Inedible Culinary Exercises

Diary of a Non-Synesthete

As an artist, the life of a synestete is at worst intriguing and at best desirable. The ability to see the world differently is something inherent in all artists, but the ability to literally and consciously perceive the world in a way which is altered from what is seen to be ‘normal’ is something of great personal intrigue.

For me, synesthesia acts as an automatic form of artistic expression. I hope this statement isn’t offensive to syntheses. I just mean that the inherent fundamentals behind the condition are able to describe a way of perceiving the world that can inform our understanding of reality. This is the very reason why artists wish to communicate their ideas, so something that does this anyway will always have the potential to inspire. But how can this inspiration be exploited in order to achieve something with artistic merit?

The problem lies in the fact that art can be seen as metaphoric – a tool which can be utilised to describe a sensation. Synesthesia, on the other hand, is a literal experience. With this in mind, I seek to embed the literal in my work, but by using foods with metaphoric connotations.

A reasonable starting point is nutmeg. Yes, nutmeg. Whole nutmeg, when freshly ground, contains myristicin – an organic compound which induces psychoactive behaviour, allowing one to synthetically alter their perception of the world. This inherently allows a parallel to be drawn with synesthesia as, while there is an artifice in utilising chemical substances, they can nevertheless allow a non-synethite to visualise sound, to touch colour and to hear scent.

Here, I have used the intrinsic characteristics of nutmeg and created a piece based on the sensation of eating. I suppose, in that sense, my work can be seen as describing the idea of synesthesia, and a tension exists between the condition itself and the fact I cannot acquire it.

Let it be said, however, that being a non-synestete has its own set of advantages with regard to my practice. It provides me with something unattainable, and the desire for something that is unattainable is a source of creativity – a go-to point when a particular avenue of enquiry is exhausted. I am also able to thoroughly regard all elements of the condition without specific physical attachment, which would have an influence on my overall intrigue.

Synesisia is a way of seeing the world. In this way, it is similar to art: I just hope that what I create are coherent devices that synthetically create an experience akin to synesthesia, to raise awareness of the condition and, in turn, to the experience to be applicable to the reality of a non synesthite.

My latest work signifies something of a breakthrough in terms of what a jar of paint can depict: An intelligible degree of subjection is instantly attached to the contents of each jar. They no longer represent paint; they represent the essence of paint.

The properties of food have still been exploited in order to achieve the paint. But rather than describing the face value of the paint, labels have been attached that describe metaphorical and experiential attachment to the paint, based on the paint’s properties. For example, the label ‘Home’ is attached to paint made from tea. This is because the concept of a cup of tea contains within it connotations associated with the experience of being home.

The jar of paint is now able to communicate the notion that memory has an intrinsic and complex correspondence to the food we consume, and that preconception dictates our preference to food.

A notable juxtaposition is that, inherently, what I have created are still essentially jars of paint – meaning that they can be consumed, exchanged, revered and dismissed in the same way all products can. The notion of memory-based subjection and individual regard becomes restated as a consumable item.

I have also applied each paint to a surface in equal rectangular strips behind the corresponding jar. The nature of applying paint in this way seeks to remove subjection and seeks to regard application of paint as a reference – a tool which one can use to ascertain the nature and density of the paint at face value. The medium has therefore exchanged roles with the painting – for it is the medium that communicates an idea and the painting that becomes an object.

Yesterday I endured the acquaintance of an extremely heavy, cumbersome and joyless piece of apparatus commonly known as a ‘camera.’ As some of you know, I have been asked to produce over twenty images of jars of home-made paint for a forthcoming exhibition at Forum Cafe, Sheffield. Whilst I am delighted at this prospect, it has also enabled me to ponder the virtue of photography as a means to communicate.

I have been using photography as a means to document for years now. The pictures I take are never deemed the actual work. They are used to share and promote my work with an audience, and to exchange ideas and correspond with other artists. They are also useful personally, to compare and analyse your own work in context. Until now, I have not used photography in order to communicate my ideas directly.

