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By: Kate Murdoch
In times of chaos it's all the more important to focus on the things that matter. As an artist, so much of my work revolves around this question – what should I let go of and what should I keep?
# 15 [27 February 2012]
Last Thursday evening the launch for ZeitgeistAP (ZAP) took place. ZAP is a new venture created by Rosalind Davis and Annabel Tilley with the education of artists by artists at its core. It was a great night and it felt positive and uplifting to be amongst old friends and supporters of ZAP's ventures, as well as meeting new ones.
For me personally, it was the first night of welcoming people into my new studio space and it felt good to be back, reunited with my stuff, talking about my work with those who were interested - crucially, feeling like an artist again.
Feeling like an artist again is very much at the heart of what I've been thinking about this past week. It's now over three months since I started writing Keeping It Together - a relatively short time in comparison to the lifespan of some other blogs, I know - but it's been an intense learning curve and it's felt like I've covered a lot of ground. When I first took the plunge and started writing this blog, there were all sorts of questions hanging in the air: Where did I fit in, for example – both in my immediate, local artist community and in the artist community at large? Where would I re-establish my practice, I wondered, and where would I feel more at home, both within myself and in relation to others?
A lot of those questions have now been answered; I'm settling into my new studio, surrounded by a group of artists who are sensitive and respectful. It's time to look forward, not back and most importantly for me, it's time to rediscover the physical activity of creating, to embrace and put into motion the ideas I've held in my mind since the Autumn. Having been reacquainted with my collections and having the space to unwrap them, I'm aching to get back to creating something with them.
Working from home has had some advantages – not least that it enabled me to have the time and space to write this blog. First and foremost however, I'm an artist, not a writer and it's for this reason that I've decided to make this the last post on Keeping It Together and to end this blog. Given that I've gained so much through writing it, this is not a decision I've taken lightly. I've invested a lot in it, both in terms of time and emotion. The rewards have been great - I will miss it, I'm sure.
To be honest, I've been astonished by the amount of people who have read it and I've been equally flattered that so many have taken the time to leave their personal responses to some of the things I've written about. Those who have commented on the Artists Talking network itself, those who have e-mailed me directly, those who have helped promote the blog and those with whom I've had conversations about it have all helped to make my first attempt at blog writing a very positive experience for me.
That's why I'm sure I will return to blogging again at some point in the future. And though the time feels right to end this particular blog, my contact with other artist/bloggers will carry on. I'll still be following and leaving comments on many of the sites on Artists Talking and continuing to contribute towards and feel a part of a wonderfully supportive and nurturing community.
Keeping It Together has been a constant in what has felt at times like a very difficult journey. On the day I lost my former studio, it was as if I was peering into a huge abyss. In the weeks that followed, the blog has been like a bridge helping me across. I've reached the other side now, safe and sound; many of you have played a part in helping me reach more solid ground. Thank you for helping me Keep It Together.
# 14 [18 February 2012]
I'm in - the move has happened! If you've been following this blog you'll have an idea of the weight behind that statement. But even I have been surprised by the depth of my feelings around moving into my new studio. I remember a friend of mine talking about how he felt on the day his first child was born - a sense of amazement that people were simply carrying on, going about their everyday business, ignoring the fact that here he was experiencing one of the most extraordinary days of his life! Surely the world should stop and take on this magnificent life-changing event with him!
It's no exaggeration to say that I've felt the same about my move this week. I've been thinking about the reasons why my feelings have been running so high. Perhaps it's because of what I feared I'd lost when my studio was so abruptly taken away. After a long time of working in isolation, my subsequent attachment to positive, generous people had become my lifeline. I'd only just started to feel a part of a like-minded artistic community, a place where I felt understood, both personally and in terms of my work, when the rug was suddenly pulled from under my feet. At the time it felt like everything had been ripped apart and that there was nothing left to salvage. I cried when I moved into my new studio space on Monday - with sheer relief and happiness about what has been salvaged.
