ARTISTS TALKING

# 14 [12 March 2009]

Been a bit of while since my last post – I’ve been up to my ears in various applications, including a residency, a commission, a collaborative community project (which I did get, usefully). I’ve also been trying to document my work (which unfortunately meant re-hanging the installation a showed a few weeks ago because the first round of photographs was useless – the second set of photos was much better though, see the images which accompany this post), negotiate access to a disused library near to my flat which I want to photograph the interior of, and plan a few workshops I’m supposed to be running. So the actual making of work has been a bit slack in the last few weeks.

All this buzz of activity has got me thinking about the practice / planning / administration / application / everything else balance. I’ve never had a great deal of success with these nationally advertised residencies etc, mainly I’m assuming because so many people apply for them. I was given an application number of 116 one time. The other thing which was becoming more and more apparent as I was writing, is how incredibly difficult it is to explain your work / practice in a way which is suitable for an application process, but which doesn’t sound incredibly dry and boring. It feels as if an overly casual tone sounds a bit naff and rather forced, where as my natural formality for applications comes across as rather unexciting – it’s difficult to get the enthusiasm for a project or idea across. This is of course leading back to some of the reasons I started this blog in the first place. The other thing is, as been especially apparent over the last few weeks, giving all this time over to applications has meant that I just haven’t made much work. So what is better: (and it there a ‘better’?) applying to get work shown / for various advantageous opportunities, or thinking about and making work, with the idea that my work and ideas will improve as a result, thus improving the chances of success with applications? There is of course the other argument, that perhaps I’m just thinking about it all a bit too much, and that that time could be put to better use my thinking about the work itself.

# 13 [12 March 2009]

12 March 2009 continued

On a slightly different track, I picked up an old Brownie camera at a market a few weeks back, and I’ve been given some help about how to use it, what film to use etc. I also got a manual for it from the internet, so I’m a bit excited about trying that out at the weekend. A friend of mine has also very generously given me his medium format camera on a bit of a long-term loan, so I’m going to have a play with that too. All this is leading up to photographing the dresses in various locations, one of which is intending to be the interior of this empty library. I was then going to print these images as either tin-types of using liquid light onto various materials – unfortunately I wasn’t successful in my funding application for materials and training for the printing processes, so I’m going to have to come up with a cheaper / DIY version. It’s also becoming a bit tricky as regards coordinating getting into the library, having some help from a friend and borrowing some lighting equipment all for the same dates.

# 12 [12 February 2009]

Been rather busy this week, so much so that it's taken me a good hour and a half this morning with a couple of cups of tea to wake up enough to be able to string a series of coherent sentences together.

I'm currently showing some of my work as part of a group exhibition called Re-appropriated Phrases, Sayings and Idioms. It's basically using various parts of the university over about three weeks, with different artists from the MFA course showing each week. So I was hanging that on Monday, sorting out the final things Tuesday morning, followed by a very long but productive meeting with Sarah Tullock, an artist who I'm organising some projects with. Tuesday afternoon I went to a talk by Minty Donald who's just completed a three year research project in Glasgow called Glimmers in Limbo about understanding urban environments and authoritative versions of the past (http://www.glimmersinlimbo.co.uk/). Really, really interesting stuff and rather creepily relevant to the ideas me and Sarah were discussing earlier. She gave quite a clear theoretical framework for her research, which I found really useful - I'm been trying to figure out something for my own work with not too much success so far, so it was useful to see how someone else was relating their practice / research to ideas within geography, anthropology and architecture. Wednesday started off with a talk by George Chakravarthi (http://www.georgechakravarthi.co.uk/index.html), followed by a bit more running around, then me and a couple of the other artists exhibiting in the current group exhibition gave talks about our work.

The space I'm using is a bit odd - it's effectively a corridor with a window along one side, and an area at the far end with a very high ceiling. And a definite lack of electricity points. Add to this the fact that universities are pretty crazy about anything vaguely health and safety related and  you understand why I spent three hours on Monday morning learning about amps, fuses and appropriate cables so that I could extend the wires on my spot lights so as not to used a load of extension leads plugged into one another. (Continues)

# 11 [12 February 2009]

February 12^th continued

I'm showing the dress piece I was working on over Christmas, together with another two that I've made since. The corridor is entirely empty apart from these dresses and four spotlights. I've got them set up at the end of the space, hanging from cotton threads with are sewn into the exposed seams. These in turn hang from a couple of wooden sticks, which is hanging from a single thread from the ceiling. This methods means that the structure of the dresses isn't squashed, but also means that they spin and move when people walk past. I've been thinking about different ways of lighting work since Still Lives in the summer. On this occasion, I've got two different lighting set ups depending on the time of day. When there's plenty of natural light, I've tried to highlight the dresses themselves, to emphasise the subtle colour differences in the fabric. During the evening, I'm lighting them from further away, so that there's a range of shadows. From the end of corridor during this set-up, the dresses themselves seem to disappear, or at least become less visually prominent - you see the shadows first.

