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By: Kate Murdoch
My first blog 'Keeping It Together' came to a natural end when I moved in to my studio. 'Keeping It Going' picks up where that left off. Will I be able to maintain a blog at the same time as being creative in the studio? Will it help or hinder my practice as an artist?
Follow me on Twitter: @katemurdochart
# 32 [15 May 2013]
Leaving a piece of work I made for the recent 'Discernible' show in the hands of the curators was, as I said, a new and interesting experience. Allowing 'Other' (see image) to stand alone, without any explanation about the narrative behind the work, was unusual for me. It feels ironic, retrospectively, that I asked for it be suspended, hanging in the air - just as I'd left the whole concept that lay behind it; hanging, unsaid & unspoken.
I also let go of 'It's The Little Things' when it was installed in the Kaleidoscope gallery in Sevenoaks last Friday, on the third leg of the This 'Me' of Mine touring exhibition.
In Deptford and in Folkestone, I've been there to install my work for the exhibition. I didn't even question whether I should be there; it felt like a given. This time round, however, I made a decision - to be practical about the implications of being at every installation set-up and to try and let go of controlling the installation of my work. It wasn't easy, but I decided to hand it over to the capable hands of the curator, Jane Boyer – alongside a photograph for guidance of where the various bits and pieces should go.
'It's The Little Things' is composed of a number of small things rescued from my Nana's home, placed onto shelves and a mirror frame set on a plinth. The objects are pretty precariously balanced and it takes a while to set them up and get the things looking the way I want them to. I've managed to spend a good hour or so building and then just generally tinkering with the various objects during installation in the last two venues - making sure they're 'just so.'
Apart from a couple of text queries from Jane and then, very thoughtfully, a photo of the installation completed by her, I haven't seen my work in its finished state. I've missed being involved in installing it this time round, if truth be told. The process of placing the individual objects is the part that I love – it's what feels crucial to me in terms of how the final piece of art work is realised. I enjoy it probably more than anything else I do in my creative practise.
But if one of the driving forces behind my work is to continue to be about letting go, then handing over the responsibility for installing it is a necessary part of that. Someone once told me that he felt I lost something quite crucial in my work when I started 'sticking things.' It's an observation that has stayed with me. But in practical terms, I think I may need to reconsider how I present the assemblage pieces I create in the future. If they're not fixed in place, they may be fine as they are in the studio but not so fine if they need to be transported and installed by someone else. It's all been a bit of a learning curve.
I hadn't intended to go to the Kaleidoscope gallery in advance of tomorrow evening's launch night, but as the time approaches, I've realised there's a part of me that's keen to be there to make sure the work is exactly how I'd like it to be. This is not a reflection on the curator - but as I said, the placing of the objects is everything to me. If I don't do it, am I really the artist?
Letting go, it seems, has its limits!
# 31 [2 May 2013]
The space for comments on these blogs is where the real conversations between artists take place and is for me, one the most useful parts of maintaining a blog here. I really appreciate other artists taking the time to interact, all adding to the overall feeling of being connected and not alone in experiencing the many highs and lows often associated with being a practising artist.
Stuart Mayes left a comment on a recent post I wrote. His comments are always upbeat and positive and I've been an admirer of Stuart's work ever since I first encountered it here, via his 'Project Me' blog on Artists Talking. Consequently, I'm always pleased to read Stuart's take on any of the issues I raise.
He left this comment on my blog last week:
'Your question about how much, and what, to reveal is interesting. For me it is often a question in relation to a fear of being judged - if I say something personal will it change how someone looks at my work, could I come across as frivolous or silly, or equally as someone trying too hard to seem intellectual …'
I've been thinking a lot about this over the past few weeks - about how honest - I mean, really honest - we're prepared to be, 'for fear of how it might impact on the way our work is perceived,' as Stuart says. Much as I'd like to think that being aware of a readership didn't affect things, I know that the reality is that I have become more conscious of what I reveal.
For some weeks now, there's been a strong parallel running between the recent prolific sorting out and de-cluttering I've been doing and my feelings about maintaining this blog; a correlation between the actual physical act of sorting, running alongside the sorting of my emotions. If each object taken from storage means (at least) something to me on an emotional level, then that's an awful lot of feelings to deal with. So many questions have been raised in the process - what do I want to keep - quite literally, of the objects from my collection - versus what do I want to give or throw away? Like-wise, how much do I wish to keep to myself, versus how much am I happy to reveal? The private versus the public. How much do I share? How much do I keep to myself? It's back to that question again, one that keeps cropping up.