And there's no doubt that having an allocated space in which to once more be an artist has also brought enormous relief. The boundary between my professional life and my personal life had started to become blurred and in the absence of proper time off and relaxation from either role, I had started to feel that I wasn't fulfilling either of them particularly well. Working round the kitchen table felt fine to start with but I haven't been able to maintain any regular creative practice more recently - and that's unusual for me. Studio space for me provides a sanctuary away from the inevitable intrusions of everyday life and I cherish the moments that I can use my time in it, to be able to apply myself to my work and simply to be me.
In my first post on this blog I wrote this:
Keeping It Together is the start of my journey as a studio-less artist. Where do I go from here? Where do I and my 'stuff', both literally and metaphorically, fit in? Where will I re-establish my practice and where will I feel more at home, both within myself and in relation to others?
In terms of actual weeks, I've only been without a studio for a short time but in emotional terms, it's felt much longer - so many emotions have been tied up in the whole process of moving on. I'm not able to work effectively in a random environment; I need my things around me and the space I create in my studio is in many ways an extension of my work. There's as much thought and care put into how the studio's arranged as there is into the actual work that is created within it.
I've missed the whole process of creating more than I realised I would; it's what sustains me. I've known that intellectually for a while but I hadn't realised until the past few weeks just how much my creative practice safeguards my emotional well-being and nourishes a part of me.
My time in the studio since Monday has felt a lot like playing house - trying out different ways of arranging the various items of furniture and the many cardboard boxes crammed full of stuff. I feel I need the studio to be 'just so' before I can get down to the basics of making and creating again. This is the fun part - the nesting! I've missed the pottering – it's all part of the process for me. And at last, that process has started; I'm already beginning to feel at home.
# 13 [11 February 2012]
So, this is it. I'm rested and ready for the big move on Monday. This will be my fourth studio move in five years, quite a lot considering the amount of stuff I have to move each time. The second move was within the same studio complex in Deptford, the third, just across the road. This one, though not that much further away, is nevertheless to a less familiar area for me. I've come to think of myself as a Deptford-based artist and now that's going to change.
Each move has been symbolic in defining the different phases of my journey as an artist. It was easy to hide away in the first place I moved into – there wasn't a strong sense of community amongst the artists there at that time, and so there was little room for discussion or dialogue, no questioning of the work that I was creating. Head down, getting on with the work was the order of many long, solitary days - not surprising then that the blogs I gravitated towards at that time were Jane Boyer's Working in Isolation and Becoming Part of Something by Rosalind Davis, the titles themselves speaking volumes.
It was a productive phase initially but I started to feel a bit stuck after a while and as my connections with other artists in the surrounding community grew, I realised there was so much more to gain from sharing ideas. Elizabeth Murton's Engine ChatChat in this respect was instrumental for me in moving my practice forward and I realised that I wanted more than just to be 'getting on with it.'
Past work experience with supportive and generous colleagues had always meant working as part of a team where I felt valued for the work I put in; I wanted to recreate that as an artist – to feel a part of a community where I could think about my work in the context of a larger art world, have conversations about it and be offered guidance by other artists about ways to improve it, make my work 'good enough' for presentation to open submissions, for example.
Subsequent attendance at other events led by DIY Educate confirmed that this was a great way of making connections, getting feedback on my art work from other professional artists and through it, gaining self-confidence. And at its most basic level, given its supportive and nurturing environment, it's where I learned not just to say with confidence 'I am an artist' but also, to believe it.
The past three months of writing this blog has been brilliant in terms of giving me a space to reflect upon the past and to think about what parts of it I'd like to preserve in the future. It's helped me stop and take stock of where this newly chosen career path might be heading, the financial sustainability of it and whether or not the time restraints imposed by family commitments and so on make it a feasible option.
Gravitating towards and sticking with those who share the same morals and values has been an integral part of keeping me on track and these new relationships have in turn been a real asset both in a personal and professional sense; it's something I've said more than once in this blog:
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.
For me, personal integrity, professionalism and the freedom to be honest are key. So roll on Monday, back to being a part of an artistic community – one which puts a greater value on the soul of artists than the sold sign on a piece of work in a commercially driven gallery. I can't wait!
