ARTISTS TALKING

# 24 [1 July 2009]

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? 

# 23 [30 June 2009]

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.

# 22 [22 June 2009]

“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.

# 21 [9 June 2009]

“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?

# 20 [31 May 2009]

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.

# 19 [20 May 2009]

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.

# 18 [13 May 2009]

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”.

# 17 [13 May 2009]

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.

# 16 [7 May 2009]

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 …

# 15 [4 May 2009]

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?