Notes from an obsessive/compulsive butterfly

There was enough sunshine yesterday to allow me to take photographs of the new work ‘Cara Mia’.

I’m particularly happy with this one; it isn’t the work I have been referring to recently, although I’m just as excited about it.

It is an extension of my 3D paintings, and as such is an exploration into the nature of painting, among other things. It is inevitable that people will draw parallels between this and Michael Craig-Martin’s ‘An Oak Tree’. They will be mistaken, though. Apart from the obvious glass-and-water, there is no connection. It is just that they have certain media in common. It has made me aware how readily people will take on such assumptions, not just in art, but in general.

A few days ago I started to write about a new work that I am particularly excited about, and before that, a question I had posed to myself about minimalism. Both references are to the same piece of work. But I wasn’t ready to show it, and the principal reason is this: the work is finished, in the sense that the physical execution is done: a tiny, tiny, tiny gesture. That was my objective, but it is also the problem: the word ‘gesture’. It sounds like a shrug of the shoulders, or a flicker of indifference. Nonchalant. Yet there was so much thought invested before I made the ‘mark’ (I couldn’t possibly tell you over how much time – it would sound insane). Then, afterwards, consolidating those thoughts to verify to myself that I had achieved what I set out to do, followed by thinking of an appropriate title that didn’t undermine everything. It all adds up to something which is so inversely proportional to the gesture that I am left with a feeling somewhere between uneasiness and elation. Oddly, that might be a good thing.

Imagine the noise if social media was spoken, rather than written.

I managed to file my tax return in (reasonably) good time. I will try to do it as soon as possible after the 5th of April this year (That sounds like a resolution. It’s not. Either I get on with it, or I don’t. I see no point in waiting to the end of the year to make a decision to do something). Doing my accounts ought to be getting easier by rights – as an artist the pile of receipts will always be higher than the pile of invoices. Jeez.

I made a couple of barely perceptible tweaks to my website, most notably removing my statement. I decided that it may stay feeling ‘fresher’ if it is not under my nose. I haven’t added any new work for the moment. There is one in particular that I am excited about, but I’m not ready to show it as yet.

I was surprised by the number of people on the normally-deserted-beach this morning, presumably there to see the eclipse. They, like me, would have been disappointed. There was just too much sea-fog. The colour of the light seemed different, though, hinting at what was concealed.

I have been reflecting on another new work, but this time I think I am going to be frustrated. The problem is scale. The piece won’t be enormous, but it will be too large to pass through an ordinary door. If I can’t make it so that it can be dismantled (which is what I have planned for another large piece), I will have two choices as I see it: one is not to make the piece at all. The other is to make a smaller version, and hope that I can use it to persuade someone to provide suitable working space and storage for a full size version. I am confident that I would be able to find exhibition space once it is made (I have to be, don’t I?). It is hard not to envy those artists who have huge workshops.

Dear Santa,

For Christmas, I would like a Chopper bike. And the Turner Prize.

The art world is often accused of sexism, but ageism too? There is no valid reason whatsoever why anyone’s gender, race, sexual proclivity, background, physical condition etc., etc., should preclude them from involvement in what ought to be THE most inclusive arena of all. Yet the Turner Prize – arguably the country’s highest profile art prize – is open only to artists under the age of fifty.

As one of those so obviously well and truly past it, I could never be nominated as things stand. And I believe I have every right to be aggrieved. Questioning this arbitrary limit, I looked into the reasons for it. The website states “There was no age limit at first, but in 1991 it was decided to restrict the Prize to artists under fifty, so that younger artists just setting out weren’t pitted against artists at the height of their careers”.

This is laudable, but it is not exactly joined-up thinking, is it? It assumes, wholly incorrectly, that all artists start their careers at a young age. I would think that a quick glance around every single art education institution in the country will quickly prove the need to repudiate this misjudgement. Furthermore, many, many artists are obliged to put their careers on hold for all kinds of perfectly legitimate reasons. Raising a family, to name but one. The latter inevitably increases the weighting in favour of young males. In fact, if we extrapolate perceptions of the effects of tuition fees, weighting will become in favour of young, white, middle-class males. Oops.

I didn’t start my art career until very recently, and, in only a couple of years, I’m doing O.K. thank you very much. I’m going all-out for it, because I am passionate about it. But I, nor anyone else in my position, no matter what we achieve in our practices, could ever be nominated for the Turner Prize.

May I suggest an alternative criterion? How about a maximum career length?