I closed the last post on the subject of letting go - leaving behind, relinquishing. It's a theme that's deeply immersed in my work and I've written already about how it felt hard to let go of the second piece of work I submitted for the 'Discernible' show. It's called 'Other' and is composed of three bubble-gum pink plastic people sitting high up on a perch in a cage. All three of them are closely seated together – but, while two of the figures, the man and woman, have their arms wrapped around each other, there's an air of isolation about the third figure - a man alone, shoulders hunched, isolated, in spite of his close proximity to the other two.
There is a narrative in the piece, but I've chosen not to reveal it. I'm letting go of a piece of work and allowing it to stand alone - no stories attached, and no request for any participation other than to observe. In this respect, it's an interesting and very different experience for me.
See Stuart Maye's blog here:
# 30 [18 April 2013]
Continuing on from my last post around the theme of identity, I want to share my thoughts about my latest piece of work, 'Mirror Mirror' which was inspired by my sons. I dropped it off this morning, as part of two pieces I'm submitting for an exhibition in the gallery attached to my studio in New Cross.
My sons are identical twins and it felt particularly apt to me for them to be at the pv of This 'Me' of Mine last week in Folkestone, an exhibition whose main premise is around identity - and particularly around the changing face of identity through the impact of social networking. It's a theme close to the heart of the curator, Jane Boyer and a symposium on the effects of social networking on identity has been organised for later on in the year when This 'Me' of Mine travels to Ipswich. I'm already looking forward to hearing what the 'experts' have to say - my sons are teenagers and spend a lot of time on social networks – and, there's no denying, I do, too.
To write about what self and identity means for identical twins (and for me as the Mother of them), would be another whole post - and some! But in relation to the 'Mirror Mirror' piece I've just completed, I was reminded of something significant a worker at a day care nursery told me some years ago. The boys were around three years old and playing in a specially adapted sensory room, with mirrors, coloured lights, music and so on. One of my sons was asked who it was he saw reflected back to him in a mirror, at which point he said his brother's name. Apparently, when pushed, he was determined - the reflection in the mirror was emphatically not him, it was his brother. I remember feeling quite perturbed by that. How must it feel to not truly perceive yourself as a single entity?
I've called the piece 'Mirror Mirror' which of course, also relates to the one on the wall into which the wicked Queen asked the question: 'Who's the fairest of them all?' That's a question in itself for identical twins, given that most peoples' response to them is that they look 'exactly the same.' For the record, they don't!
'Mirror Mirror' has been made especially for Zeitgeist Art Project's (ZAP) annual exhibition and the title and concept is my response to this year's title, 'Discernible.' A dictionary defines 'discernible' as:
clear, obvious, apparent, plain, visible, distinct, noticeable, recognisable, detectable, observable, perceptible, distinguishable, appreciable, discoverable
Are the two male figures in this piece identical? Are there any distinct marks that differentiate them from each other? Are they discernible? When they look in the mirror, what do they see?
The questions go beyond the visual, of course. It's obvious but true - because they look the same, doesn't mean they are the same. They are individual people with their own unique personalities and thought processes. And yet, 'Are they different in personality?' is one of the leading questions I'm frequently asked whenever I introduce my sons.
The second piece of work I've submitted for 'Discernible' is fittingly called 'Other.' I have more to say about this piece in terms of how difficult it felt to let it go, what price to put on it and so on. More of that another time, however ...
# 29 [13 April 2013]
So much of my commitment to writing this blog is also given over to responding to and leaving comments on other artist/blogger's posts. It's formed an ongoing, reciprocal exchange and it's the interactions with others that have contributed to the strong sense of community I've felt here, on Artists Talking. Leaving long written responses on Jean McEwan's blog the other day and more recently on Marion Michell's, it struck me how much like real-life, two way conversations it felt - the sort I might have over a drink in the local pub. Twitter has sometimes had the same impact.
In the past few weeks, I've been thinking a lot about the effect social networking has had on my own creative practice. Eighteen months or so ago, I first made the decision to start a blog, to continue to post images of my art on Facebook and to get involved in Twitter. It's undoubtedly time consuming and I frequently wonder whether my time might be put to better use. But it's led me to some amazing, far reaching connections with other artists and more recently, it's led to being involved as one of fifteen participating artists in an exhibition, This 'Me' of Mine, of which identity is the main focus.
