ARTISTS TALKING

# 1 [10 December 2009]

Over the last 6 months I've spent most of my "ringfenced" creative time (about 1 day a week) marketing my teaching business: various aspects of dreams and ritual aimed at psychotherapists and art therapists. My greatest success was to persuade Roehampton to let me run a 1 day workshop. Great! I can put Roehampton on my CV. BUT - the course was cancelled due to lack of interest ... can I still put it on my CV?

Other than that, I have a total of 8 hours of confirmed teaching work coming up for the next 12 months. There are also a dozen organisations on the "interested - call back" list ... so not an entirely lost cause, and teaching work does grow via recommendation. So, I've given it my best shot, time to return to something creative.

Time is now more precious than it was 6 months ago. My daughter has been diagnosed with a hip condition that requires weekly visits to the swimming pool, fortnightly visits to the physiotherapist, and monthly visits to the consultant. Due to a collision between the appointment times, pool opening times and my partner's working hours, the bulk of this extra caring has fallen on my shoulders, and the time has to be stolen from my studio time.

On the brighter side, my son is now old enough, and willing enough, to babysit his little sister, so the possibility of creative work during the evenings is returning, and could become a regular addition to my studio time.

At the moment I am exploring in two main directions:

1) Continuing the ritual-style events, I have been rather taken with a Tibetan Buddhist ritual which involves months of painstaking manufacture of ritual items, all of which are chucked on the fire at the end of the ritual - a practical demonstration of impermanence and emptiness - Thinks: Storing large scale works is becoming a pain, and since, realistically, I'm never going to sell any of these things, I may as well ritually burn them at the end of an event ... and it would be a great spectacle, as well as being theoretically justifiable.

Problem: Canvas covered in acrylic paint is not as flammable as one might imagine, how to make it go off with more of a roar than a whimper? Have tried various experiments with various petroleum products, gunpowder extracted from fireworks, potassium nitrate extracted from gunpowder extracted from fireworks, various ammonium compounds, and some dabbling with chromate oxidising agents ... As yet, the primed and painted canvas remains exceedingly reluctant to combust. My next stop will be the UK Pyrotechnic Society, but in the meantime any ideas are very welcome.

2) This is a more traditional Live Art direction - Outdoor collaborative improvisation (music, movement, video, clowning, text etc.). Inspired by my experience taking my son up Snowdon in September, and encountering massive queues at every stage from the bus stop to the summit. Captive audiences, plenty of publicity potential. Anyone interested?

# 2 [16 December 2009]

Oxford Improvisers - what a great find! 10 years ago when I was last doing this kind of thing, I'd have donated several limbs to medical science to have a resource such as this. Now, when I'm just thinking of returning to improvisation as a vague possibility, it falls - plonk - right in my lap.

Meetings every Monday evening, which in theory is one of my evenings "off" from the kids; and only 500 yards from home. Just perfect. Except that so far the school play, a bout of gastric flu, and a customer's network emergency have prevented my attendance at 3 of the last 4 meetings. Never mind, it will happen!

On a whim, I attended a "Sacred Clowning" workshop on Saturday run by Madeleine Forey ... a clown. Fantastic fun. Not recommended for conceptualists and cynics. Reminded me of why I'm doing this art thing in the first place. Refreshing and inspiring.

Have finally got my last exhibition (Rites - see "after Rites") on the web, or at least enough bits of it to make it worth advertising. Thanks to Paul Freestone for beautiful closeup photos of the paintings. Can be viewed at http://www.dreamcraft.org.uk/ritesexhibition/Rites.php

Still no joy combusting canvas, and now have a bag of highly toxic chemicals to dispose of. It looks disconcertingly like orange sherbert ... I warned my own kids off it, just hope nobody else's break into the shed and dip their fingers in ...!