I'm not sure how successful this is. Whilst I've gotten quite a bit of positive feedback, there are a couple of things that keep reoccurring - the fact that they are female forms, and that people think they look ghost-like. I chose a female form primarily because I wanted to give an impression of more than just a torso, and with one item of clothing, as I wanted it to hang without a break, and so that it could fade away at the bottom. And at least in Western culture, a dress is the really the only item of clothing that is a total body covering by itself. As far as the ghost comment is concerned, whilst there are ‘ghosts' involved, echoes and traces from unknown people, I'd rather things were a little more subtle than a Boo. (Continues)

# 10 [12 February 2009]

February 12^th continued

I've tried to explain this work and where it's coming from three times in the last two days, due to giving a talk and having tutorials with both Minty and George. It's gotten to the stage that I find myself repeating particular phrases, so that now they feel like self-made clichés. I also found that during my talk, I had pretty much the same problem I have with writing a statement - a linear narrative doesn't work. I've got ideas which spin off from ideas, which then produce more. I've got reams of images, notes, essays and thoughts which influence what I'm making, and I know there are connections, but they seem vague and insubstantial. This annoys me because on one hand I like a level or organisation and exactness - I make lists so I know what needs to be done and then I can feel satisfied when I've ticked items of and have a sense of achievement. But the work itself is about the exact opposite - it's about things which aren't there, empty spaces, absence, fragility... all stuff it's hard to put your finger on, for want of a better phrase. I like making things, but I also use pre-existing objects. I'm interested in how these things are neglected, but I take care of them. I'm creating things, and yet I like emptiness. I like finding these objects, but I like that they're also lost. And so these layers of contradictions seem also to be an inherent part of my practice.

# 9 [2 February 2009]

My computer decided to behave itself with regard to its colour calibration for a good hour the other day, which gave me chance to play around with colours and tones of some shots I took in the project space. I still need to get these printed to see how they work in reality, but these look quite good on my machine, so I thought I’d upload a couple of examples.

I quite like the slightly painterly qualities these images have, and how they feel much less warm, after getting rid of the yellow cast from the spotlights.

I’ve been thinking along the lines of photographs becoming works in their own right, so that they are more than straight documentation. In order to do this, it’s important that they become an object also – by this I mean that they the photograph would be more than the image: it would be the surface it’s printed on, the smell and the weight of it, in addition to the depiction of the space. If I’m successful in the funding I applied for recently, it would mean that I would be able to have some training in using alternative photographic processes. (By the word ‘alternative’, read nineteenth / early twentieth century ways of producing a photographic image). I’m particularly interested in tintype, which in layman’s terms, was basically like the equivalent of an early Polaroid, and using liquid emulsion, as I quite like the idea of being able to create photographic prints onto a range of different surfaces. I like the tangibility these processes entail, and also how using these methods would mean losing some control as to how they turn out - the prints would then be unique.

On a completely unrelated matter, not being particularly familiar with the art of blogging, I’ve only just realised that people have been making comments on my posts. Apologies for that, I wasn’t ignoring you, I was just rather slow. I’ve just responded, but rather annoyingly, despite being allowed 400 words, the comments feature doesn't seem to be showing them all after I pasted them in.

Which is a little irritating really.  

# 8 [24 January 2009]

Apparently, my blog was one of the most read last month. I’m rather flattered that people are reading it, although it also feels a little peculiar at the same time – by trying to discuss my work in quite an honest, day-by-day way, I’ve made a conscious decision to omit ‘art-speak’; but in doing so, it has all become more personal, which is a slightly un-nerving act in itself.

The format of writing in a blog makes this easier though, I think. By putting my ideas in this context, it’s automatically less formal, and there’s less of a temptation to add some pretention into the mix. This is also about the only time I write anything for Other People to read without asking my partner (who has a degree in writing) to look over, re-arrange my sometimes rather erratic sentence structure, and generally smarten up. However, I’ve looked back over my posts so far, and I still feel happy with them – I wonder if there’s a way of taking extracts to include in that elusive Artist’s Statement?

Looking around the archives at the Discovery Museum was great. They’ve got a fantastic collection of objects, which I could have nosed through for quite a while. What interested me more when I got there though, were not so much the objects which they know a reasonable amount about, but the ones that they don’t. There are quite a few objects which the museum owns from previous collections, when the cataloguing and record keeping wasn’t as detailed and accurate as it is now. I quite like the idea that a museum is effectively there as a place to house knowledge, but when the museum lacks this knowledge, it heightens / creates a sense of loss about that particular object.

