http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 After Rites Thu, 18 Mar 2010 19:22:51 +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/517800 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 Every couple of years I think up a good-sounding show, gather together my best slides, cobble together an artist's statement (still a bit of a mystery, that one) and CV, and send the collection off to a variety of galleries.Some well-wisher once told me to "start at the top, not at the bottom", so each time I go through the tounge-in-cheek ritual of phoning the ICA, Serpentine, Whitechapel, Ikon, Arnolfini and others to garner the names of the current curatorial or selection team. Well, the manual says to speak to them, but it's hard to get through to these busy folks, so they usually just get the package on their desks, 'cold'.The big galleries are really good at returning slides, as are the small local ones ... it's the middle-sized ones that hang on to them for up to 2 years, and then grudgingly return them in the sae (by now, the postage is out-of-date) after lots of follow-up calls.I've never had any success at all in getting shows. Maybe I could have got something at the Banbury Mill, but they were so scornful of my painting that I never applied again. Everything I've done has been self-organised (with 1 exception, I might come back to that later).And then, 2 years ago, Wolfson College, Oxford, emailed me to say that my work looked interesting, could I come and meet them. I did, and the 2 year lead time seemed like utter luxury.Now though, I'm panicking ... getting all the publicity out, writing stuff, designing invites, posters, just 4 weeks to ago, and if I'm lucky, 8 hours a week.But the biggest panic of all is this: what happens next? and that's what I want to explore in this blog.... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 On graduating, at 21, 12 years seemed like an unimaginable length of time - more than half my life. Even at 26, on completing my doctorate, 12 years seemed like forever, and the prospect of reaching 38 (and the year 2000) seemed like a far distant possibility. But my son is 12 on Wednesday, and it seems like just a few, rather stressed and tired, weeks have passed since he was "from his mothers womb untimely ripped" - deep purple and apparently lifeless. Both mother and child survived the experience, but only just. We weren't in any way ready for parenthood: both on the dole, no money, and optimistically believing that our lives wouldn't be changed that much!One thing I wasn't ready for was the sudden onset of overwhelming feelings of responsibility. I've seen many men's reactions to this now - everything from outright denial ("I think now is a good time to move to Australia, shame I won't see my child again") to total panic ("I must get a job, and do an OU degree, and another evening job, and another job at the weekends").Steering a course in between these extremes, so that one's children can get to school in clothes without too many holes, yet one can still have family time, and still grab a few hours of creative time, has been an unbelievably difficult, and constant, balancing act ...Initially I got teaching work, and over the first 2 years found enough time to fundraise 20k for a millennium festival project. But as the project came to completion, I had to give up the teaching work to make way for the project. Then, of course, project over, grant finished, back on the dole, with my previous employer really pissed off that I'd quit suddenly, and not willing to hire me again.That was when I realised that children, grant funding, and ambitious projects don't mix - not unless you're rich already, or being bankrolled by your partner.My solution to the problem of finance has been to start a small computer business. Being fundamentally anti-capitalist since my school days, I was reluctant to step into the field of commerce... even though I was doing it with zero capital. However, I managed to quell my conscience by providing a cheap (1/2 market rate) service exclusively to charities working for social change. The combined price of my principles and creative life is high - I see others in the same business swanning about in Mercs, living in large country houses. But at least, together with my partner's income, we feed the family, clothe the kids and pay the bills … and I still get a couple of days in a good week to work on the art projects, even if most of the time is spent on marketing, admin, applications, etc., etc.!... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 “Two hundred and forty eight, two hundred and forty nine …. Come on, Dad, what comes next …?”. My 6 year old daughter’s complaining voice jolts me back to reality: “Oh, what? Oh yes, two hundred and fifty”“Two hundred and fifty one, two hundred and fifty two, two hundred and …”While my daughter patiently counts the 300 seconds until we have to leave for school, I, anxiously, return to my current obsession: thinking about my artist’s statement. Actually, I’ve been thinking about my artist’s statement, on and off, for a good 28 years now, and whatever I write feels wrong. Not just wrong, but badly wrong.For one exhibition, early on, I gave up, and didn’t provide a statement at all. So on the evening of the private view, I was surrounded by well-wishers, family, friends, and friends of friends, milling about, chanting like a mantra: “Lovely colours, but I don’t really understand your work”. The problem was, neither did I. I still don’t. After years of reading psychology, anthropology, archaeology, art history, and other artists’ statements, and visiting venerated institutions such as the Tate, and listening intently to all the videos, and diligently reading the commentary, and spending long hours contemplating single works … the creative process, most peoples’ creative process, even my own familiar and simplistic creative process, continues to defy understanding. Whole libraries of books have been written on this subject. How can I (or anyone) even think of providing a meaningful synopsis on a single A4 page? Even in small font?Even a simple biographical account of how I’ve ended up doing so much Ritual, and why it means so much to me, would fill a small book. Let alone why a hippy drop-out hanging around on the fringes of the Oxford scene might have the temerity, the bare-faced cheek, to challenge great and established thinkers such as Anna Halprin, and claim that not only can art be ritualised, but that Spiritual Ceremony can, done in the right way, be considered art.I didn’t set out to be contentious. I just ended up doing what I ended up doing. But now I’ve painted myself into a corner. I’m not a priest, I’m certainly not a spiritual teacher, I’m not a healer, I’m not an anthropologist, I’m not a psychologist. I am an artist. This is self-preservation. If I am to survive as an artist, I’ve got to put together a very convincing argument as to why what I do can be considered art … and I’ve got 3 weeks left to condense whatever argument I can come up with into about the length of this post … ... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 The children have just developed colds. The implications of this go far beyond the sudden abundance of snotty tissues.Children with colds don't sleep well. And if the children aren't sleeping well, nobody else within a 500 metre radius has much of a chance either.So, I wouldn't exactly say I woke up this morning. Just that, with the growing daylight, a troubled, tired, wakeful night gradually transformed itself into a troubled, tired, sleepy day.It's one of the amazing things about children, how suddenly an idyllic life with happy, smiling, playful, sweet creatures on a bright, warm sunny spring day, can be hurled into chaos, mental confusion, spiritual darkness.However, one odd thing I've noticed about this state of half-sleepness (horrible when first experienced, but to which one quickly grows accustomed), is that it lowers your boundaries.This has definite disadvantages: it renders one more suggestible, compliant, obedient to the whims of others. Makes one generally more gullable.But it also has positive effects - makes one more open to ideas, and more in touch with one's own unconscious, inspirational processes.Thus it was that as I gradually emerged, blinking and dazed, into the harsh sunshine of the morning, inspiration struck. I now know what I'm going to write in my artist's statement. Problem solved, until the next one."I am exploring the issue of whether or not some forms of ritual can be considered also as forms of art".Gone is all the arrogance, the contention, the defensiveness. Gone is the question of artistic survival ... it's just another, artistically legitimate, experiment with the fabric of life.... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 The day after the birthday party. Every year I forget, and then on April 6th I remember. 2 days before my son's birthday I start getting flashbacks. My son spent his first 3 days unconscious, with my partner (barely able to walk after the caesarean) and myself spending hours sitting by his hospital cot, willing him to wake up ... before being forced away from his cotside by the practical imperatives of life. For many families, this would be a time at which everyone would  pitch in. My partner's cousin was a terrific source of support, but apart from her, the phones remained silent.You see, we both come from military families, where the over-riding attitude is "deal with it yourself". So we did.Today, as the flashbacks subside, I had planned a day on site with a customer. This was to have provided my week's income, but a mis-communication with my partner means that she needs the van today to return the participants of the party sleepover to their homes. I'm stuck in Oxford, with the customer in Banbury.It's one advantage of self-employment, that one can cancel a day's work whenever it suits (as long as the customer isn't too pissed off). The disadvantage is that the days off are unpaid, and the work still has to be done ... in this case I'll be squeezing it in next week.Now I've spent half the entry explaining why I've got time to make an entry. Let's get to some substance:Jan, my Wolfson contact, needed 15 more private view invites. 2 hours to get to the printer, and then deliver 15 invites - time I didn't want to waste."Will a pdf version by email be any use?". Yes, all the remaining invitees are on email (it's amazing how many people still aren't), so a pdf attachment was acceptable. I've finished my artist's statement, and the documentation of process ... still kicking myself that I photographed my last event without film in the camera. Time to go digital, but the cost of a digital SLR (even second hand), with all the required lenses, still seems daunting.I'm considering spending my spare time over the next 17 days working on a performance for the Private View, something I used to do as a matter of course. I'd like to do a digitial music improvisation, but have just found that my new computer's sound card has no midi interface. I can't believe it took me a whole year to realise this! I used to tinker with midi every week. More outlay, but this is essential, I just can't do serious music without midi.There should be time to get back into keyboard practice. But I now have a huge gash on the back of my left hand, and a swollen index finger, from a bow-saw blade while cutting wood for the campfire for my son's party. Circumstances are stacking up against me ... but that's OK, I'll deal with it.... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 “It’s Easter Day tomorrow, that’s the day that Jesus woke up … I think I’ll pray, I’d better find a prayer mat”. At 6 years old, my daughter has an unusually well developed sense of religious conviction … even if she does get a little confused over the traditional forms.We decided to send both our children to a multi-cultural school, where 50% of the kids are from an Islamic background, though not all from the same brand of Islam. My son has emerged with a strong sense of his individuality and his potential contribution to a global community. My daughter seems to be entrenching herself into the minority ethos – a born subversive.It’s all to do with a sense of identity, who you feel you belong with, and who you want to keep away from, what you love, what you hate. And that’s something I’m really wrestling with at the moment, which is the essence of this blog.My identity as a would-be subversive artist was forged at military school (my father suffered from a form of paranoia in which he fantasised he was a soldier. In reality he was a small-time provincial lawyer). A small group of us organised ourselves into an anarchist collective, which involved the production of volumes of incomprehensible surrealist poetry, and subversive ‘actions’ such as leaving our roaches in the headmaster’s private library, or spraying the school armoury (!) with a CND logo.The realisation that this brand of art was unlikely to turn a profit, coupled with the lack of a family fortune, led me to study sciences at university, where I endured the company of spotty, pale, anorak-clad scientific reductionists for 3 years, after which I escaped into psychology for my doctorate.Since then I’ve flirted with the communities of academic psychologists, psychotherapists, art therapists, poets, painters, musicians, visual artists, teachers, environmentalists, IT professionals, and logicians.Spiritually, I feel closest to the psychotherapists and art therapists and their goal of personal emancipation; in terms of what I enjoy, I feel closest to the visual artists and the musicians; The IT professionals generate the best remuneration; the embattled environmental movement are the most accepting of any support they can get; the teachers expect nothing but total life commitment; the logicians … well, they’re just different.After 8 years, I’m heartily sick of the IT business, and I now have the time to look at other opportunities … with other identities. I’ve become a specialist in ritual, but I’m wary of entering the murky world of the ritualists and religious studies academics; I’ve got some teaching work in art therapy departments, but to pursue that too deeply is to give up all hope of being taken seriously as an artist; I’ve marketed my services to consumers of ‘alternative wedding ceremonies’, but with zero success; my latest exhibition might open some doors in the visual arts world, but am I really prepared to slaughter my dependable cash-cow to return to such a precarious financial future?... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 Bed time punches a huge hole in the day. When I’m not too busy, this forms a delightful 2 hours of family play & chat time. While my daughter’s in the bath, we catch up on the day’s news, and explore the typical questions of a 6 year old – “How does a tape recorder work?”, “What was wrong with Hitler?”, “What is The Economy?”… a whole booksworth of elucidation squeezed into 15 minutes of splashy, milk-slurping, giggling exuberance.Once she is settled, after bedtime story, when her music is lulling her to sleep, then it’s my son’s turn. “How can I learn to be a helicopter pilot?”, “How dangerous is it being a fighter pilot?”, “Which are better, AK 47s or Kalzhnikovs?”, and then the statutory chapter of Anthony Horowitz’s latest spy novel …Tonight, though, I’ve been busy: my daughter had to bath alone, and my son was persuaded to watch Top Gear on the telly. The bedtime stories have been rushed interruptions to a long day at the computer.As part of my exploration of potential new identities, I perused the Opportunities pages of AN Magazine in a quiet moment on Sunday. The St. Helens & Knowsley commission caught my eye – “Yes, I could do that … and I would really enjoy it … and it’s pretty well paid …”. In fact, reading through the terms and conditions it’s pretty clear that the commissioning organisation have been reading the AIR best practice guidelines very closely.OK, so I’ve never done any permanent public art before, nor any training in how to do it. But I know I’ve got all the skills – not only the creative skills, but also the construction skills, technical drawing and design skills, business and budgeting skills, interpersonal and communication skills. I know I can do it, and can do it better than most, but how on earth can I present 29 years of accrued experience across the disciplines of science, engineering, psychology, counselling, teaching and business (let alone Art!) on the currently fashionable single-page CV? I can no more condense this effectively into a single page than I can write a 500 word Artist’s statement.In 1999 I was on a selection committee, and this experience gives me a huge advantage when making applications. The key (oh so simple!!) is to put a truly Stunning piece of art work on the first page/slide. One that makes the whole committee go “Yes” in unison. The second thing to get right is to provide examples of work that fit the context of the application. The third thing is to demonstrate versatility, provide a variety of work. The very last thing to worry about, I always have to remind myself, is my CV. Out of 75 applicants, our selection committee only looked at 1 CV.It’s now nearly midnight, the application is completed, the children asleep. Next stop: morning, and a double-dose of extreme interrogation from the kids. ... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 Swaddling. At 2 weeks old, my son was making up for his first 3 days unconsciousness, by almost never falling asleep. By this time, it felt like he’d been awake forever – a dark eternity of crying through nights of torture.My partner started to consult health visitors, friends, even relatives, for advice, and the consensus seemed to be to try swaddling.We were taught as children that ancient and savage people swaddled their babies – wrapped them tightly in rags and bandages – in an effort to keep their bones straight, especially in regions with low Vitamin D in their diet … but that this was a cruel and counter-productive thing to do. So we were a little resistant.Anyway, we decided to try it. Late one evening, when we couldn’t bear yet another sleepless night, we wrapped our son up in a blanket. Not just wrapped, but bound tightly, so that he couldn’t possibly move either arms or legs. I was expecting bawls of protest, a bout of screaming that might prompt the neighbours to call the police. But not at all. He took one last look at us, heaved a sigh, closed his eyes, and fell fast asleep.The theory is that the sudden freedom of movement, after 9 months confined in a womb, is unbearable – arms and legs waving around wildly trying to make sense of an alien universe, no soft womb wall, or soft warm mummy, just these itchy, scratchy, flappy babygro things.I knew a woman who swaddled her baby ‘till she was 3, whenever she had a tantrum. Whether this was appropriate or not is a matter of debate, but her lodger was so disturbed by the practice that one day he lost it, and threw a tantrum at his landlady. She, being trained in martial arts, quickly disabled him and despatched him from the house, after which moment he was officially homeless. The dangers of challenging somebody else’s parenting technique … just never do it!When Andrew Bryant sent us bloggers an email urging us to post comments on each others’ posts, I froze in fear. We’re being urged to throw off the swaddles. Simply writing this stuff feels like one is thrashing around wildly in the emptiness of cyberspace. Now we’re presented with the dread possibility of actually making contact with something, someone, unknown, “Out there”.I took up the challenge, and for better or worse, made a comment on one of Miss B’s Salon’s, which felt very, very unsafe. Reading it this morning I realise, of course, that my choice of topic was all about a desire for safety, and how one way of dealing with that is by inviting tyranny.So, Andrew, there you are, I’ve done it, I’ve thrown off the swaddles (made contact out there), crapped in my nappy (written about it) … now where’s that tit?? (Oh yes, stop wasting time, and get back to remunerative work!)... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 “Auntie Megan’s here, Auntie Megan’s here!”. My son comes running in excitedly, and then dashes out again with my daughter. A couple of minutes later, my old friend, and collaborator strolls in, my children bouncing around her feet like badly trained terriers.Megan is one of a very few artists I have met who sees the world, and the creative process, from a similar standpoint as my own: Willing to experiment with the conceptually forbidden zones of psychology, spirituality and emotional process.Megan trained in the 70s, and surfed the wave of feminist art, working with some great names including Judy Chicago. Well respected in her field, but penniless, she developed an art therapy business to keep afloat.Nearly a decade ago, to the great sadness of myself and my son (then 3), she moved away from Oxford for some landscape, and to focus on her art therapy business.Recently, she has returned to art production, and to help “catch up”, has enrolled on a Contemporary Visual Arts masters degree.The first essay did not go well. Quoting her influences and the great names she once shared the limelight with, she received low marks: “This is a course on Contemporary art, not art history.”Are we really art history … surely not? At the tender age of 47 I just feel like I’m coming into my stride. At 18, the received wisdom was that one’s career would be beginning to mature at 60. Now my generation are closer to 60 than 18, are we to be thrown on the scrap heap of history, to make way for the blossoming Culture of Youth? Will an entire generation of artists be dismissed, as too youthful in their youth, and obsolete in their maturity?It’s definitely the case that most art is made by young people. Simple economics: young people, without the ties and responsibilities of family, can live happily on virtually nothing (as I used to myself), and can avail themselves of a vast array of opportunities denied to us “Veralteten”: travel scholarships, residencies, competitions for the under 30s, etc.The true dilettantes soon get bored, and wander off when they’ve found another novelty to play with. Those of independent means carry on, but without having to meet the challenges of living a normal life, their output tends to become irrelevant and self-obsessed. The more dedicated take arts admin, art therapy and teaching posts, in the hope of one day going part time and returning to creative practice. A very few succeed financially, and define the mainstream. Only relatively few of us manage to keep creating, and tread that twilight path somewhere between fame and oblivion.Certainly, my volume of output is restricted, and I pursue an artistic vision that lies on the fringes. But that doesn’t make me history. Not even when my grandchildren are pushing Auntie Megan around in her wheelchair, are regulating my morphine drip and changing my incontinence pads … not even then … will I be history! ... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 “But Dad, what do you believe?”. I’ve been discussing spirituality with my son, and we’ve just been through some ‘modern traditions’: Theosophy (inspiration of Mondrian), Wicca, Asatru and Crowley.