# 12 [5 February 2012]
I started this blog in November 2011 primarily as a way of documenting my journey from losing a studio to the hope of re-establishing myself in another. Scroll on three months and I've just this week signed for and made a first visit to a new studio. It's an amazing space and my initial reservations about it having no windows have been temporarily put to one side - the fact that I'll once again be a part of an artistic community has far outweighed any potential fears about claustrophobia. I feel lucky to be associated with so many of the dynamic artists attached to this new studio complex and can't wait now to move in and start creating again. I've said on more than one occasion in this blog how important a sense of belonging is to me - I'm looking forward immensely to being there. And besides, windows or not, the new studio is bright, secure and - virtually unheard of for a studio in winter – warm!
So what of this blog I wonder? Will I continue with it now that a new studio space has been found? Or will it be put on the back burner now that I have the opportunity to get back into creating again? Can I write about and create work at the same time? Can the two go hand in hand? Time will tell, but whatever happens, the significance of this blog in terms of my role as an artist feels important for me to acknowledge.
I'm very pleased about how well the blog has been received and so far, writing it has been a really positive experience; not just as an outlet for a lot of the emotions associated with the studio loss but for the discovery of a new accessible community here, online at Artists Talking. My thanks are due to many of the artist/bloggers who inspired me to get started in the first place and introduced me to what has been a totally new way of communicating. And to those who have continued to read my blog and those who have generously posted their comments – it's all positive confirmation that you really are talking to other artists and not just posting into a large empty void.
I've been in the habit of reading other artists' blogs and occasionally leaving comments on here for some time, but only through starting my own do I feel that I've truly started to benefit from its real community spirit. It's introduced me to artists who I might well never have known about and the mutual exchange of ideas and sentiments has frequently buoyed me up and encouraged me to keep writing. I received a heart warming response from Elena Thomas www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/single/1322260 recently in which she quoted statements from my blog - 'rural upbringing' - snap! 'working class parents' – snap! It's been uplifting to realise how closely some contemporaries are able to relate to what you're saying and I've felt encouraged by the comments I've received - even the short, one-liners let you know that your blog is being read.
In terms of producing any actual art work over the past month or so I had been thinking that I hadn't been doing so well. That said, however there's recently been a change in my thinking about how 'work' as an artist is qualified. Hayley Harrison's statement in her blog Something's Happening springs to mind here: 'I am starting to realise I am an artist even when I am not in my studio.' Hayley's statement sums up perfectly for me my own increasing understanding about what being an artist involves - the many aspects of it and the many skills required to be one and to keep being one.
But having said that, I've undoubtedly missed the actual hands-on creative process and I'm very much hoping that once I'm in my new studio, I'll get back to that!
# 11 [25 January 2012]
It's Burns Night and my thoughts are turning again to Robbie Burn's poem, 'To A Mouse.' It's one of my favourites and I've quoted it here before because of its uncanny relevance to what's been happening in my life. The poem describes how a mouse, having made its plans for the winter, suddenly finds its nest destroyed by a plough. The best laid plans of mice and artists do indeed go 'aft agley'. Not just a studio in my case but, as I wrote about in my last entry, a sketchbook too.
I'm still a bit surprised by how much the disappearance of my sketchbook unsettled me. It all feels a bit trivial in comparison to the very real issues I had to deal with in my past employment - life and death situations in some cases. Responses from fellow bloggers Elena Thomas and Stuart Mayes, artists/collectors themselves, however showed true empathy and a real understanding of how it feels to lose something precious. They made me feel okay about having such a strong reaction and prompted me to think a bit more about my attachment to the things I own. After all, by making a decision to retain something, I'm committing myself to looking after it and being responsible for it. I need to care enough about it to want to take on that responsibility, hence an immediate bond is formed.
I miss having my things around me! They are what define me as an artist – and indeed a person. They contribute towards helping me feel in control of my life; they also crucially provide the raw material for my creative practice. Given that the studio was the space where so much of that emotional processing went on, I'm starting to get a more keen understanding of the true impact of not having had such a space over the past three months or so. It was a place which allowed me the necessary head space to process a lot of the emotions associated with my collections of assorted people's lifetimes, my own included.