Tomorrow, I have an appointment to fix a laptop for Age Concern, Thursday it's Milton Keynes to help set up a new office for Connection Floating Support, and Friday have to sort out the email contacts on a Judge's laptop. At some point I have to find time to let my customers know that I'm not working for the next 2 weeks, as I've had enough of it all ... not to mention the X word.

Once I've done my accounts, invoicing, mileage, shopping and statutory seasonal parties, and scheduled holiday childcare arrangements with my partner, I should get 3 days in my studio. I usually spend one of those days trying to remember why I'm there in the first place ...

# 3 [23 December 2009]

Self-portrait, pastel on Ingres paper.

I like pastels because they’re immediate. I can get an intuitive reaction onto paper, and then work it at leisure – no need to dry (like oils), or be worked quickly (like acrylics). Suited for family life with unpredictable workloads.

Almost all my visual work begins as pastel studies.

I work intuitively with colour and shape. These drawings are about relationships – with people, places, anything.

Everybody feels different depending on who they’re with … And that feeling fundamentally colours our relationship with that person.

For me, portraits are about (literally) depicting the colour of relationships. And a self-portrait is about depicting my relationship with myself. This requires a little time, honesty, soul-searching, some internal reflection while gazing at my reflection in the mirror.

I used to feel a likeness was important. Then I painted a portrait of an artist friend, which I was pleased with. I commented “I’ve caught a good likeness there”. “Ha ha!”, they replied “apart from the purple skin and green hair!”.  I realised that “likeness” is a distraction from what’s actually happening in the painting. I’m now comfortable with abstraction, using the shapes, as well as the colours, in depicting  relationship.

After a period of reflection, I start feeling drawn to certain colours: blue and yellow. I start with the cheek, running down between the lines stemming from the corner of my eye. Moving to another part of the paper, the shapes formed by my nose, upper lip, and lower cheek. I avoid classical features, but allow the line of my lower lip, alongside the line of my eyebrows.

My beard and hair are suddenly important, and dominate as upper and lower frames for the drawing. Now I’m pulled towards reds and oranges, mixing with the yellow.

Next I concentrate on the boundary of my face. My reflection is framed by several rectilinear features: bookcase, cassette tapes, door and doorframe; also softer features like the towel draped over the door. These fill the paper between my facial surfaces, appearing in orange.

I stand back and view the collection of part-sketches as a whole. I envision the outcome, the shapes and boundaries that are suggested by the parts, and I divide the drawing with swift lines, snaking around nose, bookcase, cheek-line, towel, lower lip. Nothing remains, the parts have become a new whole; a hidden world has revealed itself.

I continue adding colour, texture and shading, immersed in a trance whose decisions and actions are unaccountable, inexplicable.

Suddenly I awake: it’s almost done. A few colouration issues, and for these I stand back again, assess the balance, and finish up with confidence.

The final task is fixation. Fixative disperses the white, so I go over all the highlights with extra white, then apply the fixative. As it dries, the final image emerges. It’s OK, the painting suggests some interesting things … but there’s room for improvement, things to do differently next time, bits I’ll never be happy with …

# 4 [27 December 2009]

I’m just emerging from a deep introspection initiated by my partner’s challenge: Given you’ve got no discernable talent, why do you spend so much time trying to put your creative work out there? Paint for the love of it, and stop anxting over getting it “out there”. Well, that was the gist.

This view relegates creative work to a hobby. Something one occasionally indulges  in on an idle Saturday afternoon instead of going for a walk or visiting friends. It can’t possibly justify the expenses of: studio space, time off work, organisation of events; when we have to save up for new duvets for the kids’ warmth, or the luxury of a new toaster.

Creative work makes no money for me. It’s not “a career” that makes less money than the alternatives. Without my partner on board, I either have to create on a “hobby” basis, and earn sensible money with the liberated time, or leave the relationship.