“I try to stick to my own experience. All I can really say is this: there’s definitely something funny going on ...”Not a satisfactory answer. We need to believe something. We can’t make decisions otherwise. A defining boundary between childhood and adulthood is that children believe their parents (mostly), while adults believe something else that enables decision-making.I spent a year of my doctorate exploring belief. I started by reading about predicate calculus (“Logic”). The gist is this: One might have a rule that goes “Whenever X is true and Y is true, one may say that X is true … or that Y is true”. Is this true? Intuitively, yes, but prove it! That’s what predicate calculus does, but only if we make assumptions, like something can’t be true and false at the same time, etc. Very detailed.There’s this joke: “A Physicist, a mathematician and a logician are travelling to a conference from London to Edinburgh. The train crosses the Scottish border, and they see a black sheep. The physicist says: “Look, all sheep in Scotland are black”. The mathematician replies: “Fool, only some of the sheep in Scotland are black”. The logician retorts: “Idiots – all you can say is that at least one sheep in Scotland is black on at least one side”. As I said, Logicians are different.But you can’t reason with logic until you make “real” assumptions. You can’t say “all birds can fly”, and “Tweety is a bird”, and deduce “Tweety can fly”, without assuming that there are birds, something called flight, and something called Tweety. And “all birds can fly” is another assumption.Everything we ‘know’ is just assumptions … beliefs.Also, our knowledge contains many contradictions. Frege proved that if your knowledge contains one contradiction, then you can prove anything.I managed to prove that it’s so hard to resolve contradictions, it would take us many lifetimes to clean up our ‘knowledge’ to the point where we could reason with it. But we can still reason … how come?I wrote a computer program that could be ‘fed’ contradictory knowledge, reason with it, provide apparently sound proofs of completely contradictory things, quite happily … like us.This is why I am so sceptical of the ‘academic rigour’ that artists are expected to apply to their work. There are a million ways of justifying any piece of art, given a brief and context … and our contradictory knowledge. It’s just pissing with proof, logical masturbation. I do it - nobody takes you seriously if you don’t … but come on, folks, inject some reality here, stop pretending that this cognitive charade has any creative, or academic, value whatsoever: let’s get on with making stuff, doing stuff, and making the world a better place ... which is what I really believe we should be doing!... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 A comment on one of my posts, fantastic – thanks Laura! There is a world out there! Isolation seems to be epidemic amongst artists. Although it’s a real peak experience when artists come together and join in a project, the very nature of creativity sends people spinning away again.Artists find it impossible to plod along enjoying each others’ company for long, they soon get inspired and go off and do something whacky – often on their own.Back in the early 90s I helped get a group of artists together – we all needed a break, and I’d found a community centre who wanted to help: free exhibition space and low cost room hire in return for publicity.Our philosophy was to use the opportunity to help each other get where we wanted. We spent a lot of time talking about where we wanted to go. It was challenging, about raising expectations and not settling for second best. It started about us all wanting to get our work exhibited, then it got into gaining experience – teaching, administering, gathering practical skills. Then onto money, why we wanted it, and then how to raise money in ways other than selling paintings and running workshops.Within a year, one was enrolled for a PGCE, another was running Yoga groups, another had decided that more than anything she wanted children, another joined an advertising agency, and I went off to start learning about ritual.It was really fabulous … but doomed to disintegrate.I’ve been in five such inspiring situations, and the years in between have been filled with the dark feeling of being surrounded by people, but still feeling lonely.I was commissioned to write an article about it for the Artists Newsletter, which was really about heralding the innovation of the AXIS register (not online then), as a means of making contacts with artists. Ironically, 15 years on, searching the AXIS database, I don’t get a single hit on ritual – and the selection panel continue to reject my annual applications, so sadly never much use for me.Having a family has been a great comfort. Children idolise their parents, and as much as being loved is good for children, it’s also good for grown-ups! This morning I was consoling my daughter, who was in tears of frustration over drawing a glass. It was a genuine delight to sit down with her and a glass, and show that the glass is only visible by the way it distorts its background, and through its specularities.Tonight, my son and I are sleeping in camp beds in my study/studio, ready for an early start hanging the Wolfson exhibition. He’s the official photographer for the private view, and will be videoing my performance … for the simple joy of being involved in something exciting.When the kids leave home, I will miss them like my own limbs … back to the dark times of seeking out those chance encounters with others whose journeys briefly join the same track.... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 I've had some feedback from post #10, about railing against the conceptualists.Far from it, I think the conceptual movement has been a vitalising and challenging force in the art world, and some of my favourite art is 'conceptual' in nature.I just find it both upsetting and annoying: the way that artists demean their work by the things they write about it ... and the fact that contemporary courses encourage this stuff.Write about your process ... write about your techniques ... write about interesting things you found along the way ... but please, do we have to write rubbish as well?Remember, the best art stands on its own, moves us at a deep level, and requires no explanation of what it represents, no details of references.Sometimes when I exhibit, I write a little story or poem for each painting. But the stories that get read most avidly go with the paintings that people like most: the art must stand on its own, if it needs propping up with a heap of junk, then it is a heap of junk.... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 I've done rather a lot of reflecting in this blog, I'm going to try and do a straight diary entry!Hanging the exhibition today, something I haven't done for 13 years. Forgotten how much hard slog it is.First off, the muscle (my Czech ex-army neighbour) let me down - turned out he got pissed last night and crashed out on a friend's floor.Now, I can only just carry the performance equipment on my own. The speaker and the electric piano are a hundredweight each. But with the advancing years, the consequences of carrying this stuff are severe: back-ache for a month, and acheing wrists that prevent piano playing for a similar period. Since I'm shifting it with the intention of performing tomorrow, I can't take the risk.Eventually, me and my son slid the equipment down the stairs (narrowly averted squashing of son), sledged it across the garden (sorry lawn) on old blankets, and ramped it up into the back of the van on a step ladder. Once we were at Wolfson, all easy, helpful porters, trolleys, lifts, etc. discovered son suffers claustrophobia in the lift. Funny you can live with someone for 12 years and not know something like that.Hanging was pretty much trouble free. Here's a tip which few seem to know about: "Leger Stops". If you're hanging stuff with nylon fishing twine, these things stick onto the line, but can be moved if you pull hard. Really easy to get pictures at exactly the right height without endless knot tying. Available from all decent angling shops, and on the internet.Confronted with exhibition lighting tracks for the first time. The fittings made some horrible cracking and squealing noises when I moved them around, but I don't think anything snapped.The folks at Wolfson are very kind and helpful. They plied my son with free coke (the fizzy stuff with caffeine in it) all day, at the end of which he was whizzing about between the 3 rooms like a rocket had been strapped to his backside. He did a fine job all day with the nylon twine and leger stops, and did his job as documentor excellently. He deserves a treat some time. Don't we all?Back home, panicking about the performance at the private view tomorrow. Been trying to remember the last time I played the piano in public. 1996 I think. I've made a list of the things I need to pack in the van tomorrow. Forgot to launder my clothes ... think I've still got a pair of clean jeans somewhere. Must have a bath, I stink this evening, family too polite (or too familiar with it) to complain.So it's all over, really, bar the shouting!And why did I do it all? Honest answer: To keep life interesting enough to bother trying to stay alive. Just now, it's really fun!Thanks Megan (not real name) for permission to (mis-)use your story. Thanks for the encouragement, Rob!... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 My son has made a fantastic video of my performance, time to get that bootleg video editing software installed.My daughter enthralled the audience by making weird noises into the microphone. Simply having children has a dramatically soothing effect on audiences.In fact this works on everybody: If I go into Boswells department store alone, all the assistants put on  blank expressions, step a little back, keeping a wary eye on my activities. When I go in with the kids, it's all smiles and "can I help you sir?". Sir? People never call me sir. Well, they do when they see I'm a Dad. One of the perks!At 9.00 pm, off went my partner and kids with a friend: school on Monday, the kids must get to bed. If they're late to school we start getting formal letters from the head, and unwelcome interest from the educational social worker. We've learned from experience.Ex-army Czech neighbour made up for Saturday by staying behind helping me load the van 'till 11. "Naaahees Vun" as he would say.Got home at 1 am after stacking glasses, clearing bottles, paper plates, screwed up napkins, etc., wiping up spilled wine, scrubbing the cream cheese off the carpets and hoovering up crumbs. By the time I got round to eating (after performance) there was no food left, so at home made myself a cheese sarni and cracked open a left over bottle of wine.Daughter woke up crying. "It hurts, it hurts" ... "Where does it hurt my darling?" ... "The exhibition hurts ..."Yes, it always does, however well the event goes. No matter how much people enjoy themselves, and what lovely things they say about my paintings, the press, arts council reps, local council arts officers, local gallery managers, etc. are always conspicuous by their absence.People come to Oxford for the tradition: for the Christchurch  collection of medi-aeval art, the 12th Century wall paintings and Tudor royal portraits. People don't come here for the fringe contemporary art, so why clutter the pages of the local press with it? There's the cost too. I try to justify it as publicity for my business (teaching and offering ritual and ceremony). That's the year's profits wiped out ... it might convince the tax man, but ultimately I have to justify it from a deeper motive!And finally, there's the post-exhibition depression. The rapid disappearance of large amounts of adrenalin from the system, it's a kind of drug withdrawal. Combined with the sudden onset of existential meaninglessness now there's only computer work to do, always unpleasant.So, up late this morning (7.45 - the days of a quiet lie-in after a late night ended with the arrival of children!). Son rushes out, shoe laces trailing, and leaps on bike with piece of toast stuffed in mouth.Daughter, miserable, trails to school, late, in the rain, with partner.I take van to studio. Now, how am I going to get this equipment back up those stairs?... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 I am so tired. I got into my “office” on Monday to find 10 messages from a customer. Their new Chief Exec is starting, and they forgot to ask me to link up his blackberry to email. Do I really care? The last Chief Exec barely used the computer, let alone a blackberry. Other panics from customers take me to mid-afternoon, and I’ve yet to get music equipment up the stairs. Eventually good friend helps.Tuesday, on site with customer until 6, then partner goes out, so I deal with bedtimes. Wednesday same. Thursday, partner at interview in London, bedtimes again, then working until 3.00 am. Friday up early to install software for another charity. Friday pm, collect daughter from school, then weekly food shop, clean studio and re-assemble music equipment. Finish 10 pm. Saturday, end of month accounts. Partner suddenly wants to attend ‘no kids’ party in Southampton, leaving me babysitting yet again. Hey – why can’t we all go? Nasty argument ensues, partner leaves and goes to party anyway. Sunday, kids play in garden while I go back to sleep, neighbour takes pity and entertains kids. Sunday pm partner returns, I spend rest of day learning to transfer video of performance to youtube. The simple transfers and edits take hours. Video uploading, will probably take all day and night.Why perform? We all like to be the centre of attention from birth. My son, age 3, used to play thrash metal drums on whatever was around. My daughter enjoys improvised movement to Miles Davis. She prefers a tight structure, and begged for ballet lessons. Ballet lessons are for the bourgeoisie to impose stifling discipline on the unspoiled creative spirit of a vulnerable child. Apparently not.My son hated his sister for years, until he was able to explain: “When I was little, I walked into a room, and everyone looked at me. Now, I walk into the room with my little sister, and everyone looks at her.” Totally true. Totally unjust.My son got a handycam last year and spent his birthday videoing his party; at the end, complained: “When I’m videoing, I’m not doing - just watching”. He’d rather be ‘doer’, performer, than reporter, audience.Performance is a form of ritual – Psychologically, it’s a way of moving the emotions around a group, enabling people to be heard, expressing and solidifying subtle changes in relationships. Socially, it’s a way of expressing and resolving social tensions, re-ordering roles within a group.There are 2 ways of doing it: Specialise: polarise between “artist” and “audience”. The artist as spokesperson, representative, and thereby powerful broker of social expectations and realities.Or Democratise: the artist as facilitator, teacher, enabling the personal development, participation and emancipation of the observers.As parents, we have to make the same choice: Do we bring up our kids as receivers of our authority, confined in our realities, expressing our expectations? Or do we facilitate them to explore their realities, define their own ways to participate in society? ... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 My daughter is made for school. After 2 weeks at school, she made herself a workspace in the living room with table, chair and lamp, sitting there after school making school books for her teddies, marking their work. She already wants to be a teacher, and she probably will be.School doesn’t suit my son (he’s mildly dyslexic - reading and writing are painful), and it’s been hard persuading him that adulthood offers loads more opportunities than the school curriculum. After much discussion and thought, he’d like to be a Civil Helicopter Pilot: “something risky, but not where I’ll be shot at”.But when he’s really settled at school, he wants to be an air traffic controller, and even works on his Spanish to get up the career ladder as an international controller.Mostly things aren’t so good, and it’s helicopter pilot. When things are really bad at school, he wants to be a fighter pilot, and shoot the s**t out of everything.He has the curse of talent. His teachers have picked up his aptitude for science, and he’s on “Gifted and talented” for art. But he skips the after-school clubs for science and misses the coach for Special Art away-days. What he really wants to be doing is climbing trees and learning to fly helicopters.I suffer from the curse of wrong talent – I can do computer stuff better than almost anyone, but do I enjoy it? It’s tiring, frustrating, complicated, stuck in an office all day … but pays well, and is flexible.I love art, and always have. But I have little talent: I really struggle at it, but I love it so much I put the work in. Even so, it will never pay the bills.The most brilliant bits are group improvisations – music, painting, movement, whatever … it just sends me.But what I discovered about 15 years ago was that officiating at sacred-style ceremonies is very similar, giving the same natural high.It’s the sort of thing art therapists are paid for. So, why not do an art foundation and degree, then a 3 year art therapy training? 