The This 'Me' of Mine exhibition is a long-running project initiated by artist and curator Jane Boyer. Jane writes about the importance of on-line communication in relation to the curatorial process: 'I live in a remote area of south west France, so nearly all my communications are done digitally - it is necessary for my daily functioning! However, it also became the structure of the whole project.'
Being a part of the show has meant thinking still deeper about the impact of social networking - the overall premise of this blog after all, is looking at how much maintaining it might affect my creative output.
Yesterday evening I was at the second launch night for the exhibition, This 'Me' of Mine in Folkestone. I was struck by how many people I 'knew' solely through the Artists Talking blogs and via Twitter. The same applied to the pv night at the APT Gallery in Deptford when This 'Me' of Mine was launched for the very first time.
Despite Jane having created a solid, online group identity for us over the past year, it's the first time that some of the fifteen participating artists had met face to face and had any direct interaction with each other. This in itself fascinated me because, despite Twitter photographs and Facebook images giving some hint of who we are, the majority of us had never properly met. This of course is all relevant and highly pertinent to the main emphasis and focus of This 'Me' of Mine - who we are as individuals, how we define ourselves; how we present ourselves on social media, how we present ourselves as artists; how our artwork defines us and so on. How different are we in real life from our on-line personae? How does the on-line 'Me' compare with the actual 'Me?'
And how much of 'Me' is affected by those who surround us - by what other people bring to us?
I had a fascinating conversation with an artist recently, the conversation starting with her apologising for perhaps, appearing too forward and 'over familiar' with me whenever we met.
'It's just that I feel I really know you from your blog and feel like we're good friends - but then I realise I hardly know you at all!'
I've thought about this conversation a lot ever since. Being open and honest and wearing your heart on your sleeve inevitably leaves you more open to the possibility of feeling vulnerable and exposed.
It's a little late probably, for such ruminating as over the past year of writing about my experience of being an artist, I've already shared some quite personal information about myself. Not consciously - it's just that I've used the blog primarily as a space for self-reflection about what it really feels like to be a practising contemporary artist - a relatively new one at that, self- taught and somewhat naïve. My feelings consequently, have often been very much on the surface, leading to some quite frank and personal revelations. I'm not sure yet where all this thinking is leading me but I do know when I'm beginning to tire of my own voice …
Yet again then, I find myself feeling the need to get on with creating some new work.
# 28 [1 April 2013]
An artist friend of mine who knows me pretty well, both on a personal and a professional level, reminded me a few weeks ago how much happier I am in myself when I stick to a routine as far as days in the studio are concerned. It's on such days that the creative work gets done, after all. The work I mentioned here a couple of weeks ago, took literally minutes to put together and despite being composed of just two found objects, is to my mind, the best piece of creative work I've made in a while; this in itself, made me feel very happy.
Knowing how uplifted I can feel by the making and completion of new work, means that I do recognise the importance of being in the studio and getting involved in making art on a regular basis. Obvious as it sounds, it's true - as the saying goes - that the work doesn't make itself. Keeping up the momentum for being actively creative then, feels crucial, just as having concrete evidence of producing new work, feels equally as important.
So much can get in the way if you allow it to - there's always some excuse for not quite being able to make it into the studio. Creativity of course, can't just be turned on like a tap - there are peaks and troughs in even the most successful creative practises. But the mantra 'just do it' is one that always returns to me. I've come to realise that however uninspired I might feel - however inadequate, bored, uncertain - it's the keeping it going that's important. Ironically, the writing of this blog has sometimes contributed to staying away from the studio; it's easy to convince myself I've done an 'art day' if I've spent some time writing about it. And while I've come to accept that the writing to an extent is a part of my artistic practice, it's equally as important to keep making the work.
And so, in the spirit of practising what I preach, I'll go and focus my energy on trying to create something new…
# 27 [20 March 2013]
It's been an exciting week for me, as my piece 'It's The Little Things' is being shown as part of the This 'Me' of Mine exhibition, which launched last Thursday. Like so much of the assemblage/installation work I do, it took ages to install. But it's the part I love best and the reason I do what I do. I was pleased with the end result and I'm happy to have been given the chance to show my work in the brilliant, spacious APT Gallery, Deptford and to have it placed alongside other artists whose work I've admired for a long time. And it feels good for a change, to be writing about getting on with some real, actual work rather than endlessly talking around the whole subject of creativity.
