturing and maintaining relationships, I also want to just get on with making some work - this blog has contained a significant lack of discussion about any actual work for some weeks now, I've noticed and I'd like to feel that I'll be able to address the balance of the two in the year ahead. The aim of this follow- on blog was to examine the impact that writing a blog might have on any kind of creative output. Will I be able to maintain a blog at the same time as being creative in the studio? Will it help or hinder my practise as an artist? I'm not able to give a definitive answer to that question quite yet; it's only been a short time since I restarted blog writing. What's clear already however is that even though it's taken up a considerable amount of my time, maintaining this blog has been an extremely useful exercise, not least because it's encouraged me to monitor more closely what work I actually am creating and getting on with. Getting on with the work's been the name of the game over the past couple of weeks as I resurrected my 10x10 project and took it to Hastings as part of the Coastal Currents festival. It was the fifth time I'd presented 10x10 and as always, the days leading up to the exchange were filled with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Would anyone come? Would any exchanges be made? Would humanity come out of this one well - as indeed it had in every other place it'd been taken? In the event, Hastings did itself proud. Thanks to Coastal Current's brilliant publicity, over 100 people came along and over 40 exchanges were made in the three hour exchange period. I couldn't have wished for more in terms of the sensitive way in which people responded; some amazingly thoughtful exchanges were made. There's a lot to digest and summing it all up will prove difficult in terms of doing it justice. How do you sum up those small moments of wonder and magic when people share their stories? That's the next task in hand, even though I'm also going to be turning my hand to more creating for an impending exhibition in November. More soon … http://www.katemurdochartist.com/ten_by_ten.html http://www.q-artlondon.com/ http://enginechatchat.tumblr.com/... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 The days move quickly. It's now two weeks since the 10x10 exchange day took place in Hastings. Objects are very much at the forefront of my mind and I seem to have developed a sharpened awareness of the things around me. Accepting a new intake of objects for the 10x10 cabinet has sparked off memories associated with the things I already own and I've been remembering a lot of the stuff I have in storage. I was away from home for five nights, too during the time 10x10 was a part of Coastal Currents in Hastings. It doesn't sound like a great stretch of time in the grand scheme of things but rather like my studio, I live very closely and intimately with my surroundings. I miss my home environment very much when I'm away, not purely because it's the place where my loved ones are, but because both aesthetically and emotionally, so much of me is invested in it. It's the place I love to be, where I feel safe and secure, a place where I can truly be myself. A whole new dimension has been added to 10x10, aesthetically and in terms of the stories associated with a lot of the things left behind. The objects people bring to it as well as the items they choose to take in exchange are a continual source of fascination to me. I'm interested in what it is about certain objects that make them appeal to certain people and equally curious about the items they bring. If every object tells a story, then 10x10 has become richer in terms of the narratives contained within it. I wonder sometimes about where the objects which have been taken might have ended up. How do they look in their new environment? Are they on display somewhere or shoved in a cupboard never to see the light of day again? Do people hold onto the object they take away with them or is it discarded? There are now only three of the original objects from the initial one hundred remaining in the cabinet, two of them, ceramic pomanders (do people know what these are?) and a miniature teapot, part of a child's china tea set. My 'ownership' of the contents of 10x10 has altered considerably since its launch in September 2008. I've become the guardian of other peoples' objects, they're no longer my own and though I no longer feel any where near the kind of personal attachment to them I had with my own,  they are still precious. Wrapped up with other people's histories, I feel a kind of responsibility for them and I'm keen to safeguard and protect them. This reminds me of the communication I had with the director of the Museum of Broken Relationships recently. Due to an administrative oversight, I hadn't received confirmation that a book I'd submitted in the summer was in the Museum's safe hands. I was bothered by this; despite wanting rid of the book and submitting it for cathartic reasons, it was nevertheless still a sentimental item and I wanted to feel it was being looked after with at least some degree of respect. I got an almost immediate response to 'rest assured' that my book was indeed, very much in their safe hands. I was comforted by this and it's been a timely reminder that some of the people participating in 10x10 in Hastings might be letting go of so much more than the actual physical object they submit. Certainly, people generally seem to want to know what will happen to their objects when they leave them and are pleased to know that I'll be holding onto them until the next exchange takes place. Many told me their story attached to their object on the exchange day in Hastings, some wrote in the ledger book provided, while some simply took part in silence. This evening I'm going to be speaking with someone who's keen to tell me the full story around the beautiful 1930s vintage perfume bottle she left in the 10x10 cabinet; I sensed when she left it that there was a lot of emotion attached; I'm intrigued and excited to be able to hear her story.... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 There wasn't enough space in my last post to include the titles of two books that people have recently recommended - they're both well worth a read, especially if like me, you're interested in the emotional attachments we make to the things that surround us in our everyday lives. I've been reading specifically around this theme, partly in response to resurrecting 10x10 over the past couple of weeks but also in preparation for responding to questions currently being sent through to me by artist/curator, Jane Boyer. Jane is interviewing all artists included in her 'This Me of Mine' exhibition to be launched in March 2013. 'Evocative Objects: The Things we Think With' is a book which was recommended to me some time back - here, on Artists Talking by artist/blogger Elena Thomas. On the surface it's a book made up of people's personal accounts of the attachments they make to the various everyday objects featuring in their lives. But the book digs deeper than that and editor, Sherry Turkle teams up the autobiographical essays with comments from philosophers, psychoanalysts and other professionals with great insight. It's an informative book and I've really enjoyed reading it; it's written in plain English - accessible and easy to read and understand. Another book that's really drawn me in came from another recommendation, this time by Graham Crowley - 'Important Artifacts and Personal Property from the Collection of Leonore Doolan and Harold Morris, including Books, Street Fashion and Jewelry.' The title slightly unnerved me - would this be another of those art books I was destined to not 'get' - the language being too complex to understand. In fact it's turned out to be one of the most accessible books on art I've ever come across (well, it is primarily photos!) and at less than £3, secondhand on e-bay, it feels like a really good investment. Created by Canadian artist Leanne Shapton, it takes the form of an auctioneer's catalogue and offers us amazing insight into the story of a failed romantic relationship - all through short snippets of text and photographs of invented memorabilia and relics belonging to an equally fictional couple. It's an astounding book, demonstrating brilliantly how the objects we surround ourselves with can say so much about us - our inner emotional world, our social and political standing in society and the external image we present to others. Shapton gets beyond just the love and sex in her portrayal of her fictional couple's four year relationship and 'Important Artifacts ..' becomes a commentary on class, gender, money and branding amongst other things. The theme of objects and the emotional value we attach to them continues to be very present, then; there's so much to think about in relation to it at the moment in terms of my work. The story behind the perfume bottle is ready, waiting to be relayed, my responses to Jane's questions have to be thought about and returned to her and I'm continuing to dig deep into the recesses of those storage boxes in the studio in search of further memorabilia to complete the work I'm submitting for Harry Pye's exhibition, 'I Remember' in November. It feels like a busy time, though having caught up again with Wendy William's and Julie Dodd's blogs over the weekend, it's all relative! The pressure nevertheless is on to get some artwork made. And I can't help but wonder - does writing about it all here, help or hinder my practice? I haven't even started writing up the vintage perfume bottle story yet ... http://thismeofmine.wordpress.com/ http://therebelmagazine.blogspot.co.uk/2012/08/i-r... http://www.elenathomas.co.uk/ http://juliekdodd.moonfruit.com/ www.wendycwilliams.co.uk ... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 There's been a lot of activity here on Artists Talking – so many interesting conversations going on and so many questions being raised. One thing I've been thinking about in particular recently is the issue of documentation. When I write about my work, why am I doing it? What's the point of it? Who am I documenting it for? How much context should I provide for the viewer; how much should I let the work stand alone? With much of my work, I don't feel a need to document it. I like to think that it speaks for itself. But for some pieces, the process of recording it is very much a part of the work. This is especially true of 10x10 and I've come to realise that it's the interaction and the narrative behind the exchanges  that makes the work what it is. Despite the great turn out and the many interesting stories that people brought to 10x10 in Hastings, I had found myself feeling a bit reticent about writing it up for my website in the usual way. I started to worry that there are only so many times that you can write about people's generosity, the thoughtful and considered exchanges and so on. At one point I thought about simply compiling a list of all the exchanges made and leaving it at that. When it came to compiling the list, however and I thought about all the stories associated with each object, it became clear to me that it wasn't enough. To exclude the narrative associated with each of the objects would surely be missing the point of 10x10. To simply state that a hairbrush was swapped for a plate for example, tells you very little. But when you know that the plate had initially been received as a gift from an Iranian asylum seeker and that the hairbrush belonged to the estranged grandfather of a woman who brought it along as an act of penance for not having made her peace with him before he died, the exchange starts to take on a whole new significance. To my mind, it's the stories behind the objects which make 10x10 infinitely more interesting. And to keep those to myself without documenting it would be to ignore the very essence of the piece. It would also ignore the amazing generosity of the people I rely upon to make 10x10 happen – without audience participation, after all, 10x10 would simply not exist. The 10x10 cabinet of objects has now been placed in five different venues and each time I've had no idea how many people would turn up to take part. I've approached each event with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. So far, I'm delighted to say, I haven't been let down. For all those reasons, I've decided to continue documenting 10x10 and sharing the stories that help to make it what it is. It feels good to be more clear about why I'm doing it.... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 Once again I've found myself appreciating being part of a community via Artists Talking. Being partially deaf, it's infinitely easier for me to communicate in writing. Listening requires a lot of concentration, I often miss quite a bit of any given conversation and I get very tired. There are a whole host of other complications that come with not hearing properly, too complex to go into here but when life around me starts feeling a bit frenetic and a little too fast paced, immersing myself in what other artists are up to feels like a good place to be. I received an email from someone I know recently who described the art world as one 'where it seems like everyone is talking at once and no body is listening.' That really struck a chord with me. It's true of many professions, I think but maybe the sense of urgency around being seen and heard has become more pronounced in an ever increasing climate of cutbacks and fewer art opportunities. Reading and getting absorbed in other artists' blogs means that I'm able to process and respond to what's being said at a pace and in a way I feel more comfortable with – ie. in a slower and more considered way. I gain a lot from it. Another thing that resonated with me this week was something that Stuart Mayes posted on his blog 'Project Me.' My 'work' as an artist is hard to define (not what I produce, I mean all the things that I do that sustain my practice), many of these things are 'soft' and informal and sometimes I get something back (rarely money!) but it is all work. And I am very glad to be able to think of myself as a working artist! The work is hard to define - having come from a working background where job descriptions clearly outlined the role and responsibilities you had as an employee, I'm acutely aware of how open-ended our work as artists can be and how the hidden aspects of what we do can be largely ignored - the 'soft and informal things' as Stuart calls them. On a more personal level, a recent conversation with my Mum highlighted precisely how hard it is for me to define what I actually do - what constitutes 'work' in the good old-fashioned sense of the word. My Mum recounted a conversation she'd had in which she'd been talking about her two daughters - one who 'worked very hard as a social worker' and the other who 'didn't work.' I'm the latter one - the one who doesn't work, while my sister is a social worker - has a 'proper' job as my Mum called it. My Mum's comments came after I'd just completed a particularly intense week of work - preparing for a show, delivering work for another and attending that gallery's Sunday afternoon launch, joining in on my first ever East London art tour, visiting exhibitions before they close, supporting another artist and answering questions for three different interviews, all of which required some pretty in depth thinking. So I was really taken by surprise to be described as a person who didn't work. I'm in no way suggesting that my work is harder than my sister's; I'm acutely aware of the imbalance of responsibility between what she does and what I do. There are life and death issues in her work and I know from my own past work experience in social care that the workloads can be vast and feel unmanageable at times; chronic stress seems to go with the territory. But whatever it is that I do (and don't) as an artist, I feel 100% committed to my art practice and dedicate as much time as I can to it. And essentially, I think of myself as someone who works. I've been thinking a lot about what my Mum said and why she might have said it - but that's another whole post I think.... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 I've continued to think about the comment my Mum made about me 'not working.' Some things people say just get inside you and won't go away - you need time to mull them over and process them. And some things that are said just make you want to stop, to think and reflect on what's going on all around you. I'm sure my decision to apply the brakes this past week and allocate myself some time off from the studio is related. Consequently, I've had the space and time to notice that today marks the first year of me writing a blog, here on Artists Talking. Not of any real significance to anyone but myself, I know, but I'm beginning to realise how important documenting the various aspects of my work is – and this blog is as good a place as any for doing just that. It's a good reference point for recording what works and what doesn't and a sound indicator of whether or not (and how) creative practice of any sort is developing. Certain anniversaries feel important to acknowledge and never more so than when there's cause for celebration. Starting a blog on Artists Talking felt like a big deal for me, being naturally quite shy and a fairly private person. But I was hugely inspired by listening to the experiences of established Artists Talking bloggers who Andrew Bryant (on-line editor) gathered together last summer to speak about the advantages of maintaining a blog. Artists Jane Boyer, Aliceson Carter, Rosalind Davis, Alex Pearl, Emily Speed and Rob Turner presented an extremely positive picture and through listening to them, I felt motivated and able to make an informed decision. I published my first ever blog post a few weeks later. Once I started the process and realised that other artists/bloggers were reading and connecting, the writing came naturally and the on-line conversation exchanges encouraged me to keep going. There is a diverse community of artists using the blogs in a diverse number of ways on Artists Talking. It means there's always something fresh and exciting being written about and I've really enjoyed (and still am enjoying) being a part of a stimulating, creative community. I had no real idea how it would turn out when I first took the decision to blog but I've made no secret of the many things I've gained from doing so ever since. And I've started to think about the writing itself more as an integral part of my practice rather than a separate entity; my practice it seems can be enhanced through it, in a more in-depth, positive and constructive way than I could ever have imagined; the benefits can be huge. Something I wrote in the conclusion to ending my first blog 'Keeping It Together' sums up perfectly for me what the past year's blog writing has been about: … there's a vulnerability within all of us, a deep desire to be accepted - to be heard, to feel needed and to feel included. Encouragement and empathetic understanding from like-minded artists is invaluable; it's what all of us at some point or other crave and need in order to flourish as creative people. And so, as I've gravitated towards artists who - whether through their website, their blog, their tweets or simply through their presence - have been happy to share a little of themselves, my contacts and support systems have grown. These artists have also invariably been generous, not just in sharing their own work but also in contributing their thoughts and offering support to others.' Being an artist is not always easy but the mutual exchange of ideas and sentiments and the ongoing mutual support shared on Artists Talking over the past year has introduced me to a whole new way of communicating. And rather like the studio, the blog acts as a psychological space, a place to bear in mind, a space to contain the whole host of feelings associated with being creative - even when you're not physically engaged in it. And so, on November 20th 2012, I'm acknowledging a year's anniversary of blog writing. My thoughts keep flitting back to what my Mum said...  but more of that another time, I'm sure.... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 Being told by my own Mother how she had described me to someone as the daughter who 'doesn't work' stirred up some strong feelings in me. I was quite gobsmacked by what she said. On reflection, I think it got to me for two reasons - firstly, because I felt it to be hugely unjust and secondly, because it undoubtedly fed into my own guilt and insecurities about whether or not the work I do as an artist constitutes work - real 'proper' work, I mean. I've thought about my Mum's comment a lot since she made it and I've come to see it in context. My Mum is a woman in her eighties, after all; the eldest daughter of four male siblings, who simply by being born female was the one expected to do the domestic chores while they did none; someone who lived through an era when being busily immersed in domestic chores was the expectation of a 'good' woman. So why would she think that a day of being in an artist's studio could ever equate with the kind of working day she herself had witnessed and experienced? My Mum grew up amongst a family of farm and building labourers and then went onto marry my Dad, moving with him to his native mining village in Ayrshire, Scotland. It was there that she witnessed real, hard graft amidst the miners working in dangerous conditions. That in her mind (and if I'm honest, in my mind too!) is what constitutes a hard day's work. And when my siblings and I were older, she herself worked full time, caring for the elderly - again, a hands-on job involving a degree of physical labour. So why would I expect her to have any idea about the amount of time I invest in being a practising artist? To consider the time I spend in the studio alone as legitimate work - in any shape or form? I haven't exactly been arriving at her house sweating from hard labour! The fact that I don't have a regular income, I'm sure affects the way my Mum thinks about what I do. It affects me, too. I've moved from being financially independent for a number of years to earning occasional bits of money from selling the odd piece of work and being paid for a few talks I've given. I don't however, earn anything near what you would describe as a regular salary. And yet, in my head, I feel very much like an employed person and, albeit for very little remuneration, I consider myself to be someone who works. I'm fortunate enough to live with and share the income of my partner, a freelance writer, someone who very much understands the nature of the work I do. Applying myself to a creative practice has been all about starting a new chapter in my life and in my moments of self doubt (and they're frequent!) he's fond of telling me: 'but you ARE earning - just not yet!' He's basing that on what his own experience has been - starting out in freelance writing, earning infrequently at the start but gradually building up a solid body of work and a sound reputation, enabling him eventually to make a good enough living from his writing. My working life as an artist won't necessarily turn out the same way, but while there's hope and an opportunity to try it… When we started a family together, we made a joint decision that his career would be prioritised and that I would be the primary child-carer while our twin sons were growing up. As our sons have grown older and increasingly independent, so I've been able to spend more time applying myself to being an artist. Though my partner's always been happy with this arrangement, I still find myself, despite all the reassurances, often feeling guilty about not earning a wage - it's what I've always done, so why not now? And this is why of course my Mum's words got under my skin and tapped into the guilt and self-questioning I sometimes experience about no longer being in 'proper' employment, with all the attached security it can bring.... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 If you've been following this blog, you might like to read this newly published interview in which I talk in more depth to artist Jane Boyer about many of the issues surrounding my work. Jane is curator of the forthcoming exhibition 'This Me Of Mine' and a fellow Artists Talking blogger. http://thismeofmine.wordpress.com/2012/12/12/what-...... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 Keeping. It. Going. With regards to the title of this blog, 'Keeping It Going' hasn't felt easy this past month or so. Keeping anything much at all going has proved difficult, in fact and I did very little throughout the month of December in terms of posting on this blog or producing any new work. It's felt like a rather barren time creatively and emotionally, I've been feeling a bit frazzled - the two often go hand in hand, I've realised. An unexpected funeral to attend, health affected by the horrendous flu bug that's been doing the rounds, alongside the general mayhem around the Christmas period, it's been very much a case of best laid plans going 'aft agley' as I quoted in my original blog 'Keeping It Together.' It's a time for reflection all round, resolutions to be made (and broken!) and traditionally, the time of year to throw out the old and bring in the new. I'm in Edinburgh again for Hogmanay, celebrating all that I love about this beautiful city, allowing myself lots of rest in between. Time for recovery and relaxation has meant having the chance to take stock of the past year and I've been catching up with what I wrote this time last year in my 'Keeping It Together' blog. This extract from last year's New Year blog post feels equally as relevant to me for the start of 2013. I've also made a decision to start the year of 2012 as 'free' as I possibly can; positive, hopeful and in honour of my dear Dad, seeing and expecting only the best in people. 'Free' is a word my late Father used to describe those with open, easygoing and friendly dispositions - principled, positive, non-judgmental people with an interest in others. It's a term I've always loved and being in Scotland again, amongst its lovely, warm people has reminded me exactly what it means. The premise of this blog is to see if I'm able to maintain the writing of it at the same time as continuing to be active and creative in the studio. As with so much in life, it's a question of finding the right balance. While I accept more readily now that the blog writing is an integral part of my creative output, I'm keen not to let the writing about the work take over the actual getting down to making it. I sometimes feel like there's a danger of that happening. I still have moments of feeling a real need to get to the heart of what's in the boxes stored in my studio. That urgent feeling of course has as much to do with wanting to deal with and put to rest some of the associative emotions, as well as the actual physical raw materials - the 'stuff.' The simple truth though is, that however 'contained' the feelings might appear in the sealed up boxes, they stay around - they just don't go away; it's basic psychology. Timing in dealing with it all is everything, both in its physical and emotional sense. As I've said before, a lot of emotions are tied up in the boxes in which my collections are currently stored and a certain amount of emotional robustness is required to process them and incorporate them into my work. And time in its physical sense is of course required to ensure the boxes don't remain forever sealed and that they are opened up. It means making the time to make it happen - the sifting and the sorting, what goes and what stays - the de-cluttering to a large extent of a lifetime of accumulated possessions.   Out with the old and in with the new is highly pertinent to my creative work and what I do as an artist. Sadly, it seems, people feature in this clearing out process, too. I'm sentimental at heart but the older I get, the less tolerant I am of insincerity. I've grown tired of people paying lip-service to being generous and full of integrity while in reality, back-stabbing and acting in mean-spirited ways. My Dad left a sound legacy in being a principled, honourable person - it's something I aspire to, at the very least. And so, with these thoughts in mind, time to look forward to a brand New Year. You never know what's round the corner. 2013. What will it bring?... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 Twelfth night's been and gone, time for the decorations to be taken down and stored away for another year - a familiar activity for me, this packing up and storing away business. Just been catching up with other's blogs and was struck by Rodney Dee's writing on containment in his blog, 'Art as Therapy.' The quotes he uses from Wilfred Bion's psychoanalytical theory on containment truly resonate with me. I often mention the boxes in my studios as containers of emotions and one of my aims for this year is to make time to open them up and reacquaint myself with what's inside them. I'm conscious of what this might mean in terms of revisiting a lot of the feelings I've managed to keep under wraps for some time and on the basis of the 'this time last year' mentality that's currently around, I'm intrigued as to how 2013 might unfold. Curious, too about how I might choose to record the whole unravelling process of my lifetime collections now that I feel ready to take it on. Will I write about it - here, on Artists Talking? Photograph it? Film it, perhaps? Is the anticipation of what I might find in the boxes greater than what I actually will? Will I be over or under whelmed by what I find? How will I best present them? And - that ongoing dilemma of mine - what will I want to keep and what will I be prepared to let go? More than at any other point, packing away the Christmas things makes me acutely conscious of the passage of time - nostalgic for days gone by, thoughts about who is and is no longer here, in every sense of the word. Many memories are reflected in the various decorations - the passing of the years and the ageing process, things that however hard we might try, we simply can't deny. The 'Stop Here Santa' sign has already become redundant and the musical crib hardly wound up and played this Christmas - my sons have grown older, as indeed we all have. The rituals, the traditions - all useful in terms of helping us acknowledge where we are at any given points in our lives - what we've achieved and what we might like to achieve. Where am I, in relation to this blog, in terms of my creative work? An artist I respect and admire asked me recently about my work - how had 'it developed ' he asked. And 'How is it functioning now?' Adding: 'This is always an important question, I think. How a practice functions?' It's only recently that I've started to look at my work in this way - one of the many advantages of becoming a part of a wider and wonderfully diverse community of artists. There's nothing like ongoing conversations with others who are actively participating in what's going on in contemporary art to help you find your own place within it. Much of December proved to be a difficult month for me creatively. I'm still thinking around the whole question of the extent to which my state of mind affects my creative output. For now at least, I'm already feeling decidedly more optimistic. I have some opportunities to show my work already confirmed for 2013 - a new position for me to be in so early on in the year - and I'm starting 2013 feeling like I have a better understanding of how I actually do function as an artist. Maintaining this blog has helped tremendously in giving me an overall picture of that. If someone were to ask what my work's about, this blog would be one of the first places I'd direct them to, because if not about the actual process and production of the work itself, what I write does at least provide some insight, I think into the kind of artist I am. Someone recently described me as an 'emotional' artist - more about that next time ...... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 New year, new beginnings and a resolve to try and get to grips with the 'stuff' in my studio space - life stuff;  stuff that I now feel ready to start sorting - properly sorting - by which, of course I mean sorting through the emotional impact that reacquainting myself with some of it might have. I've resigned myself to having a routine in place to process it all - it's a huge task, both physically and emotionally and fellow Artists Talking artist/blogger Elena Thomas' recent advice for help in moving on from feeling rather 'stuck' art-wise was this: 'I've found that one foot in front of the other one at a time, and routine, seem to do the trick.' I know Elena's right, but I've hated and raged against routine for as long as I can remember, even though intellectually, I know it's often what's needed in order to get things done. It will be a year in February since I moved the bulk of my collections to the studio space I'm now in and I've oscillated between feeling quite exhilarated to utterly daunted by the thought of unpacking the boxes. I've had moments of sporadic, intense unpacking but the boxes' contents have invariably ended up being neatly packed away again each time I've started any kind of sorting. I don't seem to have been able to tolerate the mess and haven't felt able to leave the stuff 'all over the place' without feeling that it might impact on me and I might start feeling a bit all over the place myself. Maybe that's what's at the heart of it all, this past recent spell of inactivity  - a fear that I will be all over the place emotionally and unable consequently, to focus on what I really want to do, which is essentially to create art. I've felt rather trapped by the boxes recently - acutely conscious of their existence by their sheer bulk and the room they take up in the studio and yet feeling unable to get to grips with them in any shape or form - they've started to feel like a bit of a burden. Stuart Mayes left a comment on my blog this past week: 'Your most recent posts have made me wonder about how tricky it is to maintain the balance between the sensitivity we need to make the art we make and the resilience we need to make the art we make.' I agree - the balance is a tricky one. If you're opening yourself up emotionally for the sake of your art, then you're laying yourself wide open - and you're vulnerable. We return to that eternal question of how much to reveal versus how much to conceal; a degree of resilience is needed in order to survive any amount of self - revelation. I've said it so often here - but timing to me, is everything. Last summer felt exactly like the right time for me to donate a book to 'The Museum of Broken Relationships' when it visited London. When it came to it, it was an easy and straightforward gesture of letting go; I'd confronted, processed and moved on from the emotional attachment I'd made to the book and was happy and ready to see it go. And given that an integral part of my practice is based around the themes of value and worth, it feels like a particularly apt resting place for the book. And so - in terms of timing for now, I'm ready for this new challenge and conscious of being on the cusp of what feels like a momentous task. It feels a little daunting, particularly when I think about how I'll be working against the flow of what comes naturally to me through an instinctive and intuitive approach. But I've increasingly felt the need to take stock recently; I'm going to be taking a more scientific approach - logging, recording, documenting. Change can be creative and I'm starting the project with optimism and hope that I'll be able to put to one side my fears and anxieties around revealing too much about myself. Time to take Elena's advice and to take that first step.    ... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 So many times what's happening in my art work is reflected back in life. I've been thinking about value and worth again a lot recently and it's clear I'm not alone in this. In 2009 I wrote this about a participatory piece of work, Stock Exchange which I exhibited as part of the Deptford X arts festival: 'The year 2009 has been a year of uncertainty and in the current economic climate, nothing seems to be safe. People are struggling to cope with the possibility of losing everything – their work, their income, their relationships, their communities.' Four years on and nothing's changed it seems. This weekend I said my good byes to another local, independent shop and its owner. I'd already done this, a month or so ago on the premises of another brilliantly creative, independent shop in my local area. So here I was again, in yet another abandoned, empty shop, chatting to yet another emotionally bruised and battered casualty of the recession. There's nothing much to say except how sorry you are; sorry that yet another creatively led business you valued has gone, that yet another person is left feeling devastated about their business 'failing' - all that time, all those hours, all that money invested - all for what? As we spoke, people were loading vans with the few remaining items - bargains galore - the owner's voice was despondent as he gave things away for virtually nothing. On the one hand, I wanted to buy something - a way of showing my support, I think - and yet, knowing at the same time that I wouldn't have the heart to buy anything at such ridiculous prices - the exact same things I'd seen in the shop window at sensible, realistic prices just days before. The fifteen minutes or so I spent in the shop saying good bye summed up value and worth in a nutshell to me and as it turned out, I came away with something of greater value and worth than anything I could ever have paid money for - a small heart-shaped brooch which the owner handed to me with a quick 'here y'are, have this.' It's a reasonably common brooch, made for the British Variety Club - you see plenty of them around and I know I have some of them somewhere in my collections in the studio, bought at a car boot sale some time ago. When it comes to value and worth however, clearly this one is unique. The shop owner's action for me is a pertinent reminder that even in these difficult, cash-strapped times, kindness costs nothing.      ... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 After receiving the heart-shaped brooch gift last week, I've continued to think about the whole question of value and worth. I pass the shop I mentioned in my last post every time I go to the studio - shutters permanently down since last week, the cruel irony of the shop's demise reflected in its name above the former shop's entrance: 'All Our Yesterdays.' Yesterday coincidentally was another significant day - a day when, in the grand scheme of things, the whole issue of value and worth was put very much into perspective. An estimated 20,000 people turned out to protest against government proposals to make cuts to Lewisham Hospital's A&E and maternity departments in SE London - cuts based entirely on profit over people. You can't put a price on the strength of a community of people gathering together for a common cause like they did yesterday. I was proud to be a part of it; thanks to the tireless campaigning of the Save Lewisham Hospital Campaign, it was a truly inspiring day. Back to the studio, meanwhile … and as I move closer to starting the process of unpacking the boxes in my studio, I realise I'm soon going to be staring the whole issue of what things are worth right in the face, albeit in a very different context to the protests of yesterday. Some of the stuff hasn't been properly sorted for a number of years and I'm going to have to make some firm decisions. What, amongst this huge collection of things is worth keeping - and what