7 years of full time education? I’ve already spent 7 of my adult years in full time education. I can’t justify another 7 years of poverty ending with a debt I’ll never pay off, to halve my earning potential.But there might be a way through this – occasional lecturing on therapy training courses. I’m not qualified, so I can’t offer therapy, and I can’t train therapists in therapy. But I can train therapists in ritual: “ … for personal development”.I had some opportunities last year to do just this, and I’m beginning to get enquiries from training institutes. It’s fantastic work, and pays pretty well. But is there really enough of this work out there? Or will it always be another hobby I fit in around everything else?I just hope my son manages to get his career sorted out younger than me … ... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 Children of artists Part I:“Dad, we’re not like other families, are we?”. My son has discovered the elusive concept of lifestyle … and the fact that ours is a little unusual.My daughter still lives in the blissful illusion that everybody is like us, and is often outraged that anybody might do anything differently from us. My experience of childhood was that I was expected to fit into my father’s every lifestyle decision - to the extent that when my father’s mind started to weaken I ended up enduring 6 years at military school to fit in with his delusions of having been a heroic soldier.My partner’s experience was similar – daughter of a real career soldier, she and her siblings trailed half way across the planet and back, to and fro between home and British boarding school, to satisfy the demands of a life in the forces.Our experiences weren’t unusual for our generation … and not that unusual for the new generation of kids … what is unusual is that we have both developed an interest in childrens’ democracy.My partner taught at Summerhill school for 4 years: the school that regularly hits the headlines because lessons are optional. What doesn’t reach the front pages of the rags is that the school is utterly democratic – every person in the school has a vote on every rule, and anyone can propose changes to the rules. Given that adults are vastly outnumbered by children, this results in a fair childrens’ democracy.But there is a flaw in the democracy – one important fact that indicates the school is a model of democracy for children, rather than a real childrens’ democracy: The constitution (the way rules are made and enforced, the way transgressions are heard and punishments decided) is fixed, and non-negotiable. Unlike the real adult world, there is no possibility of revolution. Also, whatever the children vote for, the basics of food provision and building maintenance continue unaffected.Translating the idea of childrens’ democracy to the family is difficult. I have definite non-negotiable boundaries, as does my partner … the equivalent of the fixed constitution. However, the adults in a family do more than the teaching staff at Summerhill. We are not just educators and facilitators, we are also bread-winners – earners, shoppers, cooks – and cleaners, and nurses, and affection-givers, and protection. The constraints imposed by fulfilling these roles create a host of inflexible boundaries.More difficult still – when two kids at Summerhill fight, the other kids intervene, help to negotiate, enforce discipline when necessary. But when two kids at our home fight, there’s only the adults left to sort it out.Finally, at least when the kids are young, their limited life experience limits their choices. When we get a take-away they don’t know about the Lebanese, the Chinese, the Sri Lankan, the Greek, the Pizzeria, the Indian, the Jamaican and the Thai … they just go along with the adult choice of fish’n’chips. ... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 Children of artists Part II: So can life in a family really be made more “democratic”, “child-centred”? And would it really make everyone happier?So far I, and the other artist-parent blogs I have read, have explored the question of “being an artist with children”. But what about “being a child with an artist parent”? So before writing this blog, I asked my kids: “What are the good bits, and the bad bits, about having an artist parent?”“That’s a hard one” says my son, “Flipping heck, that’s hard”. He says he would like to have more ready cash floating around. A decent computer, cash for gadgets and computer games. He’s a true child of consumerism.On the other hand: “I really enjoy the events, the bonfires and everything”. He also appreciates that I keep a stock of cheap art materials for teaching that I let him use, and when he’s really into something I let him use some of my ‘professional’ materials – canvas, acrylics, adhesives, etc.Do the plusses outweigh the money? “I like the way we live” he responds.My daughter is less ambivalent: “I really like art, and you can teach me how to do it, I like that … I also like being able to use your paints, I think that’s great.” She’s less enthusiastic about the events: “When you’re getting ready for an event, you’re really busy and we don’t see you, I’d like to spend more time with you. But I like the events, I like handing round food, and I like looking at your pictures”. What about money? “I don’t like posh things all the time, they really annoy me. I just like a little bit of posh, and then just ordinary. If we had lots of money for a posh holiday, I wouldn’t enjoy it.”And then there are the things that aren’t to do with me being an artist:My son says: “I like not having strict rules, and that the house is messy. I’d hate to live somewhere that’s always clean with strict rules. I enjoy it like this, it’s kind of hippyish. I wish I didn’t have to go to school, though”My daughter: “I don’t like rules, I want to be in charge. When I’m grown up, everyone’s going to have to do what I say.”But by far the most important thing for both kids is that we stay in Oxford. They place huge value on their friends and local community. Not just school friends, but the close-knit network of adults that they’ve grown up with, who they trust, who will always be there for them. And also the familiar surroundings – the parks, the trees, the memories.We visit Summerhill school occasionally, and the children love it – the school community quickly accommodates visiting children. “Would you like to go to Summerhill?”. The kids reply almost in unison: “Only if all our friends and grown-ups came with us”. ... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 The Wolfson exhibition came down on Saturday. My son helped pack it all away in our van. Now – on with the subject of the blog: “What Next”.The last 3 weeks has been full-on computer work, 6 days a week. This week I’ve just got half a day’s work, so am catching up on essentials, like van maintenance. Spotted antifreeze on the ground where it’s been parked - needs a new radiator. Must fix it before next week, when we’ll be camping in Devon. In fact, need to get it fixed before Friday, when I’m taking my exhibition to the Tavistock Clinic, London.Fix the van myself or take it to a garage? Checking the Haynes manual, I could spend a day on this. Though the job is simple, there’s a lot of jacking up and easing fragile things apart. It will take a garage a couple of hours, and if they break anything, they’ve got spares. 