Tag Connection

Maps

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I was very lucky to have Cheng and Dalal in my group for this week’s group crit.

I showed my recent experiments with graphite and pencil.

I explained that I have become interested in the idea of inheritance recently and mentioned Donald Rodney’s work. We had a really interesting discussion about where we come from and our legacy, how it’s sometimes comforting to know that someone else before us was like us which frees us from feelings of fault and guilt, the idea of all that has gone before distilling down into us, much like our family tree before us, ends with us. How what we pass on feels like a responsibility or a burden.

Cheng commented that the white shapes give the impression of something that is no longer there and the dark shapes are reminiscent of shadows. Thinking about it, the shadows are cast by something that is there but is not visible. A figure’s absence is felt yet we feel a figure’s presence somewhere – it just about sums up ancestry.

I explained the process of making the pieces and how they seemed to develop into a type of map. I mentioned that the subject of maps has come to the forefront of my thinking recently along with the idea of connection. In my Unit 1 feedback one of the comments was: “It feels as though you have been working through an abundance of techniques that are maybe a type of mapping – now is the time to compare and contrast all of those experiments in order to develop an intuitive and personal way of mapping your experiences…”.

For sometime I’ve been interested in Deborah Levy’s idea of her mother being her internal sat nav and I used Google maps to obtain the aerial image I used in Parental Loss. My art class recently gave me a scarf with a Grayson Perry map on it. I was thinking earlier in the year of mapping the course of a river. The coincidence that I chose to draw the lines in colours which reminded me of maps somehow has linked all of this together. That, and the fact that I have been complaining ad nauseum about not having a sense of direction.

During these two years, I am, to all intents and purposes, mapping my life.

There seems to be a strong unintentional link to maps in the images: Cheng said that the images in which I’ve marked the intersections remind her of constellations, and Dalal observed that the lines themselves could be interpreted as borders, which then feeds into borders marking the the point where countries connect. This led to me seeing that the outline of the shapes themselves resemble coastlines.

Cheng and Dalal both made some really helpful comments about potential development:

  • playing with scale: a large image on a wall giving the impression of a map but then coming in close on a small scale to create a more personal experience and stronger connections
  • Drawing on a vintage map or incorporating old family photos
  • Using a pin to attach separate images to the points of intersection – this has since led me to think about criminal investigation maps – maps with string coming off from them to images and additional information on the perimeter
  • Thinking about how I can use materials to create something that looks older, that comes from a past time – this brought to mind highly decorative old maps with sea monsters in the oceans
  • creating a large scale reimagined map

Shortly after our session ended, I had a thought about making a digital map of my life with events or periods of significance being marked by specific points, a bit like a Google map, which you could then drag the yellow man to and drop into a space where you have a street view – maybe of images relating to that particular event. And then I laughed, Alexa laughed, Siri laughed, my husband laughed.

Lots to think about, as ever.

Rubbing It Out

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Following on from Solitude, I decided to try and develop it further.

I used flipchart paper again, as it was easier to manhandle it over the obstinately curved wire fencing which I used for the grid effect. A downside was that the grid is a bit off kilter, but nonetheless I like the grid and the lines of coloured automatic drawing – it reminds me of map grid lines, a road map. I explored trying to have some figures behind and some in front of the grid. Not sure I succeeded and I am in two minds about the light figures.

I decided to have a go with soluble graphite sticks using heavyweight cartridge paper.

I wanted to get away from the soft diffused figures and experimented with hatching and rubbing on a textured surface. I sprayed with water and held upside down to create some streaks and drips. Not one for less is more, I drew some green and red lines and then thought it would be interesting to see what kind of a random pattern would be created by drawing dots at the intersections of the lines.

I still didn’t like the dark figures at the bottom and so to try and break them up a bit, I coloured in some random shapes like I’ve done previously using different marks in my monochrome doodles.

I really don’t like it, and I’m struggling to find anything positive to say about it other than I like the idea of the lines and the dots at intersections emphasising the concept of connectedness and the idea of multiple figures in the background; the idea of all those who have come before, and of inheritance (Bus Replacement Service)

This time I left out the water, but I still used the water soluble graphite stick which had a purple tint to it which isn’t apparent in the photos. I don’t think it is as easily blended as normal graphite.