The first problem is one of pride, the “discernable talent”. On reflection, there are plenty of artists who get their work “out there” whose only discernable talent is marketing. One has to be born with creative genius, but fortunately for the rest of us, marketing skills can be learned. On further reflection, I’m sure I’ve got talent somewhere, just forgot where I put it for safe keeping after my daughter was born!

The second problem is the “out there”. Many artists, including myself, have tried the line of “I create for the sake of it, without thought of Out There”. But they all (self included) dry up rapidly. Some are self-aware enough to notice this, some don’t care, the rest blunder off into something easier.

Art is a dialogue (for the BIG EGOS, it’s a monologue). To initiate a dialogue, you have to have something to say. As Abbi says in her comment (see #1), your art has to be “relevant” or “valid” today. There’s no point trying to be Picasso or Pollock … although those dialogues continue, they were initiated a long time ago.

I know what I’m trying to say. I couldn’t write it down in a blog, an essay, an MA dissertation, or even a PhD thesis – If I could, I would (and I tried), and that would be the end of the sorry affair. The reason I’m an artist – not an academic, non-fiction writer or logician – is that this thing can’t be written in a succinct, closed argument. Which feeds into my dislike of the artists’ statement (see After Rites #3).

I can get reasonably close to the thing with my closest friends, (which makes them closest friends) – I can dialogue with them without the intervals of months between events … And I got close enough with my partner this morning to restore her support.

But I wouldn’t write what I said here. That would destroy instantly any hope of future funding or exhibitions.

The motivation for “an artist” is a kind of madness. Most artists I’ve met comprehend it; meanwhile, commissioning bodies, administrators, many curators, academics, critics and art historians treat it as an intellectual game, entertainment for the educated bourgeoisie on a Saturday afternoon.

And that really pisses me off: Having to adjust one’s statements, attitudes, remarks, notes, explanations and commentary to suit the “game”; when we all know the whole thing is bonkers and we all belong in asylums. (See Susan Francis “Bare Bones” #18).

One thing I admire about strict fundamentalist Islam: 5 times daily prayers. I’m sure there are some who privately think: “Why do we have to stick our noses on the floor and our arses in the air 5 times a day, it’s so bad for business?”. But what a great thing – to subordinate oneself to the question of life’s meaning 5 times a day. Should be made compulsory here, especially during the Xmas holidays.

# 5 [1 January 2010]

Just finished another artistic ritual creating a dreamy self-portrait. My last creative act of the decade.

Like most people, I like to take the opportunity to look back over the last year on New Year’s Eve; but I also find it fascinating to look back over the last decade. So far, I’ve always found myself in a place that I could not have imagined ten years previously, and I always find that comforting.

However, I have a suspicion that this relatively rapid change is going to come to an end in a year or two, because life has been plodding along pretty much in the same old way since my daughter was born, just over 7 years ago.

10 years ago, I was just coming up to the final stages of the Green Gallery project, trying to persuade reluctant artists to sign contracts, and on the cusp of resigning from my part time teaching post.

Running my own IT business, having another child with my partner, leaving the place we were living at the time. These were not things that were anywhere close to the horizon.

I don’t really want things to continue as they are. The IT business is a pain – though I’ve learned a lot from it, and it’s a reliable cash-cow, it really does get me down from time to time.

I’m also fed up with our living situation, and my study/studio, which are both far from ideal. I had been hoping that the property “crash” would bring a mortgage within reach, but far from it – exploitative borrowing rates coupled with (astoundingly) continued property price rises in this area mean we’re priced out as never before.

Finally, I’d like to get back into collaborative work again. The last 8 years has seen me working pretty much on my own, snatching half a day here, half a day there, and the demands of children have made any regular meetings impossible, even (especially, in fact) in the evenings.

I can see a way out of the IT business – I explored this in my last blog – but I think it’s going to take more than a couple of years to get that truly sorted. But I’m upbeat on that one.

I’ve now got the time to make regular commitments, and will be joining the Oxford Improvisers, within which there is great potential for collaboration, and exciting new projects.