You can see this work at Forum Cafe, Sheffield, From August 12^th until September 23^rd. You can find more details here:

https://www.facebook.com/events/535504756517109/

For the past two weeks I have attempted to begin and complete one painting a day, ad so far, I am ecstatic to report that such attempts have been successful.

The initial reason for undertaking such a feat was simply attain a sense of solidarity and rhythm to my practice. But then it hit me that the very process of completing one painting a day comes with its own set of challenges which perhaps can be attached to a concept. It emerged that parallels existed between this energetic, hurried yet somehow hollow approach to making work and the processes involved in preparing and eating lunch: And so lunch, and the concepts that exist within lunch, have ultimately been attached to this particular strand of my practice.

Lunch is seemingly a diminished meal, it can consist of anything, and it has no definition, no identity and no authority. It can exist virtually any time in the afternoon and often exists whilst at a place of work. It is devoured over a desk, in the formal and contrived environment of a staff room, or purchased from an outlet and guzzled down on the move. Lunch has no lasting joy, but is penetrating within its own time frame.

This rushed experience of lunch is reflected and exploited in my work, whereby I have depicted the lunch I have eaten that day within the time it took to eat it: Therefore, captured in my ‘one painting a day’ is a superficial sense of vibrancy, without definition or authority. Brush-strokes contain energy without quality. Form is not fully realised and addresses the social disregard for lunch, relative to other meal times.

I have placed these works on my timeline on my facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/BorkowskyArtist . This serves to further reflect the temporary and disposable nature of lunch: Timeline posts appear in news feeds instantly; they explode onto the screen and are readily accessible. However, the passing of time sees my post disappear from immediate regard – incessantly shifted into obscurity and replaced by new posts, from other individuals, all of which are interchangeable and often concern disposable social themes.

So, think of my ‘one painting a day’ images the next time you attempt to gobble down your lunch whilst trying to brave the elements. And enjoy the penetrating yet fleeting burst of joy lunch time has to offer.

Cup of tea, Anyone?

What exactly is a cup of tea? It’s a bloody good question, I’m sure you’ll agree, and one that perhaps art is able to explain: Or at least enable us to explain it for ourselves.

As an object, tea is one of the most universal recognisable consumable products out there. And as such, is open to an almost limitless degree of subjectivity. It contains within it the broadest of subjects – from ancient Chinese mythology to accessible domestic consumption, and from being cited in medical texts to being recognised as a symbol of ‘Britishness’: It seems that tea contains as many stories as the individuals that drink it.

However, it is clear to me that, despite the rich complexities concerning the very notion of tea, it is undoubtedly a revered and highly relatable product. Tea is a powerful vehicle that is able to bring people together and allow individuals to connect through simple pleasures. It is a common tool that allows the individual to discover mutual comforts and shared interests and so ultimately to achieve a base sense of integration into society.

So, what with the sheer boundless nature of tea, how the bloody hell am I going to achieve a visual rendering of it with any coherence? Well, my theory is that a sense of objectification is needed in order for an audience to connect with tea on a base level. It is then for the audience to decide how to respond to my work and how to apply it to their experience of tea.

In ‘The Infinite Cup Of Tea’ I seek to remove all experiential, symbolic, social, cultural and political connotations associated with tea in order to visually explain that it is the very properties of a cup of tea that a mass audience – of any race, religion or culture – can respond too. Essentially what I’ doing is laying out the components of a cup of tea, and allowing the audience itself to attach meaning: This is a cup of tea without identity, but from which an identity emerges when an audience establishes a connection.

This work is isolated from form and placed with reverence upon the gaze of the viewer. It is limitless in potential yet restrained by personal contemplation. It is a lie, from which the viewer extracts their own truth.

Anyway, enough of this tea-based musing – I’m off to put the kettle on.