I’m going to be spending the rest of the afternoon reading some essays about collecting, and making a few notes. There was recently a call out for papers for a conference called ‘Museums and Biographies’. They want to ‘draw together analyses of representation, material culture and personality’ and they are ‘inviting papers that can cast a new light on the study of lives, objects and display’. My work seems to fit rather nicely into this, and they are asking for artists as well as historians and museologists, but as I’ve never done anything like this before, I’m not quite sure where to begin. Hence the reading.  

# 7 [15 January 2009]

Well, it's been a bit of a while since my last post - Christmas, New Year, and having a rush of applications to complete have taken over recently. I've also been spending an inordinate amount of time sitting in front of this computer either arguing with it about colour calibration or researching various ideas.

I'm attaching a photograph of the dress piece I completed just after New Year and photographed in the project space I was working in. I've recently applied for some funding for training in alternative photographic processes (using liquid emulation and making tintypes, a late 19th century process), but for the moment, I'm trying to get the colour accurate for digital printing. Which is a mission in itself, as my computer resolutely refuses to stick to the correct calibration I've worked out for it. Anyway, until that is solved, I've attached an image to give an idea of how that last piece of work is looking.

I thought it worked quite well in the space, until my partner told me the space made him think of some sort of underground torture chamber, which gave the dress rather different connotations. I was seeing the work set up there as a chance to work out how to photograph in those types of interiors, what sort of lighting etc, and for that it worked - I'm now looking for alternative locations to set up a shoot (which preferably avoid aforementioned implications).  

I'm off to meet one of the Keepers at the Discovery Museum later today, to have a nose through the objects in their social history archives and collections. I'm looking for items which have some information about their previous owners, some sort of story attached, as I think this might be another direction to take this work - an actual history or story, rather than it all being anonymous. I was reading various theories about collecting over Christmas, and looking at some research about what sort of people ‘collect’, and what is collected. As I was reading, I was thinking about how after we’ve died, all that is physically left behind are the objects we’ve amassed during our lifetimes. So by collecting, (either consciously knowing it to be a collection, or not) is that an attempt to create a permanence, a physical grounding after we’ve gone?    

# 6 [17 December 2008]

I’ve been thinking about how my moods are associated with my work, and how they go in waves quite a bit. I’ll feel like I’m on to something, I’ll have a rush of ideas which need to be written down very quickly, and I feel really energised. However, that pinnacle on this rollercoaster is inevitably followed by a very low dip, which brings me crashing back to questioning everything, and feeling numb and muddy in my head.

I woke up the latter this morning. When I’m like this, I find it really hard to focus on what I’m making, and really feel like just giving up on the day, but at the same time I know if I do that, then the feeling will just continue – it’s basically finding a way of working myself out of it. I achieved this, this afternoon by making myself a list of each stage I needed to do in order to photograph the dress piece and the doily carving. I then made myself work through this list, and gradually the numbness faded, and I began to think clearly again.

I realised I’d been thinking of the dress as a dress, rather than as a vehicle to suggest the absence of a person. So I’ve tightened the fabric over the mannequin, and I’ve coated the fabric with more starch and watered down PVA, so when it dries, it should be quite sturdy, and also really get the shape of the figure across. I’m not sure I like the way that the fabric finishes with the hem-line at the moment. It seems a bit sudden, like a line being drawn underneath something to divide what is below from what is above. I wonder if there’s a way of making it seem to fade away, like you can do with paint?

I’ve also been thinking about this concept of blogging again. I’ve found myself narrating what I’m thinking in my head, mentally dictating sentences to write. Does this mean that the process of writing my thoughts for this blog is having an effect on my thinking process?

# 5 [16 December 2008]

Today, I've mostly been using a rotary tool to mechanically scratch paint off the base of a brick column. This has succeeded in giving me a sore back and knees, but as resolutely failed to do what I wanted it to.

When I've done this previously, the layers of paint beneath the surface were a pale colour, and even if I scratched too deeply and went back to the plaster, this wouldn't matter particularly. However, there seems to be some black paint under there somewhere, which means that the entire design is looking too dark, too obvious. (And also a bit like pencil lead, which ironically I used to draw the design on the wall in the first place. The way it looks currently, I really needn't have bothered with this time consuming scratching process).   

When you get close enough you can see the layers of colour, which is interesting enough, but overall it's not working. Might try painting over it tomorrow, so all that's left is a scaring on the brickwork, a trace of the shape.