As well as getting the chance to meet many of the other artists involved in the exhibition, the evening also felt like a celebration of the hard work put in by the show's curator, Jane Boyer. It's over a year since the seeds of This 'Me' of Mine were first sewn and made public, so it felt good to finally see it launch and to see so many people turn out to celebrate the start of what is to be an ongoing, touring exhibition.
It also feels good to have handed 'It's The Little Things' over to a new, fresh audience. Like 'The Fabric of Life,' it's a work that's primarily made up of objects I rescued from my late Nana's home - the little, seemingly insignificant things that take on a whole new meaning once the person who owned them has gone. I've had more opportunity this time round to process the emotional attachment I hold for the assembled items and, in the grand scheme of letting go, feel more prepared. I've even managed to put a price tag on this piece, a significant shift on my part as I never seem quite able to equate the work's emotional value and worth with anything financial. Consequently, very little of my work in the past has been for sale.
As part of the evening's artists in conversation, organised by Jane, I was asked to speak specifically about detail in relation to 'It's The Little Things.' Seeing my work in a different setting helped focus it and enabled me to appreciate its true aesthetic value. The generous space surrounding 'It's The Little Things' in the Gallery means a greater emphasis on the work; it stands alone - as a piece in its own right - as opposed to in the midst of the clutter of a working studio.
I talked about how the pieces had been accumulated, largely as an emotional response to the clearance of my Nana’s home in which she had lived for some 70 years. The items I salvaged and assembled together were reminders of the many times I’d spent with my Nana as a child and the close relationship we had. The detail is in the pastry cutters, the icing nozzles, the left over soap, the embroidery cottons, thimbles, darning mushroom and tape measure - all reminders of the many domestic skills my Nana taught me. The fun side of my relationship with her on the other hand is reflected in the lipstick, powder and perfume which she sometimes let me play with at her dressing table, while the ancient pocket Bible and the red poppy speak of the history of a woman who lived through two world wars and would engage me with her stories about the war as she taught me the rules of a waste-not-want-not life. It is quite literally the little things in all senses of the word that we retrospectively come to appreciate and value.
The subject of our immortality is one that has always fascinated me. There's such a fine line between being alive - or not. As I say in my Artists Statement: 'My work reflects a fascination with the passage of time and the contrast between the permanence of objects and the fragility of life. ' I created 'It's The Little Things' as a homage to my late Nana; the objects remained (and still remain) despite her no longer being here. That to my mind, is a true indicator of the fragility of human existence.
I haven't even started to write about the experience of meeting the other participating artists yet. But as I so frequently say here, more perhaps, about that next time ...
# 26 [10 March 2013]
So, another period of quiet, introspective thinking time followed by a burst of creative activity - there's a pattern emerging, I've noticed. Obvious now I've spotted it, but it's only when you stand back from your practice that you really get the chance to notice these things. I'd imagine it's a pretty common feature of other artist's lives - it must be hard, if not impossible, after all to sustain periods of constant making without suffering from some sort of burn-out - or it being at the expense of everything else.
I've felt relieved this past week to have regained my energy and enthusiasm for getting back into the studio - and better still, to have created a piece of new work! I'd been feeling quite restless up until the point I managed to produce it, tired of going round and round in circles, repeatedly talking about the creative work rather than just feeling able to get on with actually producing something. The premise of this blog springs to mind for the umpteenth time: Will I be able to maintain this blog at the same time as being creative in the studio? Will it help or hinder my practice as an artist?
Those questions form an ongoing debate in my head but for this week at least, it's felt really exciting to be leaving the studio with new work to think about. I feel more light-hearted and upbeat than I have in a while - ironic in many ways because the piece of new work is quite visually intense and certainly, when I think about the concept behind it, is highly emotionally charged. I've completed and already photographed and submitted this recent piece for an Open call. Things seem to move quickly on the creating front, it seems, when you're in the right mindset.
Life, creatively then, has been more busy than usual. Coming to a clear conclusion about 'The Fabric of Life' being pushed too hard and the realisation that I'd become quite stuck with this particular piece of work has had a positive impact. I've felt freed up as a result. Firmly packing it up in a box - thereby containing all its associated emotions - has allowed space for more work to be created.
I also coincidentally, had two exhibition preview nights inked firmly in my diary for this past week; I felt determined to make both. The launch nights included artists who have been inspirations to me - both for the actual physical work they produce and for their work ethics and consistent application; David Dipre, Aly Helyer and EJ Major in 'A House of Many Windows' and Emma Cousin in 'Three Fields,' curated by Lucy Day & Eliza Gluckman and Ben Street, respectively. The work is diverse; beautiful, intriguing and original - a joy to see and a timely reminder, too of how important it feels to me to stay curious about the contemporary art world at large - to keep an eye on the bigger picture and maintain an awareness of what's happening 'out there.'
