Flesh on the Bones of the Belfast Child

I have a yukky, sniffly cold and worse still, I have let myself be utterly consumed by projects with schools and community groups etc. For some bizarre reason this always happens to me at the end of the summer term. Not only have I set myself a ludicrously complex task which is coming in way over budget, but to deliver on my own self-imposed deadline is requiring me to work flat out leaving my own work to one side. I think to cut to the chase, once I start making things, anything really, I start to get excited and always want to push it one stage further. I set myself ridiculously ambitious goals, which is great because I get plenty of work, but ironically it’s not the work I really want.

With frustration building, I have got as far as dividing my workbook into clearly labelled sections, they read:

reading/research

galleries to visit/contacts

work to be made

ideas

film effects to explore

new words

The master plan is that once summer holidays have started I will get up at 7 AM, go straight to the studio and work until 10 AM, (luckily I’ve got really sleepy children who conveniently like to sleep in during holidays). As such the mangled mess of half finished work in the studio should be resurrected and completed. Come September, space for photographing will be hired and a proposal put together to be subsequently sent to galleries. Looking at a website for an exhibition recently which interviewed all the artists I noticed one woman say she had written to over 100 galleries and museums in order to get the show she had planned on tour, I guess it’sthat sort of dedication that gets results. It certainly made me sit up and think.

In truth though I have purposely cut myself some slack this year as far as applying for opportunities goes. I’ve spent a lot of time putting a proposal together for a show in Salisbury but I’ve also spent a lot of time thinking and planning the direction of my work without the pressure of application deadlines. I have four children and right now they need a lot of my time – but that will change. If I am completely honest I feel confident in my practice. Confident to take time to allow my work develop at a pace I can handle.

Right now though, it’s out with the tissues and the Lemsip because, at the end of the day, there is no one to pass the work on to, the buck for these projects well and truly rests with me.

Clever a-n, very clever… Half-heartedly scanning the blogs yesterday I noticed the term, ‘Top 10 blogs’, and sitting up a little in my chair, clicked on it. I was at number three. Hmm, …I thought,… well, this won’t change things, after all, what do numbers matter, I’m merely happy rambling on to myself. But then I looked a little closer,… It’s good to be number three, but where was I last month – not even on the list, but why, …more thought… Ah, Chief blogger, number one Emily Speed pointed people to my blog in one of hers last month. So that’s it – I’m only a number three on the back of the great number one but why should that matter, after all is not a competition is it. Then I began to think, I like number three, how can I stay at number three, and I begin to think tactics. More blogging, more blogging means more hits and that’s bound to be good, but I’ll never beat the great Emily. On Facebook fellow bloggers are beginning to throw taunts at oneanother, threats are made to use titillating images to boost readers and so, the seed is sown, the days of innocent blogging are gone, what have you done a-n, what have you done!

Words. I have too many of them. I have little of significance to say in relation to myself this week. But the urge, (which I believe is an Irish condition), to spill them out nevertheless, remains with me. This week has been about making money. Workshops, schoolwork – my own work has totally taken a back seat in order to pay the bills, but it is never far from my mind. Amidst the flurry of a busy schedule a Facebook message popped into my e-mail, ‘So sorry…, so shocked…’. Matthew Miller, co-director of Fabrica, an old fellow studio member from my days at Red herring had died suddenly. I clicked on his name. There was a Twitter message from just a day or two ago, it was a cold wet day and Matthew was busy lighting a fire.

Technology, Facebook, Twitter has altered so much for us. When my mother died I found a message on my mobile phone, her voice, like nothing had changed, remained for two weeks or so, reminding me to make sure that the children were warm enough in the snowy weather, I listened to it every day then one day, without warning, it was gone.

Matthew – with his message on Twitter – a moment caught in time – so poignant in it’s ordinariness.

Some years ago when I returned to making work, I began to look up old contacts, names I had worked with, to link up again perhaps. I was thrilled to find an artist friend, with some wonderful photos of his hugely accomplished work, much evolved from his early years. But the Facebook entries, so full of exhibitions, friends, events, stopped abruptly on a certain day. Nothing more was added. And further research confirmed sadly, what the unfinished page said without words.

My studio is full of many bits and pieces, scraps of this and that, items destined to become part of works that may never be realised. One such item is a folder which I keep in a special drawer. It is the carers record of the daily visits to my mother, ‘Took Mrs Francis to the toilet, put back to bed, helped Mrs Francis get dressed… etc etc’ lists and lists of dates, until the last entry and the page, left blank, beyond.

Matthew will be remembered for the wonderful contribution he made to the visual arts in Brighton and beyond. Each day more and more Facebook notifications pour into my e-mail, as people update the page in his memory. Matthew, however, in addition to all his creative abilities, had that very special quality, he was a quiet, thoughtful man and he knew when words weren’t needed.

Feeling mildly unhinged recently. By that I mean most of the time I invest a lot of energy in keeping myself on the tracks as it were, focused, working, applying and generally moving forward hopefully. Every now and then though I turn around to look at the view and somehow derail myself.

The children are off school.

Recently I read a post on Facebook by Artlyst featuring a woman artist discussing how she managed a career in art with a young child ( despite trawling back through older posts I can’t find the name of the artist), the trials and tribulations and how she has surmounted these. Great, that’s definitely great, but I would so love to hear from the women artists with big families. It’s just a different ballgame altogether – with more balls as it were. Perhaps I’m just being unrealistic, perhaps I just need to put on my pinny, settle down to the ironing and realise it’s just a step too far. If someone would just tell that to my head that keeps pouring out ideas and to the knot in my stomach which disappears when I lose track of time in the studio. Get this, I was due to pick my daughter up from a sleepover at 10.15 yesterday. I was late. Why? I sat down to tie my shoelaces, noticed there was a pen and paper on the table beside me and decided to start writing a novel. What sort of crazy, freaky person (and somewhat hopeless parent) am I. What made me think that starting a novel when I had to leave in 5 min time was a good idea? ( I must point out here I’ve never written a novel before but have started more than a few), and yes, with all the inevitability that this situation held, I forgot about the time and ended up late.

A few years ago, when I decided to return to making work, I went to my first exhibition opening. I was late, nervous and alone. I got horribly lost in the new Forest and eventually found a little group huddled around a table of wine, in a gap in the trees just next to the shoreline. Nearby in the woods was a large site-specific sculpture which was the focus of the gathering. Frazzled by my loan adventure navigating my way pre-satnav, I took some wine and struck up a conversation with the artist. I genuinely loved the work and we talked for some time. We found out we both had large families, she had five, and I told her I was just returning to to exhibiting. She was really supportive and assured me that she had managed to get back to work quite successfully. That was, I now know, Phyllida Barlow, a hugely successful sculptor and her words at the time and her generosity at sharing her experience has stuck with me. She remains the only other artist I have met, myself, with a large family.

Anyway, time today to rally round, get my act together and get back in the studio.