2nd phone call lucky, they can order the radiator and do the job on Thursday. Let’s hope they’re not bull-s******g!The Tavistock Clinic, NHS centre of psychoanalysis, has an exhibition space, though not open to the public. They like my work, it has a psychological angle (I exhibited there in 1997). This time I’m seeing the exhibition as a targeted marketing opportunity – therapeutic ritual is on the periphery of psychoanalysis, so maybe some teaching work could come out of it?Feeling a bit down today. Just discovered the Tavistock picture rail is 10 inches higher than the Wolfson rail. That means re-stringing all 55 items, which will take me the best of a day … since I’ve got computer work tomorrow, that means today. Since I’m taking the kids this pm and evening, that means late into the night.Monday, went for a long walk in a local nature reserve. I sat down and listened to the Spring birdsong. I started feeling myself dissolve into my surroundings, stress trickling out of my muscles. Wind thrashing the newly green trees, clouds cascading across wild sky … so overwhelmingly beautiful.This is where my work starts, my deepest roots. Whatever next, this is the place I come back to. Well, not exactly, because there’s people too. Although I’m no extravert, I have a great love of people. People are dreadful. As Iraq and Afghanistan demonstrate, dump people with no authority structure, and they start kidnapping each others’ children and shooting each other. There are many people who complain incessantly about the actions of the police. Over the past few years I’ve enjoyed saying: “Why don’t you move somewhere there are no police, like Iraq or Afghanistan?”. But people also have the most amazing potential for creativity, positivity, self-sacrifice,  altruism, expansion … and this is where the inspiration really kicks in – drawing the hidden best out of people, finding the deepest beauty of nature, and bringing the two together. This is fundamentally what all my work with ritual has been about.... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 Thanks, Barbara, for doing me the honour of reading my paper. Although the paper you’ve read focuses on ritual as applied to therapy, the underlying theory applies to any ritualisation, and was developed from my experiments with ritual as a context for multi-artform events, and my explorations in ritual as a form of visual art.I agree, I have experienced “Spiritual” ritual as confining, crushing all but the tiniest opportunities for creativity, originality and self-expression. However, I have a spiritual approach to life, in which my creativity is rooted. Further, I enjoy ritualising my spirituality creatively. How so? … the thrust of my research has been the attempt to square this circle.Mary Douglas analysed ritual in terms of its effects on communities. She sees social and religious ritual as mediating “Grid” and “Group” within a society. “Grid” is about how people take on roles in society, the inflexibility of roles, and  the difficulty of changing role. “Group” is about the cohesion of a group: to what extent group needs dominate individual needs.I’ve taken her work, combined with Catherine Bell’s work, and moved it into psychological theory. From here it becomes evident that strong “Grid” is maintained by strong external authority. Conversely, a society in which individuals follow their own aspirations and define their own roles, is characterised by an emphasis on individual responsibility.Many of the psychological techniques I’ve identified as being used in rituals, are associated with the placement of authority. For instance, “Traditionalism” (identified by Bell). This can be used in two ways: “It’s always been done this way, so that’s how you have to do it”. Strong authority, strong Grid. Or: “It has  been done this way, that way, and another way, let’s explore combining these elements and try this”. Weak external authority, emphasis on individual interpretation, weak Grid. But still a potent ritual.There are also techniques that promote, or diminish, community cohesion. These can be delivered “Inclusively”, emphasising human commonality; or “Exclusively”, emphasising difference. For instance, communion wine can be presented as representing the blood of Christ – drawing an exclusive distinction between Christians and others; or as representing the blood that flows through all our veins, promoting an inclusive community.My aim in my creative work is to empower individuals: raise awareness of roles and inter-dependencies within communities, and the world at large, and provide tools for change: “Enabling people to orientate themselves in the world”. To do this, I focus on the psychological techniques that promote individual responsibility, together with those that promote inclusive community cohesion.My “Technical Analysis” relates to ritual in the same way that the laws of perspective relate to representational painting. Suddenly there is a toolbox, which can be used, not only in designing Ritual Events, but also in designing any kind of event, such as a private view or a performance. Since every human activity contains ritual elements, every activity can be organised in a way which empowers individuals, while maintaining, or strengthening, inclusive community cohesion. ... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 “Dad! Turn the music down! I’m trying to get to sleep!”. I’m lying on the sofa clutching a bottle of red wine, with Pink Floyd’s “One of these days I’m going to tear you into little pieces” playing LOUD … It’s the only way of erasing the day’s activities – 8 solid hours of configuring and testing firewalls on network routers. My son’s pleading forces my conscience, and I put headphones on, but it’s not the same without the floor shaking with the bass.Loud Rock at home is a luxury: My parents loved opera and ‘the singing of the moorland streams’, beautiful, but not something you can headbang to. University was all diligent students in cramped halls of residence. Then I married a lady who was lovely in many ways, but had very sensitive hearing. After she’d had enough, I lived next to a predatory gay man, who took any loud noise as an excuse to come round, complain, and try to force himself upon me. Next, 3 years on a boat with no mains, so loud music meant doing without lights for a week. Finally I lived in a place in the country with no near neighbours, and had the bliss of excessive volume whenever I wanted for 3 Loud Years … before the children arrived. Music has always been core to my life: Beyond mind-numbing Heavy Rock, I find music essential for getting from one space into another – relaxation, housework, catharsis, or simply a good bop. I also find great inspiration when I’m deeply absorbed in music, it reminds me I’m human and alive, and as long as these remain true, there’s still the possibility of pursuing my creative vision.I’m fascinated by the process of making music. My parents owned a piano, and as a child I spent hours trying to work out what notes liked each other. The consequence was 6 years of crushing classical lessons, after which I merely achieved an elementary certificate. But the theory side of things gave me some interesting answers to what notes might get along together … enough to start improvising, which for me continues to be a process of experimentation.This was not something appreciated immediately by others. “Stop that bloody racket” was a common response when, bored in a pub, I would sit down at the piano and try out something more interesting. When I was helping nurse my terminally ill grandmother, I agreed to forego the pleasure of improvised music for 6 months, to allow her a peaceful death. Half an hour after she died, I played an improvised lament, and oddly enough nobody has ever asked me to stop playing since.But where do I go next with this? There is great potential combining music with ritual, some of which I have explored … but it’s too easy to fall into the simplistic arena of chants, hymns and community singing … the possibilities are so much more expansive, but do I have the imagination to expand? ... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 “What are you reading, Dad?”. “It’s called ‘Get Clients Now!’, it’s about marketing.” “What’s ‘Marketing’?” “It’s about selling things” “What are you selling, will we be rich?”