I much prefer this one out of the two. I’m starting to wonder what it would be like on a painted ground or even using thin layers of oil paint gradually building them up. Or am I done for now?

Am I Bovvered?

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Amidst all the excitement of the Low Res, I received my annual rejection letter from the RA.

Immersed in all the distraction, I wasn’t bothered, which is why I have left it until now to reflect on this rejection. I’m still not bothered. Why? I’m not sure, in the end I invested quite a lot of time into the process of producing A Die, A Log, With You. However, I didn’t invest very much in an emotional sense – yes, it made me titter but it’s not as if I put my heart and soul into it. Why? because it was an arbitrary task I had set myself which was, frankly, getting in the way of more interesting things. Also, entering the Summer Exhibition is no longer my only artistic outlet into the big wide world. This blog has changed that.

Based on our discussion in yesterday’s session on the subject of success as an artist, I would say that I failed. The piece didn’t connect with others, and, perhaps more importantly, it didn’t connect with me. I used to think that my work was like a Harry Potter Horcrux with each piece containing a little bit of my emotional being. This piece has none of me, so was always destined to be a failure as a piece of work. However, as an exercise in ‘that will do’ as opposed to the normal quest for perfection it was a total success. So. I’m still left in a quandary as to why I didn’t feel connected – was it that in accepting something less than perfection I detached myself from it, or was I just not that into it to start with?

Food For Thought

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Last week was a week of two halves.

At the beginning we were told that our dog, Monty, has metastatic melanoma. Without treatment he will rapidly decline in a matter of weeks. With treatment he has a chance of possibly living to his natural life expectancy. With no significant side effects to the treatment, we are giving it a go, and he had the first dose of chemo and immunotherapy on Friday. If it becomes obvious that it isn’t working, we will stop.

We are devastated. I know he’s only a dog but he’s been a part of our family for the last 12 years; he’s been a part of my daughter’s childhood for more time than he hasn’t. I also can’t help thinking that some of the desperately crippling sadness I’m feeling is unresolved grief from my mother’s death, because I’ve been teleported straight back there.

For me, emotion and food are intrinsically linked. The need to eat in order to survive is a primal instinct. I have a need to feed. When I became a mother, my need to nurture and provide nourishment, in all its forms, for my family became paramount. And, of course, many people express their love by making food for others.

The refusal of food is one of the first steps in withdrawing from the world. I remember the lengths I would go to in order to try and encourage my mother to eat. I would spend so much time making her dishes which she said she fancied only for her to take one taste and decide that she didn’t want it anymore. The most difficult moment was when I had to accept that all I could do was to offer it, and not to try and browbeat her into eating it.

Monty’s not as keen on his food as he was. I have dishes full of different vegetables and meats that I’ve cooked, in an attempt to encourage him, in the fridge. Unfortunately, the only food he seems keen on at the moment is steak. When he eats it I feel like everything will be ok, but in the back of my mind is the nagging thought that all I’m succeeding in doing is nourishing the very thing which is killing him.

On a happier note, we had a party to celebrate my daughter’s 21st birthday this weekend. Family and friends came from all over to join us to sit down and have dinner together. There was much drinking and dancing, and everyone had a good time, welcoming the chance to reconnect with old friends or form new connections over food. Some of them I hadn’t seen for a few years – they looked older, as I’m sure I did to them. Even more reason to make the time to meet up with people as much as possible – to walk the walk, and not just talk the talk.

Six Degrees Of Separation

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Image: http://www.justwatch.com

In the film Six Degrees of Separation (based on the play of the same name written by John Guare) one of the main characters, Ouisa Kittredge played by Stockard Channing, says:

”I read somewhere that everybody on this planet is separated by only six people. Six degrees of separation between us and everyone else on this planet. The President of the United States, a gondolier in Venice, just fill in the names. I find it extremely comforting that we’re so close. But I also find it like … water torture that we’re so close because you have to find the right six people to make the connection. I am bound, you are bound, to everyone on this planet by a trail of six people. It’s a profound thought… How everyone is a new door opening into other worlds.”

I don’t think I agree with her that it’s comforting to be that close to the President of the United States, or to many other people who live in this world of ours, for that matter.