There's been some good news about the new studios I've been hoping for - they're very near to completion and a small group of us from the former gallery space are all looking forward to being re-united. This is largely thanks to the dynamic duo Rosalind Davis & Annabel Tilley, the founders of ZeitgeistAP an artist collaboration, who essentially get things done. By the end of February at the latest, I hope to be in a new studio – more spacious than the last – and reconnected on so many different levels with my things. There might even be enough space for me to have all my scattered possessions in one place, probably for the first time ever. That really would be Keeping It Together.
I'll raise a glass to that – and have another read of that wonderful poem...
# 10 [18 January 2012]
I started this blog when I lost my studio but this week I have been feeling the loss of something else. The book I applied for from New York City as part of the Sketchbook Project is nowhere to be be seen and I've had to accept that it's not going to turn up.
At the start of last year during a quiet period I felt I needed something tangible to work on and weighed up the pros and cons of shelling out money to take part in the Sketchbook Project. I decided to go for it, spurred on by the fact that two beloved friends in Chicago could share in it by visiting and viewing my book as it toured the States.
After an initial burst of activity, the sketch book got put to one side. But when I was suddenly studio-less, I found it became a source of comfort to me. It was something I could work on around the kitchen table after all, and having it helped me focus my thoughts away from the studio situation and towards continuing to produce art.
I rarely work on paper so this was an experiment for me in many ways but once I started, I soon got into making my own mark on it through text, drawing and collage. The work felt different and challenging and (technical and drawing abilities aside!) I was looking forward to it growing into something quite personal and special.
I still had a long way to go with it, but the loss has upset me - partly because it means I won't get the chance to complete it and partly because some precious vintage magazine cuttings were lost inside it. These had been collected and stored for many years waiting for just the right moment to use them - all gone! Will I ever see them again, I wonder?
I'm just not in the habit of losing things - not on a long term basis, anyway - and the more I've thought about it, the more I've realised that the loss of the sketch book is a casualty of not having a studio. My working materials and personal collections are generally very well looked after, ordered and controlled. However chaotic things might appear on the surface in my studio, I always have a keen sense of where things are. The sketch book would ordinarily have stayed in the studio, its precise location known.
I now realise that the act of Keeping It Together applies as much to the materials I use for my work as it does to my state of mind. The loss of the sketch book has ultimately been about not keeping it together and so, just as I've felt 'all over the place' in my head at times, so too have my working materials been, quite literally, all over the place.
It's becoming clear to me that having a studio means much more to me than just the physical space. As well as being a place to house my vast collection of stuff, there's something that happens for me in the studio that goes far beyond this. A studio anchors me, effectively containing the feelings and emotions associated with digging up the past and unravelling a lifetime of memories and all the associated paraphernalia that goes with them. My collections are not so much about what I collect as they are about how they define me - the sifting, the sorting, the placing is an integral part of the whole process and my relationship with the things I've collected over so many years is an intimate one.
Small wonder then that I haven't created anything of significance in the past two weeks or so, because if truth be told, however positive a spin I try to put on it, without my things around me, I too have been feeling quite lost.
# 9 [9 January 2012]
Now that I've really got into the swing of writing this blog, it's quickly established itself as a positive, integral part of my work as an artist and I've been wondering how and why it took me so long to find the nerve to start it. Attending two recent events organised by Artists Talking undoubtedly had an impact on me; there was something about meeting experienced artist/bloggers face to face and hearing them speak so positively about the advantages of blog writing that helped make the whole process appear more tangible and appealing. And the modest and unassuming ways of the chosen speakers added to the overall feeling that blog writing was accessible to anyone willing to give it a go.
But other reasons for feeling able to take the plunge and start writing were due to what I've recognised as a shift in my own learning and personal development - an increase in confidence, essentially and a greater self-awareness. More recently, I've managed to overcome an innate shyness and to resolve within myself the unsettling feeling associated with appearing immodest and self-indulgent. Growing up in rural England in the 1960s, the daughter of working class parents, the inherent sense of knowing my place in society has to some extent stayed with me. Whilst being encouraged to celebrate the good things in life, there was a sense that any sort of blowing one's own trumpet or bragging wasn't welcomed and modesty was seen very much as a virtue. As a working class girl in those times, finding a husband and starting a family was expected to be the height of your ambition.