I’m also finding the a-n blogs and forums a great source of inspiration, and who knows, maybe I’ll make some valuable contacts through this route too?

Accommodation and living situation is going to be harder to fix; but a double-dip recession, or at least a major dip for house prices, in 2010 would be a magnificent outcome!

Happy New Year everybody!

# 6 [4 January 2010]

Another self-portrait, a little more colour this time. Wanted a different angle, so spent a good 30 minutes balancing mirrors on boxes and an old easel, until I could see myself comfortably while drawing.

I’ve used a little illusion here, running some patches of colour straight across the facial boundary. Our brains fill in the missing lines, so it’s actually quite difficult not to see a complete face. I’ve also deliberately placed the specularity along the top of the head at the wrong level, but again our brains plonk it back where we think it should be, and we still interpolate a surface correctly.

This is all stuff I learned while researching for my psychology doctorate – as well as the lovely dot of white on the pupil of the eye which we instantly read as a shiny curved surface. A good third of my thesis was directly concerned with visual perception, and what our brains have to do in order to interpret the “visual field”.

So, 20 years ago, my brain full of psychology theory (and practice), how to make art from it?

There were some obvious directions to go in:

Make art out of optical illusions – be a contemporary MC Escher. Well, not only had Escher already done it, he’d pretty much covered every base, and with far greater skill than I could ever hope to achieve.

Then there’s the whole cognitive thing. Logic, axioms, deduction, contradiction, the beauty of mathematical structures. But I still had bad feelings from that side of my research – I had addressed an international conference on “Truth Maintenance, Second Order Logic and Default Logic”, exposing my humble piece of research to the scrutiny of the two dozen or so logicians from around the world who were actually interested in this little niche. I realised at this point that, whatever I was, I was not a logician. It was rather like being a fish addressing a conference of cycling enthusiasts. So, I didn’t really want to follow this direction creatively either.

I’d also spent quite a lot time researching dreams and dream interpretation. I’ve always had very vivid dreams, and have been fascinated by those who spend their lives deriving meaning from them. Well, there’s the straightforward path of “Dream Art”, an approach with a good provenance, especially from the surrealist movement. But a brief survey of Dali’s work convinced me that my dreams weren’t anything like as interesting as his, and again, I wasn’t going to come close to his technical skill … not for a long time, at least.

Another tiny strand which led from my doctoral research, which barely made it into my thesis at all, was the question of emotion, spirituality and relationship. The abstract expressionists had already had a good go at this kind of thing, but I felt there was still something missing – there didn’t seem to be much in modernism that was exploring spontaneous action within groups, and where this was explored, it was mostly in the fields of poetry and music.

After a couple of years, I made contact with a small number of artists, poets, musicians and dancers who were working with these ideas; mostly Live artists with a strong affiliation to psychotherapy or art therapy. The next 18 years have been a colourful path through painting, music and live performance which have culminated in my focus on (mainly sacred) ritual.

This seems to set me apart from the mainstream, whose practitioners, though often deeply spiritual, seem to produce strictly secular work. The inclusion of direct emotion or passion into a post-modern piece or event seems to be taboo.

But whether my work turns out to be a retrograde step back into modernism, or (as I hope) a progressive synthesis between modernist and post-modernist ideas, only time will tell.

# 7 [14 January 2010]

In response to Abbi Torrance (thanks for your comment):

Is it true that Visual Art specifically, and cultural activity in general, signify group membership or exclusion? Could one argue that art is only valid if it refers to a group membership delineation?

For instance, as I mentioned in "After Rites" I was educated at a school with a strong military ethos. The cultural activity of the school mainly referred to various group memberships: the military elite, the wealthy elite and the UK aristocracy.

A small bunch of us got together in the XIth form and got busy inventing a little counter-culture: we borrowed heavily from any movement that promoted individuality (the military ethos was biased towards group uniformity and authoritarianism), which included psychoanalysis theory, expressionism, anarchy and pyschedelia. It was rather like "Dead Poets Society" but 12 years earlier.

