The fragility of life …
Another of those moments when I feel compelled to catch up on this blog – if only to park a lot of the stuff that’s been busy scrambling my brain. I’m definitely feeling in need of a break and sitting down to write this, feels like a kind of signing off from art for a week or so – my own art, at least.
I’ve added some images recently but haven’t been able to focus or concentrate enough to write, despite feeling that I really wanted to. I’ve had the pleasure of working with some really generous artists these past few weeks who collectively, brought with them amazing warmth, sensitivity, colour, fun and humour. Simultaneously, I’ve had to deal with a lot of sadness in other areas of my life.
It’s been a demanding time, both creatively and personally; taking part in two exhibitions in quick succession, amidst coming to terms with the sudden and unexpected death of a close relative at the end of May. Following on from that, just a few weeks later, came the news that someone I knew as a kind, generous and gregarious person had taken his own life. Another sharp reminder of the fragility of life. This stark contrast between the fragility of life and the permanence of objects is something I think about a lot. It’s one of the main themes of my work, and I found myself thinking about it during the installation of Don’t Ask in the Bread and Jam group show, as I created a scenario of a (mainly) fictitious, but rather sad life, using objects as my main medium.
With all of the above and more on my mind, there’s been very little space or time to think about much else over these past few weeks. I’ve continued to monitor Bread and Roses for signs of decay, but otherwise, I’m acutely aware of how little attention I’ve given to thinking about politics and in particular, what’s been going on within the Labour Party in terms of the recent campaign to vote Jeremy Corbyn in as the leader. It’s unusual for me to be out of touch in this way – my work is frequently informed by my interest in what’s going on in the world around me, socially and politically – Bread and Roses after all, is a direct response to the austerity measures imposed by the current government.
But in a conversation with an artist last week, I was struck by how vague and empty my response was when asked about my position on the Corbyn vote. It left me with an uneasy feeling that’s been niggling away at me ever since – recognition perhaps, of how disengaged and disassociated I’ve been feeling these past few weeks and months. What do I feel? Do I actually know any more?
Looking back at what I wrote here just under three months ago, shortly after the election results came through, I realise how little I’ve moved on from that time. Seeing the Conservatives voted in again completely threw me; it was not what I was expecting.’Gutted’ was the word I used to describe how I felt, a word defined in the dictionary as: devastated, destroyed, demolished, wiped out, ruined, ravaged, wrecked.
I’ve continued to experience a lot of those feelings, unable to overcome an overwhelming sense of despondency, and all the other descriptions of what being gutted feels like. Once bitten, twice shy, I suppose; there’s a sense that I’ll need to dig deep to find the enthusiasm to be optimistic all over again. But hopefully, through recognising the loss, I’ll get closer to taking that first step to getting back on the proverbial horse and starting afresh – to ‘keep spirits up, to turn despair into hope and to channel anger effectively‘ as I wrote in a blog post here, two weeks after Election day, May 7th 2015.
I also included a quote in that particular blog post from Malcolm X, which said this:
‘Usually when people are sad, they don’t do anything. They just cry over their condition. But when they get angry, they bring about a change.’
Maybe it’s time to get angry?
Something to think about while I’m taking a break, maybe …