I made a conscious decision at the start of 2011 to gain more exposure for my art and proposed to use social networking to do so. But while understanding on an intellectual level that self-promotion was necessary in terms of getting my work seen, emotionally, I'd often find myself shying away from it. I would wholeheartedly champion my art work one day, tweet away to my heart's content about it, only to retreat back into a silenced embarrassment the next. Self doubt? Lack of confidence? Good old fashioned British reserve? Or perhaps an underlying feeling that it really wasn't my place, particularly as a woman, to promote myself?
I've been amazed by how in a very short space of time, writing the blog has helped sharpen my focus - how much it invites in, both from others in terms of their readership and comments, and in relation to myself, in terms of reflective thinking. I'm already beginning to feel accountable to others; and through 'speaking' out loud about my work and committing myself to certain things, I now feel like I want to come up with the goods; it's a useful discipline and in the absence of a studio, I've welcomed having it.
My reticence about self-promotion has meant that stepping into the art world has unfolded at a measured pace; frustrating on one level but this slow-but-sure approach has produced something strong and my sense of who I am as an artist (both in a local and global sense) feels solid and sustainable. Meeting like-minded people through my move to Core Gallery last summer, holding on to some of the relationships formed there and then starting this blog has propelled me forward on all sorts of levels and I'm heading into 2012 feeling adventurous and optimistic.
Right now however, there's a lot of displacement activity going on. I'm thinking about the mechanics of the blog a lot - too much I fear - how and why I'm writing it, why it took so long to get around to doing and so on, is all taking precedence over the actual process of getting down to any art work.
The sketch book I've been working on has, as of today, gone from being mislaid to seriously lost and I'm wondering if on some subconscious level, I've helped it happen. There are a lot of pages to fill and if I'm going to get it posted back to the States by the required date of January 30th I've got a lot of work to do...
# 8 [5 January 2012]
Days can go by sometimes without there being much of real significance in the news. This week has been different; January 3rd 2012 was a momentous day for the British legal system and I can't not acknowledge it here; after an eighteen year struggle by his family, the summing up of the Stephen Lawrence case has finally seen two people convicted of his murder - some justice at last for the Lawrence family.
This welcome news came after a spate of bad news stories. In the car on my way home on Tuesday - a news bulletin, shocking as it came through on the radio - reported, one after the other, various fatal stabbings and shootings that had taken place over the Christmas period. The perpetrators according to reports ranged from unassuming, 'quiet' people to those who had been exposed to a lifetime of violence. One of the incidents had happened on the street - a random act of violence against an innocent student who'd simply been in the 'wrong place at the wrong time' - but the majority had happened in domestic situations.
Ironically, I'd been at the Easter Road football stadium with my family just the day before where the issue of domestic violence had been highlighted. A huge white ribbon was carried onto the pitch by one of the players before the match started and all of them wore a white ribbon during it to show their support in addressing the crime of domestic abuse. I read a report recently that revealed that figures for victims of domestic violence had soared, up by some 35% during the recession of 2011.
I can't separate any of this from my life as a practising artist - for as long as I can remember, I've felt socially engaged and what's happening in the world around me still touches me and affects my day to day existence. I've had some time to reflect on this since losing my studio and it's been invaluable in firming up my beliefs and intentions for the future. October 31st 2011, the day I lost my studio space, was a defining day for me; it was when I realised just how integral my role as an artist had become to my daily life. And buoyed up by the support of others, I realised that I wasn't going to discard a lifelong collection and I wasn't going to abandon my vocation as an artist. I felt that I was no longer playing at being an artist - I felt like I was one.
A lot of what I've written about on this blog so far has centred around people and relationships; they have been a key part of 2011 and 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.
But as well as nurturing and maintaining relationships, I also want to just get on with making some work - this blog's 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. I'm hoping it will all start to fall into place once I've allowed myself a bit of time to settle into the new studio space. That's something I'm really looking forward to; the holidays are over - my sons started back at school today, made all the more poignant as I think of Doreen Lawrence's loss. In terms of Keeping It Together, there can be no finer inspiration than her.