The whole project was great fun, and kept us (almost) sane for the last 2 years of our education. But once I left the school, the whole thing became irrelevant. Wider society, it turned out, was not oppressively authoritarian to that extent (even under Thatcher), and individual aspiration was already a prominent feature of UK culture. Although I desperately wanted to carry on with the experience of exciting subversion and strong group cohesion, it was difficult to find such a forum in wider society.

Eventually I became involved in the counter-culture surrounding environmental concerns, hence my occasional appearances at Stonehenge. But this is where I became very aware of the limitations of art. I've met so many artists who expound at length on the "Power of Art", how it can communicate between peoples, break down barriers, etc.

However, I don't see it that way. The art from the fringes of the environmental movement in the late 70s and 80s never communicated ideas or an ethos to the mainstream of society. The whole thing remained fringe. Some of the ideas of the time have become common currency (such as "sustainability"), but this has not happened through some cultural interchange. This has happened through a combination of necessity and debate of ideas.

What the art of the period did achieve was to provide a symbolic gathering-point. A banner around which like-minded people could come together, and through which they could identify each other. A symbol of group membership.

Likewise, the mainstream exclusion of that creative activity formed a powerful aspect to the defining of the mainstream. "You're not a whacky hippy are you? - good, you're one of us then, we can show your work in the gallery!".

From my perspective, something that defined the artistic activity of that period was the ritual. The druids at stonehenge, the full-moon covens of earth-worshipping feminists, the group outings to various "ancient monuments", and consequent rites. It's a whole visual and multi-artform aesthetic rolled together, and still regarded as too fringe for comfort. Yes, artists can do whatever whacky pagan ritual they see fit in their spare time, but please don't bring it into the gallery!

So that's exactly what I'm trying to do. And in the Rites exhibition, that's exactly what I achieved, if only in a small way.

The difficulty with this kind of thing, of course, is it doesn't really belong in a gallery. Sacred ritual isn't a commodity that can be bought and sold, and I would quickly lose my audience altogether if I tried to push it in that direction. That's why none of the work in the Rites exhibition was for sale. The work is sacred, it can't be bought.

Where I take it next, I'm not quite sure. I don't want to just carry on doing the same thing over and over again. That's not in my nature, and (this is my opinion) doesn't befit an artist. More ritualistic work, Yes. More sacred artefacts, Yes. More collaboration, Yes. More work about, and in, nature, Yes. More fun, definitely.

But also, more exploration, more change, more difference, more risk. Maybe more video, more on the internet, maybe some collaboration with more traditional gallery artists.

Oh, and that reminds me, I must join the UK pyrotechnic society. Any galleries out there willing to host an indoor fireworks display, and then open the fire and smoke damaged building as an artefact of the happening??

# 8 [6 February 2010]

Horrendous month! The 4 day project installing a computer system was hit by snow. The first evening it took 2 hours to drive 5 miles home, then kids off school, then van stuck in snow … the whole thing dragged on for 2 weeks, meanwhile I had a backlog of urgent work piling up from other customers. Aaaaagggggghhhhhhh! Clearing the backlog now, desperate for some time off.

I promised my daughter I’d do a drawing of her – she thought it was self-centred to keep drawing myself, maybe she’s right. Finished a job a few hours early, so turned up to after school club with the promise of being drawn. It took the additional promise of quantities of ice cream, but was worth it just to sit down quietly for a couple of hours with some colours and daughter.

Spent remaining spare time in January putting together Axis application (yet again). No prizes for guessing the outcome. Revisited the website and read a bit I’d previously missed:

“ … features over 2500 profiles …”. That’s less than 3% of professional artists. OK, now I understand. What started out as a radical open initiative to connect isolated artists with each other and with commercial opportunities, has become a closed elitist clique promoting the interests of a self-selected, self-defined mutually beneficial society, with the added bonus of tax-payer funding.