My thoughts, in the meantime are turning closer towards home as I prepare for the This 'Me' of Mine exhibition in nearby Deptford. Jane Boyer, another artist/blogger on this forum is the show's sole curator and has worked tirelessly to make it happen. But more about that next time, I'm sure ...
To see more about the two shows in the meantime, please click on links below:
# 25 [4 March 2013]
It's now over a month since I presented my work, 'The Fabric of Life' at the group peer crit organised by Q-Art at Central St Martin's. It was, as I've already mentioned here, the first one I'd ever presented and it's taken a bit of time to properly process the experience and to feel that I've wanted to write about it.
Having allowed myself the space and time to think about some of the comments raised, things in just the past week seem to have fallen into place in terms of understanding what's been going on in my practice - and in particular, the blocks that have occurred in relation to 'The Fabric of Life.' I've been helped along by supportive feedback from fellow artist/bloggers Jean McEwan and Elena Thomas who, through relaying their own experiences, helped allay some of the anxieties and confusion I'd been experiencing post-crit. Their online comments helped 'normalise' what I was feeling and helped me move things forward - and specifically, enabled me to return here to write about it.
One question in particular continued to play on my mind after the group crit had ended. It was raised in response to me talking about how difficult 'The Fabric of Life' was proving to complete, or indeed, move on from its present rather 'stuck' position. What was it, I'd asked, that after some two years of working on it, made this particular piece of work so difficult to finish and present?
Someone asked if I'd thought about the possibility that the timing for making the work might not be right - that it was perhaps, being made too soon after my Nana's death. I registered what was said at the time and jotted it down in my notebook as a point to come back to. I've kept coming back to this comment and gradually, have taken on board the weight of it - crucially, because it's very likely, true . Obvious, in fact, now it's been pointed out - why hadn't I thought of that!
Such interjection demonstrates perfectly for me the premise of the peer group crit working at its best. Having been wary about what I was entering into, it's a clear demonstration of the advantages to be gained from sharing creative ideas with artist peers rather than working in isolation. Through listening intently not just to what I said, but the way I said it, the group was able to take an overall, objective view; to read between the lines and reflect back to me the realities I wasn't conscious of. Denial is a powerful tool.
The crit reminded me of one of the crucial themes underlying my practise - what to keep and what to throw away, what creative ideas to 'sit on' in order to allow them breathing space to develop and ferment - and which ones to let go of, albeit temporarily sometimes. I've been pushing 'The Fabric of Life' too hard, I realise in retrospect - have been far too eager to get it to the finishing post. It's stopped and stalled so many times over the past months, despite my plugging away at it - too emotionally raw still, to be able to 'go' anywhere.
And it's not without significance i think that' The Fabric of Life' was what I happened to be working on the day we were given 24 hours notice to leave the premises at Cor Blimey Arts studios - some 16 months ago now, but it still hurts. It was also the first piece of work I put on the wall in my current studio - again, feeding into my subconscious desire to get it over with, done and dusted – finished!
There's a whole host of emotions tied up in this piece of work – no surprise then, that it's felt so heavy and loaded. As I've said numerous times before on this blog, timing is everything – feelings and emotions take time to unravel, process and understand. 'The Fabric of Life' is now back in a box in the studio for the umpteenth time, contained in every sense of the word until the time feels right - if ever - to resurrect it.
# 24 [14 February 2013]
The crit at which I presented my work two weeks ago has continued to play on my mind. Perhaps the anxiety stirred up for me that night hasn't ever really gone away - all the feelings associated with making a public presentation - feelings of exposure, vulnerability - being not quite good enough, even.
I keep coming back to thoughts about how useful the crit was - for me personally, in terms of helping me understand more about the piece of work I presented. I'm still processing all of that but I did come away with a feeling that on the whole, I'd found a safe space with sensitive and compassionate people - one that I'd be happy to return to.
The past eighteen months or so have been a huge learning curve - the word 'crit' hadn't even entered my vocabulary up until very recently - and yet here I was, taking the plunge to present at one.
I think retrospectively that I could have improved my preparation - but then, if I allow myself to really think about it, I'll probably feel that I could have improved just about every single aspect of the crit - the way I introduced myself, the way I spoke, the way I responded - and so on. I could go on but I've decided to put it down to experience and hold onto the lessons learned - it was my first ever group crit, after all.