# 7 [1 January 2012]
I'm in Scotland and being reminded all over again about how great it is to be here for this festive time of year. The Christmas trees and lights almost invariably stay up until Twelfth night and there's not that sense of urgency to get everything back to normal that's so often around in London. There's the big build up to Hogmanay and New Years Day and a true sense that Christmas week is by no means over, that something exciting is yet to happen.
The sense of anticipation and continuing celebrations with family and friends slows the pace of life down considerably; it feels like there's time to 'just be.' Long walks in vast open landscapes, both in the country and by the sea have been good for the soul and there's nothing like seeing the wide stretches of horizon for helping to keep things in perspective. The weather here is also a constant reminder that we can't control everything - we're at its mercy and we can't take everything for granted.
Bringing in the New Year and throwing out the old throws up all sorts of questions about life style choices. In the spirit of continuing with the theme of this blog, I'm thinking a lot about what I want to keep from this past year and what I'd like to get rid of - how best to 'keep it together.' In a recent blog I wrote about my 'survival' being as much about 'keeping together the community of artists to which I feel I belong as it is about keeping myself and my creative practise together.'
I've made a decision to move to a new studio space as soon as it's ready in the New Year. People who are key to my life as an artist are going to be there, too and I'm feeling positive about thriving in what I anticipate will be a trusting and nourishing environment.
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.
# 6 [17 December 2011]
I've been thinking a lot about community and the sense of belonging that goes hand in hand with it since last writing this blog. Globally of course community is at the forefront of many people's consciousness - whether it's in Egypt, Syria, Occupy Wall Street or closer to home at the protest camp outside St Paul's - we've witnessed the strength that can be gained through people coming together in solidarity.
Life often has a habit of acting out the very issues that are on one's mind I think; in this respect, the past 24 hours have been a sharp reminder of just how important community is to me.
The school term finished yesterday and my sons invited their friends home, anxious all of them, to spend another few hours together before going their separate ways. I was struck by their closeness and the supportive community my children have grown up in; teenagers now, they've known many of their peers since nursery school days.
With the film The Iron Lady being talked about so much at the moment, my thoughts have also (unfortunately) been turning to community in relation to Thatcher and that infamous quote of hers: 'there is no such thing as society.' Her words still manage to arouse as much anger and outrage in me as they did all those years ago - a despicable and alienating comment, it came as a powerful statement and a blatant attack against community and everything it stood for.
But, still closer to home, a comment I received on Artists Talking yesterday from Rita Cormo also felt timely. It came as a response to a message I'd left on Building Materials, Rita's first post on a new blog...
I really enjoyed reading it and there were some fantastic images of her work alongside her writing. In the spirit of sharing, I wanted to let her know that.
I loved her response - honest and real - in which Rita wrote about 'sincerely ... preparing for a long and enduring winter with no comments at all.' Not because she thought that what she had to say and show couldn't 'be interesting' but because 'I saw very interesting blogs with no comments at all'. Rita goes on to to say how glad she is that she's not posting into a void and that 'hopefully this would enhance her will to proceed!'
I've checked with her and Rita feels fine about me quoting her. I wanted to because I can relate so strongly to what she's saying; her sentiments sum up perfectly for me the basic need for supportive communities; groups of people sharing common values and goals, reaching out to each other. I'm conscious of it because for a long time during my foray into the art world, I was without it. And while I was acutely aware that something was missing, I couldn't ever seem to put my finger on what it was.
I spoke about it in my last blog but more recently I've felt it more strongly than ever: 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 - a shining example of this is the ever-generous Rosalind Davis...
It's apparent too on Artists Talking where shared values and emotional connections have been formed and are maintained through ongoing, online dialogue.
Not having a studio has enabled me to stand back a bit, to reflect and to think about what's important in terms of moving forward - Keeping It Together. Things are definitely looking up.
Kate Murdoch's practice is centred around a lifetime collection of books, clothing, found images and objects both from her own life and from the lives of others.