. Er …No. My daughter’s optimism is charming, but misplaced. What am I selling? The book urges me to focus on this. A painter obviously sells paintings, and when I started out 20 years ago, that’s what I tried to do. When I lived in Sheffield, I knew some artists who lived on the dole. They offered for sale painted grim grey cityscapes, and were convinced that fame, and fortune, lay just around the corner … but always the next corner. When I moved to Oxford, I claimed the dole and started painting. Oxford’s prices are twice Sheffield’s, and it was hard managing. I sought out other artists on low incomes, particularly those who lived from their creative work. How did they do it? I was surprised at their reluctance to share their secrets of economic self-reliance. But gradually I solved the enigma. Some had managed to get onto the long-term sick, for mental illness. The extra £25 per week isn’t much, but when you’re living on £50, it pays for materials, evenings out and holidays. Others benefitted from regular handouts from “Family Trusts”, inheritances carefully guarded by discretionary trust law or shady offshore arrangements. Others lived rent-free, either in a family Second, or even Third home, or in their own inherited house. Some were married, and bankrolled by spouses. And there were those who, even in their forties, went cap-in-hand to parents regularly, with another hard-luck story, or with the continued promise of imminent success. I got Arts Council funding to bring over an artist from abroad for an event. We chose a successful Canadian artist. Here was a man who really did live from his art. While he was here I picked his brains. He was greatly talented, far moreso than I. He had a long history of commercial success. How does it work? Winter, making applications all around the world. Summer, a whirlwind of international commissions. I pressed him further, and he outlined his accounts, showing a pitiful profit. “OK”, I said, “I can see how that pays food and bills, but are rents in Canada really cheap?”. “No” he replied “I live with my mother”. Not something I’m prepared to do at 47. The NAA reported, 10 years ago, that 95% of “Professional” artists, don’t live from their "made" work. Most of the above reckoned themselves in the 5% that did … so the true figure must be closer to 99.9%. Oddly, people who own a house outright don’t see it as income … but the rest of us can see clearly it’s an income equivalent to our rents. So don’t bother selling pictures … it’s a waste of time, and often money too. Make the pictures, installations, sculptures, for the love of it, and treat your exhibitions as publicity – marketing creative-related services such as teaching, art therapy or grant-funded activities.... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 In 1999, after 10 years of reading Arts Council strategy statements, priority statements, policy statements and statement statements, I finally made a successful application - 20k for a collaborative millennium celebration. Initially I felt flattered, flushed with success. But as the millennium celebrations proceeded it became clear that there were simply not enough artists to fulfill the government’s pledges for millennial festivities. Barrels were being scraped, and I was one of the scrapings. If I had spent all those hours earning instead of fundraising, and saved £5 from each hour, I could have saved the value of the grant myself over the ten years. Over the two years of the project I earned about £3 per hour, totalling what I now earn part time in 3 months. The arts economy doesn’t make sense. It’s a hotch-potch of bad ideas thrown together by a series of do-gooding culture ministers, only continuing to stand on its shaky foundations because of the illusion of free money ... sell your paintings , publish your work, get a grant for research-practice development-go see-lecture, win a prize ... but few artists seem to account for the true cost of the money. Nobody needing to earn money would entertain such a business model for a moment. Occaionally I see a grant, exhibition opportunity, commission, whatever, and think “I stand a chance at that …”, and against my better judgement I make the application. Fool that I am. It’s the promise of free money. But when the rejection email arrives, I look at the hours I spent on the application: There’s another £500 I didn’t earn while making an application for a grant of £1000 which I have a 1 in 10 chance of getting. £500 traded in for £100. It’s madness. On Saturday I had the pleasure of teaching Dream Interpretation to a group of volunteer counsellors in Derby. What a great day! Genuine people making a real difference to their world, only intellectualising to the extent that it actually helps them work, helps their world. And because it counts as healthcare, and healthcare rates of pay are as exaggerated as arts rates of pay are diminished ... I made decent money from the venture. Tomorrow, the Rites exhibition at the Tavistock Centre comes down, and the paintings return to their dark and dusty garage. And what now (After Rites)? I’m quite clear, my priority is to get out of the computer business, and ART really isn’t going to facilitate that. Teaching therapeutic psychology is a realistic alternative. I really enjoy it, it’s well paid, there’s a good market, and I’ll be able to do it part time. The rest of the time I’ll be able to do what I want – call it ART, call it THERAPY, call it mainstream, fringe or outsider, call it modern, postmodern, conceptual, history or contemporary… I just don’t care. I just want to spread a little kindness (Shock Horror), look after my kids, and have some fun with my friends.... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800 This is my last post for this blog. I thought the question of what to do next would require endless soul-searching, but writing the blog, and participating in other blogs has really clarified my issues, priorities and expectations. I realise I'm in a very different life phase from most people writing AN blogs: many have either achieved a significant measure of financial success with their work, or are young enough for this still to be a realistic (?) possibility. I must concede my work is going to remain forever on the fringes - I don't think I've ever felt further from the mainstream than I do now - and being responsible for my kids, I have to earn money, something which wasn't a problem 20 years ago. I'm now half way through my working life, and considering retirement. I already need specs, get puffed out when cycling to work, my knees ache when I'm hill-walking ... the spectre of old age is looming. And I really don't want to end up in a council house in the bum-end of Oxford surviving on income support for the last 20 years of my life. Money, and how to earn it is definitely my Big Issue. I feel quite content with my art practice, I don't feel the need to reflect on it endlessly ... ye gods know I've spent enough time doing that ... but I wish I knew more artists who worked in similar ways, or in similar circumstances. Reading through my blog, I'm wondering what, if any, contribution I've made to the wider community of artists and art professionals. I've probably put everyone off the idea of having children. I've worked to death the old chestnuts of financial success and survival, themes which everyone is probably already bored with. I've made a foray into an argument about intellectualisation, and come out thinking that a bit is good and too much or too little is annoying ... no big philosophical breakthrough there. I've made contact with 2 or 3 writers with whom I intend to continue contact. I have enjoyed seeing my own work on the internet, another contribution to the exciting diversity and range of work published on these blogs. But I continue to be unable to grasp what most artists are talking about when reviewing their own work. It all seems to happen in a language that has no meaning. Whether this makes me history, an amateur or dilettante, or a hopeless mystic I don't know. But I still cling to the notion that great art, or any art that's worth making, must be addressing the question of "What is beauty?" ... not "What is interesting for a small band of intellectuals?", or "What will make a good investment for a small group of wealthy patrons?". When I first saw Picasso's work when I was 7, I was entranced, fascinated: "Mum, what's that about?". My Mum wasn't able to say much, but I've now been answering that question for myself for 40 years. Wouldn't it be truly Great if our work could do that for tomorrow's children? ... Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000 http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/517800