I know, it’s just ‘sour grapes’. I have a snowball’s chance in hell of entering the “best” 3% of artists, whichever measure you use, unless you count dogged and unreasonable perseverance at a lost cause. Or Lack Of Any Discernable Talent. I’ll start my own organisation: LOADiT, the online organisation bearing the burden of promoting artists with no discernable talent.

Truth is, whatever the status of my ‘inborn talent’, 1 day a week is not enough to develop it. Not even enough time to meet the AXIS criterion of “Critical awareness of how your own practice relates to wider developments in the contemporary visual arts”, which means getting out regularly in the evenings to see what other artists are doing. Fat chance of that. Most evenings I don’t even get to watch telly.

Totally missed the “School of Saatchi” series – Monday evenings 9.00 I’m reading bed time stories, making sandwiches for Tuesday and loading the dishwasher. Sad, I think I got more out of bed time stories, sandwiches and dishwasher than would have got out of Saatchi …

1 day a week is limping along at half the speed of artists who spend 2 days a week in their studios. 1 year of their work – 2 years of mine. Let alone the lucky ones who get 4 or 5 days a week. From now to retirement (20 years) I will get 4 years of full time creative work done. It would take towering genius to convert my current output to the “best 3%” in 4 years.

Advice to younger artists – get the funding sorted as a matter of priority.

This realisation is helpful. Stop trying to promote myself to promotional agencies. Get on with the work.

Oh yes, I got membership of the UK Pyrotechnical Society, and have a long shopping list of explosive ingredients.

# 9 [12 February 2010]

The last post I made, and peoples’ reactions to it, beg several questions.

“Have I given up? Am I really in despair?”.

“What does it mean to be in the ‘best 3%’ of artists?”.

 “Why do I want to be listed on Axis anyway?” (See Rob Turner’s comment)

 “OK, I’m doing it because I love it, but do I want to achieve anything else while I’m at it?”.

There’s a certain irony in my last post. The danger with irony is that people might take you at face value. Actually, I don’t give a **** whether I’m in the “best 3%” or not, because the question of “best 3%” is utterly irrelevant for anyone trying to break new ground.

I know I’m very good; I don’t need the endorsement of AXIS to support my fragile ego, or affirm my worth. I’ve developed my own process that accords with my motivations and chosen context. That context is ideally suited to putting across my message. I’ve developed novel techniques and uses of materials that solve my construction problems. I’ve developed a strong, instantly recognisable aesthetic which is perfect for my context. I’ve worked with a wide range of other (often highly qualified and sometimes quite well known) artists, both from visual and other art forms, and am respected by my peers. I’ve developed an original coherent theory of my context, the conclusions of which extend the possibilities of my work and set my future direction. I’ve been recognised by the Arts Council with significant funding. I've been invited as an occasional lecturer to teach my specialism at a major art college. And, of course, thousands of people have seen my work.

I know many artists who have managed none of this. I know a few artists who have managed most of them, and maybe one other who matches all this. So how does an organisation like AXIS, whose foundation stone is to promote contemporary art and artists, justify turning me down? And how do they have the bare-faced cheek to avoid any communication on the subject?

No, I’m certainly not in despair about my own qualities, potential and future. I am despairing about changing a narrow-minded arts establishment, controlled by the dual forces of conservative academia and the fads of the rich and famous.

Why do I want to be listed on AXIS anyway? Well, the more promotional websites I can get onto the better. I certainly found that linking from ArtSelector (who are doing the radical democratic thing that AXIS set out to do) to my website pushed me up the Google rankings by several pages. It all helps to provide exposure and credibility – something I particularly need, having no art qualifications.

And is it all only for the love of it? No, it certainly isn’t. I’ve had an unusual life, and have an unusual take on the world. UK society specifically, and the globe in general, are in a mess. As artists we all have a response. Some respond by challenging the way people view a piece of paper. My own response is to challenge the way people perceive sanctity, meaning, division of labour, distribution of wealth, and the nature of self (or the self in nature).