isn't? There never appears to be any real rhyme or reason to what's considered to be something of 'worth' versus what isn't. The criteria for decision making is hard to define - it's based purely on a gut level instinct and comes from a deeply personal perspective. Just as the dolls I played with as a child were scrupulously examined for having the 'right' kind of face in order to be accepted into the fold and loved accordingly, so will each individual item be assessed to see if it passes the 'test.' I might end up throwing an awful lot of stuff away. Or, I may end up not able to bear parting with any of it - I just don't know. The practicalities of collecting need to be constantly monitored - with limited space, you simply can't keep everything. I've had to come to terms with that fact rather reluctantly over the years and sporadic de-cluttering sprees have been essential in order not to - literally - crowd myself out of spaces. Amongst the actual physical sorting, I'm aware that there will be some sadness to confront - deaths of dear, beloved members of the family, reminders of a broken heart (or two), sharp reminders of the rapid passing of time, the ageing process and so on. It probably goes some way to explaining the the current resistance to start the unpacking process. So. What has the passing of time done? Has it changed things? Will the contents be 'worth' more to me, I wonder – now - after all these years? Will any emotional energy still be invested in the items, assuming they were originally kept on the basis that they were of some personal value at the time I put them into storage. Will I be affected still by the associative memories of them and will this be reflected in their overall value and worth? Or will I be disappointed at the unearthing of a pile of valueless rubbish? It remains to be seen....  ... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 Last night I presented my work alongside three other artists for a group crit event organised by Q-Art. It was my first ever presentation under these circumstances and I came home feeling absolutely exhausted. I had a rough idea of what to expect in terms of how the evening would pan out, having attended three crits held by Q-Art over the past year. It's clearly a different ball game however, when you're presenting your own work - all that emotional energy and andrenaline – I wasn't prepared for feeling quite so tired afterwards. Maybe it's just me? I've been wondering today about the impact crits might have on other artists. Last night's presentation of my work certainly felt like a big deal for me, specifically I suppose as it was my first. Does it, through repetition, become easier to present your work - as well as easier to accept any constructive criticism? Do you ever get to a point when you become almost blasé about presenting your work? Does the critical scrutiny feel any easier over time? As a self-taught artist, I've never experienced presenting my work on a regular basis for formal critique. It's only in the past year, in fact, that I've become familiar with the word 'crit' and what it means, it being a term used primarily in art schools. And up until acquainting myself with Q-Art, my naïve perception of what a group crit might be was of a rather harsh, unforgiving place where art students, metaphorically speaking, could be ripped to shreds - a place in other words to be avoided! Was I then, through committing myself to present at Q-Art's 33rd cross college crit at Central St Martins, leaving myself open and vulnerable to being potentially torn to shreds in a terrifying, hostile environment? All very exaggerated, of course and nothing anywhere near like the reality of the past Q-Art crits I've been to, including last night's experience. But I've been wondering today about where my impression of art crits has come from, how I've come to pick up on so much negativity about them. Maybe it's because the ones that back-fire and go horribly wrong are the ones that get most spoken about - the most memorable, the ones that stay in people's mind and are always mentioned? In a short space of time, I've come to recognise and appreciate the value crits can have. Last night was my first public one but I've had two one-to-one crits in the past year, too. I feel my understanding of my work has benefited as various conversations and dialogue about it have opened up – and through them, I've come to know who my audience is. It's helped me put my work into some sort of context, too and helped shape its relevance in terms of social and political history, helping me feel more associated and involved with it. For me, last night felt like a sound example of a situation created to help and support artists to develop and move forward with their practise. Any criticism, suggestions and advice about the presented work was handled in a gentle, caring and sensitive way. In some ways, with my counselling experience, it almost reminded me of group therapy. There was a sense of kindness around and I was hugely comforted by the person who, immediately I finished presenting my work last night, congratulated me on my courage to do what I'd just done. That was a really nice gesture and a far cry from the scathing, callous criticism I'd only ever heard about crit participants being subjected to. It was the release of tension and anxiety I suspect that made me sleep well last night.... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 I've been reflecting on the stimulating conversations I had around the subject of value and worth and barter and exchange in the build up to Christmas. Firstly, with artist/blogger Jean McKewan for her 'Reciprocity' zine and then, for an interview with Jane Boyer, artist/blogger and curator of the impending 'This Me Of Mine' exhibition in which I have work. It's great to have had the opportunity to revisit these issues, particularly in relation to 10x10, reminding me of the project's continuing relevance - both in a wider, global sense as the recession continues to bite - and on a more personal level, as the narratives build and the stories attached to the exchanged items determine the project's real worth. I wrote about the subject of barter on my website when I first launched 10x10 in 2008: What happens when currency fails? According to the dictionary: 'In times of monetary crisis, barter usually replaces money as the method of exchange.' We haven't quite reached that point yet, but in the current economic climate, it might be as well to prepare ourselves. Five years on and by all accounts, it seems as if the already struggling economy is set to get worse - a triple dip recession could well be on the cards. There's a growing awareness of the impact that government cuts are having on people and the resulting increase in poverty. Certainly, it's a prominent topic of conversations amongst artists – here, on these blogs and in the art community at large. I'm also aware of more people talking about alternative monetary systems and ways of living - it's all largely about survival. On the basis of respecting the value I put on the two recent conversations with Jean and Jane respectively, here are links to them: http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/sing...  (scroll down to post #7 & 8 dated 7th November 2012: http://thismeofmine.wordpress.com/2012/12/12/what-... An additional interview between Jane Boyer and myself was published on Art-Pie in January 2013. http://www.blog.lalydesign.co.uk/category/intervie...   I've also 're-found' artist/blogger Alinah Azadeh through her most recent blog 'Burning the Books' over the past couple of months. http://www.alinahazadeh.com/Alinah_Azadeh/Home.html...   Alinah's previous blogs on Artists Talking were amongst some of the first I ever followed some five years or so ago. 'Burning the Books' is a truly fascinating blog and highly pertinent in terms of addressing issues such as debt and house repossession. Alinah herself describes her blog in her introduction as 'narrating the financial crisis at a human level.'  In terms of the gift aspect of her work, Alinah's resonates with a lot of what I spoke about in the above interviews, especially with Jean for the article in her 'Recipcrocity' blog. Such interactions and cross-referencing are great examples of the amazing community that can exist on this forum. In the past few days, there have already been some lovely exchanges of advice, support and encouragement in response to my write up about the crit, for instance. Despite huge diversity in the practice and personality of blogger/artists using Artists Talking, the comments and messages of support demonstrate a strong common bond, created through a shared experience, understanding and empathy. That in itself, is worth a lot and deserves to be valued. You can read more about 10x10 here: http://www.katemurdochartist.com/ten_by_ten.html and about Jean's 'Reciprocity' blog here: http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/sing... and 'This Me of Mine' curated by Jane Boyer here: http://thismeofmine.wordpress.com/  ... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 The crit at which I presented my work two weeks ago has continued to play on my mind. Perhaps the anxiety stirred up for me that night hasn't ever really gone away - all the feelings associated with making a public presentation - feelings of exposure, vulnerability - being not quite good enough, even. I keep coming back to thoughts about how useful the crit was - for me personally, in terms of helping me understand more about the piece of work I presented. I'm still processing all of that but I did come away with a feeling that on the whole, I'd found a safe space with sensitive and compassionate people - one that I'd be happy to return to. The past eighteen months or so have been a huge learning curve - the word 'crit' hadn't even entered my vocabulary up until very recently - and yet here I was, taking the plunge to present at one. I think retrospectively that I could have improved my preparation - but then, if I allow myself to really think about it, I'll probably feel that I could have improved just about every single aspect of the crit - the way I introduced myself, the way I spoke, the way I responded - and so on. I could go on but I've decided to put it down to experience and hold onto the lessons learned - it was my first ever group crit, after all. It was certainly useful to see how the other three presenters/artists introduced their work and how they responded to the critics' comments - and to listen generally to the conversations that were going on throughout the course of the evening. I've wondered about my fellow presenters since, naturally curious about how they felt at the end of their presentations. My fantasy certainly, was that they were self-assured and confident and concluded their allocated presentation slots feeling more certain and assured about the direction their work was going in. In reality, of course, I will probably never know whether this was the case or not. Attending the crit was also an indicator of how immersed I've become in learning about what being a practising artist is actually about - how to be an artist, critically engaged with one's work. It's clear that speaking out loud, publicly to other people about my work doesn't come easily to me - especially to a large audience of people and especially when the work's still in its early stages of development and can be so full of uncertainty. But that of course is exactly what the crit is for - to open up the work and to encourage conversation and debate around it; to open it up to other artists' objective insight in order to be better placed to gauge whether the work is moving in the direction you want it to - to be authentic, a sustainable piece, able to stand its ground and so on. Or not, as the case may be. My curiosity isn't likely to stop here and having worked in isolation for so long in the past, it's the recent conversations and information exchanges with other artists I realise, that I've grown to value.  They've become such an integral and important part of my practice and I hope they'll continue - with people I ultimately trust – here, on Artists Talking, in my new studio space, from my past and in the bigger, wider art community at large. And I'll continue to carry on these conversations in the future too, I'm sure - so long as I stay receptive and continue to look outwards; I have no doubt that both my practice and personal development will continue to benefit hugely from such interactions.            ... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 It's now over a month since I presented my work, 'The Fabric of Life' at the group peer crit organised by Q-Art at Central St Martin's. It was, as I've already mentioned here, the first one I'd ever presented and it's taken a bit of time to properly process the experience and to feel that I've wanted to write about it. Having allowed myself the space and time to think about some of the comments raised, things in just the past week seem to have fallen into place in terms of understanding what's been going on in my practice - and in particular, the blocks that have occurred in relation to 'The Fabric of Life.' I've been helped along by supportive feedback from fellow artist/bloggers Jean McEwan and Elena Thomas who, through relaying their own experiences, helped allay some of the anxieties and confusion I'd been experiencing post-crit. Their online comments helped 'normalise' what I was feeling and helped me move things forward - and specifically, enabled me to return here to write about it. One question in particular continued to play on my mind after the group crit had ended. It was raised in response to me talking about how difficult 'The Fabric of Life' was proving to complete, or indeed, move on from its present rather 'stuck' position. What was it, I'd asked, that after some two years of working on it, made this particular piece of work so difficult to finish and present? Someone asked if I'd thought about the possibility that the timing for making the work might not be right - that it was perhaps, being made too soon after my Nana's death. I registered what was said at the time and jotted it down in my notebook as a point to come back to. I've kept coming back to this comment and gradually, have taken on board the weight of it - crucially, because it's very likely, true . Obvious, in fact, now it's been pointed out - why hadn't I thought of that! Such interjection demonstrates perfectly for me the premise of the peer group crit working at its best. Having been wary about what I was entering into, it's a clear demonstration of the advantages to be gained from sharing creative ideas with artist peers rather than working in isolation. Through listening intently not just to what I said, but the way I said it, the group was able to take an overall, objective view; to read between the lines and reflect back to me the realities I wasn't conscious of. Denial is a powerful tool. The crit reminded me of one of the crucial themes underlying my practise - what to keep and what to throw away, what creative ideas to 'sit on' in order to allow them breathing space to develop and ferment - and which ones to let go of, albeit temporarily sometimes. I've been pushing 'The Fabric of Life' too hard, I realise in retrospect - have been far too eager to get it to the finishing post. It's stopped and stalled so many times over the past months, despite my plugging away at it - too emotionally raw still, to be able to 'go' anywhere. And it's not without significance i think that' The Fabric of Life' was what I happened to be working on the day we were given 24 hours notice to leave the premises at Cor Blimey Arts studios - some 16 months ago now, but it still hurts. It was also the first piece of work I put on the wall in my current studio - again, feeding into my subconscious desire to get it over with, done and dusted – finished! There's a whole host of emotions tied up in this piece of work – no surprise then, that it's felt so heavy and loaded. As I've said numerous times before on this blog, timing is everything – feelings and emotions take time to unravel, process and understand. 'The Fabric of Life' is now back in a box in the studio for the umpteenth time, contained in every sense of the word until the time feels right - if ever - to resurrect it.... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 So, another period of quiet, introspective thinking time followed by a burst of creative activity - there's a pattern emerging, I've noticed. Obvious now I've spotted it, but it's only when you stand back from your practice that you really get the chance to notice these things. I'd imagine it's a pretty common feature of other artist's lives - it must be hard, if not impossible, after all to sustain periods of constant making without suffering from some sort of burn-out - or it being at the expense of everything else. I've felt relieved this past week to have regained my energy and enthusiasm for getting back into the studio - and better still, to have created a piece of new work! I'd been feeling quite restless up until the point I managed to produce it, tired of going round and round in circles, repeatedly talking about the creative work rather than just feeling able to get on with actually producing something. The premise of this blog springs to mind for the umpteenth time: Will I be able to maintain this blog at the same time as being creative in the studio? Will it help or hinder my practice as an artist? Those questions form an ongoing debate in my head but for this week at least, it's felt really exciting to be leaving the studio with new work to think about. I feel more light-hearted and upbeat than I have in a while - ironic in many ways because the piece of new work is quite visually intense and certainly, when I think about the concept behind it, is highly emotionally charged. I've completed and already photographed and submitted this recent piece for an Open call. Things seem to move quickly on the creating front, it seems, when you're in the right mindset. Life, creatively then, has been more busy than usual. Coming to a clear conclusion about 'The Fabric of Life' being pushed too hard and the realisation that I'd become quite stuck with this particular piece of work has had a positive impact. I've felt freed up as a result. Firmly packing it up in a box - thereby containing all its associated emotions - has allowed space for more work to be created. I also coincidentally, had two exhibition preview nights inked firmly in my diary for this past week; I felt determined to make both. The launch nights included artists who have been inspirations to me - both for the actual physical work they produce and for their work ethics and consistent application; David Dipre, Aly Helyer and EJ Major in 'A House of Many Windows' and Emma Cousin in 'Three Fields,' curated by Lucy Day & Eliza Gluckman and Ben Street, respectively. The work is diverse; beautiful, intriguing and original - a joy to see and a timely reminder, too of how important it feels to me to stay curious about the contemporary art world at large - to keep an eye on the bigger picture and maintain an awareness of what's happening 'out there.' My thoughts, in the meantime are turning closer towards home as I prepare for the This 'Me' of Mine exhibition in nearby Deptford. Jane Boyer, another artist/blogger on this forum is the show's sole curator and has worked tirelessly to make it happen.  But more about that next time, I'm sure ... To see more about the two shows in the meantime, please click on links below: http://www.dayandgluckman.co.uk/projects/house_of_... http://www.noformat.co.uk/#/three-fields/457405009...  ... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 It's been an exciting week for me, as my piece 'It's The Little Things' is being shown as part of the This 'Me' of Mine exhibition, which launched last Thursday. Like so much of the assemblage/installation work I do, it took ages to install. But it's the part I love best and the reason I do what I do. I was pleased with the end result and I'm happy to have been given the chance to show my work in the brilliant, spacious APT Gallery, Deptford and to have it placed alongside other artists whose work I've admired for a long time. And it feels good for a change, to be writing about getting on with some real, actual work rather than endlessly talking around the whole subject of creativity. As well as getting the chance to meet many of the other artists involved in the exhibition, the evening also felt like a celebration of the hard work put in by the show's curator, Jane Boyer. It's over a year since the seeds of This 'Me' of Mine were first sewn and made public, so it felt good to finally see it launch and to see so many people turn out to celebrate the start of what is to be an ongoing, touring exhibition. It also feels good to have handed 'It's The Little Things' over to a new, fresh audience. Like 'The Fabric of Life,' it's a work that's primarily made up of objects I rescued from my late Nana's home - the little, seemingly insignificant things that take on a whole new meaning once the person who owned them has gone. I've had more opportunity this time round to process the emotional attachment I hold for the assembled items and, in the grand scheme of letting go, feel more prepared. I've even managed to put a price tag on this piece, a significant shift on my part as I never seem quite able to equate the work's emotional value and worth with anything financial. Consequently, very little of my work in the past has been for sale. As part of the evening's artists in conversation, organised by Jane, I was asked to speak specifically about detail in relation to 'It's The Little Things.' Seeing my work in a different setting helped focus it and enabled me to appreciate its true aesthetic value. The generous space surrounding 'It's The Little Things' in the Gallery means a greater emphasis on the work; it stands alone - as a piece in its own right - as opposed to in the midst of the clutter of a working studio. I talked about how the pieces had been accumulated, largely as an emotional response to the clearance of my Nana’s home in which she had lived for some 70 years. The items I salvaged and assembled together were reminders of the many times I’d spent with my Nana as a child and the close relationship we had. The detail is in the pastry cutters, the icing nozzles, the left over soap, the embroidery cottons, thimbles, darning mushroom and tape measure - all reminders of the many domestic skills my Nana taught me. The fun side of my relationship with her on the other hand is reflected in the lipstick, powder and perfume which she sometimes let me play with at her dressing table, while the ancient pocket Bible and the red poppy speak of the history of a woman who lived through two world wars and would engage me with her stories about the war as she taught me the rules of a waste-not-want-not life. It is quite literally the little things in all senses of the word that we retrospectively come to appreciate and value. The subject of our immortality is one that has always fascinated me. There's such a fine line between being alive - or not. As I say in my Artists Statement: 'My work reflects a fascination with the passage of time and the contrast between the permanence of objects and the fragility of life. ' I created 'It's The Little Things' as a homage to my late Nana; the objects remained (and still remain) despite her no longer being here. That to my mind, is a true indicator of the fragility of human existence. I haven't even started to write about the experience of meeting the other participating artists yet. But as I so frequently say here, more perhaps, about that next time ... http://thismeofmine.wordpress.com/ http://www.janeboyer.com/... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 An artist friend of mine who knows me pretty well, both on a personal and a professional level, reminded me a few weeks ago how much happier I am in myself when I stick to a routine as far as days in the studio are concerned. It's on such days that the creative work gets done, after all. The work I mentioned here a couple of weeks ago, took literally minutes to put together and despite being composed of just two found objects, is to my mind, the best piece of creative work I've made in a while; this in itself, made me feel very happy. Knowing how uplifted I can feel by the making and completion of new work, means that I do recognise the importance of being in the studio and getting involved in making art on a regular basis. Obvious as it sounds, it's true - as the saying goes - that the work doesn't make itself. Keeping up the momentum for being actively creative then, feels crucial, just as having concrete evidence of producing new work, feels equally as important. So much can get in the way if you allow it to - there's always some excuse for not quite being able to make it into the studio. Creativity of course, can't just be turned on like a tap - there are peaks and troughs in even the most successful creative practises. But the mantra 'just do it' is one that always returns to me. I've come to realise that however uninspired I might feel - however inadequate, bored, uncertain - it's the keeping it going that's important. Ironically, the writing of this blog has sometimes contributed to staying away from the studio; it's easy to convince myself I've done an 'art day' if I've spent some time writing about it. And while I've come to accept that the writing to an extent is a part of my artistic practice, it's equally as important to keep making the work. And so, in the spirit of practising what I preach, I'll go and focus my energy on trying to create something new…... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 So much of my commitment to writing this blog is also given over to responding to and leaving comments on other artist/blogger's posts. It's formed an ongoing, reciprocal exchange and it's the interactions with others that have contributed to the strong sense of community I've felt here, on Artists Talking. Leaving long written responses on Jean McEwan's blog the other day and more recently on Marion Michell's, it struck me how much like real-life, two way conversations it felt - the sort I might have over a drink in the local pub. Twitter has sometimes had the same impact. In the past few weeks, I've been thinking a lot about the effect social networking has had on my own creative practice. Eighteen months or so ago, I first made the decision to start a blog, to continue to post images of my art on Facebook and to get involved in Twitter. It's undoubtedly time consuming and I frequently wonder whether my time might be put to better use. But it's led me to some amazing, far reaching connections with other artists and more recently, it's led to being involved as one of fifteen participating artists in an exhibition, This 'Me' of Mine, of which identity is the main focus. The This 'Me' of Mine exhibition is a long-running project initiated by artist and curator Jane Boyer. Jane writes about the importance of on-line communication in relation to the curatorial process: 'I live in a remote area of south west France, so nearly all my communications are done digitally - it is necessary for my daily functioning! However, it also became the structure of the whole project.' Being a part of the show has meant thinking still deeper about the impact of social networking - the overall premise of this blog after all, is looking at how much maintaining it might affect my creative output. Yesterday evening I was at the second launch night for the exhibition, This 'Me' of Mine in Folkestone. I was struck by how many people I 'knew' solely through the Artists Talking blogs and via Twitter. The same applied to the pv night at the APT Gallery in Deptford when This 'Me' of Mine was launched for the very first time. Despite Jane having created a solid, online group identity for us over the past year, it's the first time that some of the fifteen participating artists had met face to face and had any direct interaction with each other. This in itself fascinated me because, despite Twitter photographs and Facebook images giving some hint of who we are, the majority of us had never properly met. This of course is all relevant and highly pertinent to the main emphasis and focus of This 'Me' of Mine - who we are as individuals, how we define ourselves; how we present ourselves on social media, how we present ourselves as artists; how our artwork defines us and so on. How different are we in real life from our on-line personae? How does the on-line 'Me' compare with the actual 'Me?' And how much of 'Me' is affected by those who surround us - by what other people bring to us? I had a fascinating conversation with an artist recently, the conversation starting with her apologising for perhaps, appearing too forward and 'over familiar' with me whenever we met. 'It's just that I feel I really know you from your blog and feel like we're good friends - but then I realise I hardly know you at all!' I've thought about this conversation a lot ever since. Being open and honest and wearing your heart on your sleeve inevitably leaves you more open to the possibility of feeling vulnerable and exposed. It's a little late probably, for such ruminating as over the past year of writing about my experience of being an artist, I've already shared some quite personal information about myself. Not consciously - it's just that I've used the blog primarily as a space for self-reflection about what it really feels like to be a practising contemporary artist - a relatively new one at that, self- taught and somewhat naïve. My feelings consequently, have often been very much on the surface, leading to some quite frank and personal revelations. I'm not sure yet where all this thinking is leading me but I do know when I'm beginning to tire of my own voice … Yet again then, I find myself feeling the need to get on with creating some new work.... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 Continuing on from my last post around the theme of identity, I want to share my thoughts about my latest piece of work, 'Mirror Mirror' which was inspired by my sons. I dropped it off this morning, as part of two pieces I'm submitting for an exhibition in the gallery attached to my studio in New Cross. My sons are identical twins and it felt particularly apt to me for them to be at the pv of This 'Me' of Mine last week in Folkestone, an exhibition whose main premise is around identity - and particularly around the changing face of identity through the impact of social networking. It's a theme close to the heart of the curator, Jane Boyer and a symposium on the effects of social networking on identity has been organised for later on in the year when This 'Me' of Mine travels to Ipswich. I'm already looking forward to hearing what the 'experts' have to say - my sons are teenagers and spend a lot of time on social networks – and, there's no denying, I do, too. To write about what self and identity means for identical twins (and for me as the Mother of them), would be another whole post - and some! But in relation to the 'Mirror Mirror' piece I've just completed, I was reminded of something significant a worker at a day care nursery told me some years ago. The boys were around three years old and playing in a specially adapted sensory room, with mirrors, coloured lights, music and so on. One of my sons was asked who it was he saw reflected back to him in a mirror, at which point he said his brother's name. Apparently, when pushed, he was determined - the reflection in the mirror was emphatically not him, it was his brother. I remember feeling quite perturbed by that. How must it feel to not truly perceive yourself as a single entity? I've called the piece 'Mirror Mirror' which of course, also relates to the one on the wall into which the wicked Queen asked the question: 'Who's the fairest of them all?' That's a question in itself for identical twins, given that most peoples' response to them is that they look 'exactly the same.' For the record, they don't! 'Mirror Mirror' has been made especially for Zeitgeist Art Project's (ZAP) annual exhibition and the title and concept is my response to this year's title, 'Discernible.' A dictionary defines 'discernible' as: clear, obvious, apparent, plain, visible, distinct, noticeable, recognisable, detectable, observable, perceptible, distinguishable, appreciable, discoverable Are the two male figures in this piece identical? Are there any distinct marks that differentiate them from each other? Are they discernible? When they look in the mirror, what do they see? The questions go beyond the visual, of course. It's obvious but true - because they look the same, doesn't mean they are the same. They are individual people with their own unique personalities and thought processes. And yet, 'Are they different in personality?' is one of the leading questions I'm frequently asked whenever I introduce my sons. The second piece of work I've submitted for 'Discernible' is fittingly called 'Other.' I have more to say about this piece in terms of how difficult it felt to let it go, what price to put on it and so on. More of that another time, however ...          ... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 The space for comments on these blogs is where the real conversations between artists take place and is for me, one the most useful parts of maintaining a blog here. I really appreciate other artists taking the time to interact, all adding to the overall feeling of being connected and not alone in experiencing the many highs and lows often associated with being a practising artist. Stuart Mayes left a comment on a recent post I wrote. His comments are always upbeat and positive and I've been an admirer of Stuart's work ever since I first encountered it here, via his 'Project Me' blog on Artists Talking. Consequently, I'm always pleased to read Stuart's take on any of the issues I raise. He left this comment on my blog last week: 'Your question about how much, and what, to reveal is interesting. For me it is often a question in relation to a fear of being judged - if I say something personal will it change how someone looks at my work, could I come across as frivolous or silly, or equally as someone trying too hard to seem intellectual …' I've been thinking a lot about this over the past few weeks - about how honest - I mean, really honest - we're prepared to be, 'for fear of how it might impact on the way our work is perceived,' as Stuart says. Much as I'd like to think that being aware of a readership didn't affect things, I know that the reality is that I have become more conscious of what I reveal. For some weeks now, there's been a strong parallel running between the recent prolific sorting out and de-cluttering I've been doing and my feelings about maintaining this blog; a correlation between the actual physical act of sorting, running alongside the sorting of my emotions. If each object taken from storage means (at least) something to me on an emotional level, then that's an awful lot of feelings to deal with. So many questions have been raised in the process - what do I want to keep - quite literally, of the objects from my collection - versus what do I want to give or throw away? Like-wise, how much do I wish to keep to myself, versus how much am I happy to reveal? The private versus the public. How much do I share? How much do I keep to myself? It's back to that question again, one that keeps cropping up. I closed the last post on the subject of letting go - leaving behind, relinquishing. It's a theme that's deeply immersed in my work and I've written already about how it felt hard to let go of the second piece of work I submitted for the 'Discernible' show. It's called 'Other' and is composed of three bubble-gum pink plastic people sitting high up on a perch in a cage. All three of them are closely seated together – but, while two of the figures, the man and woman, have their arms wrapped around each other, there's an air of isolation about the third figure - a man alone, shoulders hunched, isolated, in spite of his close proximity to the other two. There is a narrative in the piece, but I've chosen not to reveal it. I'm letting go of a piece of work and allowing it to stand alone - no stories attached, and no request for any participation other than to observe. In this respect, it's an interesting and very different experience for me. See Stuart Maye's blog here: http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/sing...... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372 Leaving a piece of work I made for the recent 'Discernible' show in the hands of the curators was, as I said, a new and interesting experience. Allowing 'Other' (see image) to stand alone, without any explanation about the narrative behind the work, was unusual for me. It feels ironic, retrospectively, that I asked for it be suspended, hanging in the air - just as I'd left the whole concept that lay behind it; hanging, unsaid & unspoken. I also let go of 'It's The Little Things' when it was installed in the Kaleidoscope gallery in Sevenoaks last Friday, on the third leg of the This 'Me' of Mine touring exhibition. In Deptford and in Folkestone, I've been there to install my work for the exhibition. I didn't even question whether I should be there; it felt like a given. This time round, however, I made a decision - to be practical about the implications of being at every installation set-up and to try and let go of controlling the installation of my work. It wasn't easy, but I decided to hand it over to the capable hands of the curator, Jane Boyer – alongside a photograph for guidance of where the various bits and pieces should go. 'It's The Little Things' is composed of a number of small things rescued from my Nana's home, placed onto shelves and a mirror frame set on a plinth. The objects are pretty precariously balanced and it takes a while to set them up and get the things looking the way I want them to. I've managed to spend a good hour or so building and then just generally tinkering with the various objects during installation in the last two venues - making sure they're 'just so.' Apart from a couple of text queries from Jane and then, very thoughtfully, a photo of the installation completed by her, I haven't seen my work in its finished state. I've missed being involved in installing it this time round, if truth be told. The process of placing the individual objects is the part that I love – it's what feels crucial to me in terms of how the final piece of art work is realised. I enjoy it probably more than anything else I do in my creative practise. But if one of the driving forces behind my work is to continue to be about letting go, then handing over the responsibility for installing it is a necessary part of that. Someone once told me that he felt I lost something quite crucial in my work when I started 'sticking things.' It's an observation that has stayed with me. But in practical terms, I think I may need to reconsider how I present the assemblage pieces I create in the future. If they're not fixed in place, they may be fine as they are in the studio but not so fine if they need to be transported and installed by someone else. It's all been a bit of a learning curve. I hadn't intended to go to the Kaleidoscope gallery in advance of tomorrow evening's launch night, but as the time approaches, I've realised there's a part of me that's keen to be there to make sure the work is exactly how I'd like it to be. This is not a reflection on the curator - but as I said, the placing of the objects is everything to me. If I don't do it, am I really the artist? Letting go, it seems, has its limits!... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/2295372