It was certainly useful to see how the other three presenters/artists introduced their work and how they responded to the critics' comments - and to listen generally to the conversations that were going on throughout the course of the evening.
I've wondered about my fellow presenters since, naturally curious about how they felt at the end of their presentations. My fantasy certainly, was that they were self-assured and confident and concluded their allocated presentation slots feeling more certain and assured about the direction their work was going in. In reality, of course, I will probably never know whether this was the case or not.
Attending the crit was also an indicator of how immersed I've become in learning about what being a practising artist is actually about - how to be an artist, critically engaged with one's work. It's clear that speaking out loud, publicly to other people about my work doesn't come easily to me - especially to a large audience of people and especially when the work's still in its early stages of development and can be so full of uncertainty.
But that of course is exactly what the crit is for - to open up the work and to encourage conversation and debate around it; to open it up to other artists' objective insight in order to be better placed to gauge whether the work is moving in the direction you want it to - to be authentic, a sustainable piece, able to stand its ground and so on. Or not, as the case may be.
My curiosity isn't likely to stop here and having worked in isolation for so long in the past, it's the recent conversations and information exchanges with other artists I realise, that I've grown to value. They've become such an integral and important part of my practice and I hope they'll continue - with people I ultimately trust – here, on Artists Talking, in my new studio space, from my past and in the bigger, wider art community at large.
And I'll continue to carry on these conversations in the future too, I'm sure - so long as I stay receptive and continue to look outwards; I have no doubt that both my practice and personal development will continue to benefit hugely from such interactions.
# 23 [4 February 2013]
I've been reflecting on the stimulating conversations I had around the subject of value and worth and barter and exchange in the build up to Christmas. Firstly, with artist/blogger Jean McKewan for her 'Reciprocity' zine and then, for an interview with Jane Boyer, artist/blogger and curator of the impending 'This Me Of Mine' exhibition in which I have work.
It's great to have had the opportunity to revisit these issues, particularly in relation to 10x10, reminding me of the project's continuing relevance - both in a wider, global sense as the recession continues to bite - and on a more personal level, as the narratives build and the stories attached to the exchanged items determine the project's real worth.
I wrote about the subject of barter on my website when I first launched 10x10 in 2008:
What happens when currency fails? According to the dictionary: 'In times of monetary crisis, barter usually replaces money as the method of exchange.' We haven't quite reached that point yet, but in the current economic climate, it might be as well to prepare ourselves.
Five years on and by all accounts, it seems as if the already struggling economy is set to get worse - a triple dip recession could well be on the cards. There's a growing awareness of the impact that government cuts are having on people and the resulting increase in poverty. Certainly, it's a prominent topic of conversations amongst artists – here, on these blogs and in the art community at large. I'm also aware of more people talking about alternative monetary systems and ways of living - it's all largely about survival.
On the basis of respecting the value I put on the two recent conversations with Jean and Jane respectively, here are links to them:
http://www.a-n.co.uk/artists_talking/projects/sing... (scroll down to post #7 & 8 dated 7th November 2012:
An additional interview between Jane Boyer and myself was published on Art-Pie in January 2013.
I've also 're-found' artist/blogger Alinah Azadeh through her most recent blog 'Burning the Books' over the past couple of months. http://www.alinahazadeh.com/Alinah_Azadeh/Home.html... Alinah's previous blogs on Artists Talking were amongst some of the first I ever followed some five years or so ago.
'Burning the Books' is a truly fascinating blog and highly pertinent in terms of addressing issues such as debt and house repossession.
Alinah herself describes her blog in her introduction as 'narrating the financial crisis at a human level.' In terms of the gift aspect of her work, Alinah's resonates with a lot of what I spoke about in the above interviews, especially with Jean for the article in her 'Recipcrocity' blog.
Such interactions and cross-referencing are great examples of the amazing community that can exist on this forum. In the past few days, there have already been some lovely exchanges of advice, support and encouragement in response to my write up about the crit, for instance.
Despite huge diversity in the practice and personality of blogger/artists using Artists Talking, the comments and messages of support demonstrate a strong common bond, created through a shared experience, understanding and empathy. That in itself, is worth a lot and deserves to be valued.
You can read more about 10x10 here:
and about Jean's 'Reciprocity' blog here:
and 'This Me of Mine' curated by Jane Boyer here:
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. www.katemurdochartist.com
Follow me on Twitter: @katemurdochart