Money and fame aren’t at issue. I only want enough money to be able to keep making (Doesn't it sound easy?!). Fame just turns one into a pawn of the exploitative media machine.

The difficulty with bringing this to any kind of “establishment” is that establishments tend to be made up of individuals who are pretty happy with the way things are. They’re happy to try looking at a piece of paper in a different way, but looking at themselves, and their relationship to society and nature in a different, and often negative way, doesn’t appeal.

This provides me with my reason to keep breathing … and as long as I’m still breathing, I’ll still be following Rob Turner’s entreaty to “make art about whatever you like when you can. And keep pushing it out there”.

I now have an interesting collection of explosive materials in my studio. Waiting for my “Studio Day” while getting on with computer maintenance, washing up, bed time stories, laundry, cooking etc. is almost unbearable!

# 10 [13 February 2010]

So, I’ve had a great idea for an exhibition. It’s only at the early stages, but this is the broad outline. It’s quite conceptual, containing a lot of allegory – things like a reductionist scientific investigation into something destroys a sense of the sacred, or a quantum approach like Schrodinger’s cat – observing something destroys it, etc.

There will be 50 pieces, representing the approximate number of plant species that become extinct each day as a result of human technological activity.

Each piece will be based on a plant species that some culture somewhere holds as sacred.

The microscopic pollen of each plant will form the main fabric of the exhibition. Pollen being the mobile part of the mechanism that enables flowering plants to reproduce (hence preventing extinction, continuing the sanctity of life), equivalent to our sperms.

Each piece will be 30 cms x 30 cms, reflecting the scale of things – the size of a pollen grain relative to the piece will be approximately the size of the piece relative to an average arts centre.

Each piece will be a square of glass. Mounted at the centre of the square of glass will be a “cover slip” (used for mounting biological samples ready for a light microscope), prepared with a dozen or so pollen grains, and mounted for posterity using the standard transparent resin method.

The glass will be mounted against a background, and framed with a simple frame.

The frame and background will be a uniform colour, and the pieces will be mounted in a gallery space of the same colour.

Thus, the visual aspect of the exhibition can only actually be seen by breaking the pieces and mounting them on a microscope. I think the multiple layers of allegory are clear!

The only question I haven’t answered satisfactorily to myself yet is the colour. I would prefer black, representing the darkness of our ignorance about the world, but I guess one could argue equally well for white, or any other colour.

If it’s such a great idea, why am I not going to do it? Surely, this kind of thing is the perfect way to get “sacred” into contemporary galleries?

The fundamental answer is: “It’s just not me, it’s just not what I’m trying to do.”. Sure, it gives the viewer a little tickle at the back right of their brain, thinking that the art work is invisible unless destroyed (rather like the beautifully folded and tied love letters exhibited by a wonderful artist whose name escapes me). But that’s very different to the events I stage which push people into considering the meanings of ancient myths, their cultural heritage, their place within their community, and within the cosmos as a whole.

In comparison, this would just be a cheap trick for the sake of some column inches in a local paper.

One of my family once told me that although they love painting, they don’t do it because they can’t think of anything to paint. I have the opposite problem, the problem of what not to paint. I’m full of ideas all the time … some good, some bad, some indifferent. I’ve only got 40 years left, that’s about 2000 days of creative time (at current rates) … probably less.

To actually achieve what I want to achieve, I have to be very, very picky about what I actually do. I could waste weeks of time heading down a dead-end for the sake of some good publicity, or for a witty visual joke for the sake of an entry on my CV. But ultimately, that would mean another exciting, inspiring, wonderful event that I would not be doing … Not simply ‘not doing this year … or next year …’, but bluntly, not doing, ever.

Death is a harsh task-master, we are all her slaves whether we realise it or not.