The film was made in 1993, more than 10 years before the advent of social media, and so application of the theory would be dependent on your level of knowledge of the networks of friends and acquaintances. It was a fun game to play when we didn’t have anything better to do. I once got to Nelson Mandela in 4, Edward VII in 3 and perhaps most impressive of all, Ant & Dec in 2. In the age of social media it’s definitely a lot easier, and research carried out a while ago by Meta suggests that, certainly in terms of social networking, the number of degrees is probably closer to 3.5.

But, yes, connections are important and they enhance our lives and can be discovered in the most unlikely of circumstances. Unexpected connections can provide comfort that the choices we have made are the right ones. Who would have thought that even if I wasn’t on this course I would still be able to connect to Jonathan in 2? I just wouldn’t know it.

There are connections which become long-lasting and develop into relationships, and those that stay transitory. On my first night in London for the Low Res, I was having dinner in a restaurant near to my hotel, trying to make some headway into Stephen Fry’s Mythos but getting terribly distracted people-watching. A couple came in and sat at the table next to me. The woman saw my book and asked me whether it was his latest. One and a half hours’ of non-stop talking later, with the restaurant staff clearly eager to close up and head off home, we said our goodbyes never to see each other again. He was a lawyer with a keen interest in Roman civilisation and Greek mythology, and he would read books to his wife in bed (each to their own). I told him my story and encouraged him to embrace his passion and seize the day. He won’t, but that doesn’t matter because we talked about anything and everything connecting on so many different levels, but sometimes that’s all it’s destined to be, a connection in a moment in time.

I have been able to make even stronger connections with the majority of my course mates having now met them in person and spent hours in their company. We did a lot of travelling and walking over the course of the week which was a great opportunity to chat with everyone including the second year students who imparted some really helpful advice. It was a strange experience meeting people who I have seen on Zoom every week – would greeting them with a hug be appropriate?

It was an amazing time spent with like-minded people. I spent hours chatting about life and work with Rebecca who is such good company. She was explaining how each piece of her work is influenced by one of her stories (one of my favourites being Maureen and the Pope) whilst we were on our way back to CSM on the tube one day, when I noticed a young girl sitting opposite us holding a camera in her lap absolutely transfixed by Rebecca. After a couple of stops she got up from her seat and moved to stand next to Rebecca (who later confessed to being slightly worried that she was going to ask her to give up her seat because she wasn’t feeling well). She then rather apologetically explained that she couldn’t help but listen to what Rebecca had been saying, and that she found it really interesting as she is doing an Art A level and has had difficulty in finding focus in her work. The conversation continued for several more stops, up the escalators and through the tunnel until we parted ways. Another connection for just a moment in time, but hopefully one which was inspirational.

Dialogue II

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“So, what do you think?”

”It’s not one of your best”

And now I’m in a state of flux, and feeling a bit stressed, thinking where do I go from here? I have nothing else.

I use my husband as a sounding board and as a gauge as to what I’m feeling and what I’m doing. I value having someone to give me feedback, to hold a mirror up to me. But to what extent should I rely on this and allow it to influence how I see my own ideas and work? Why is it when someone says they really like my work, I feel it’s easy to ‘do it down’ – ‘oh, it’s not one of my best’, ‘there are some bits of it I’m not totally happy with’ (when actually I think that it’s as good as it could possibly be and I’m actually quite pleased with it), and yet when someone is ambivalent about my work, I feel unable to ‘big it up’?

Anyway, I now feel directionless, and at a loss as to what to do.

I have looked at how other artists have approached the concept of dialogue, and, in the main, they all involve figures. None of what I have looked at has inspired me so I haven’t even bothered to include any images of them in this post.

I don’t know what it is, but I’m feeling a bit fed up at the moment. Maybe it’s the theme of ‘Dialogues’ and the idea of connections etc. – it all seems as if it’s something that has been done before ad infinitum. Maybe it actually bores me – I don’t know – I just can’t seem to get inspired by it. Maybe it’s the fact that I only have a week to make something and I’ve got other more pressing things to be getting on with. Maybe this little side quest of mine is becoming an unnecessary distraction.

As a reaction to this feeling, I decided to take a literal, and some might say, infantile approach. I kept on coming back to my perverse love of Catchphrase and the birthday card. I started fiddling around on Procreate and came up with this:

A die, a log.

It’s pretty basic, but strangely appeals to something inside me. Maybe it’s a bit cheesy – but do I care? – maybe I need a bit of cheese at the moment. Then I remembered a piece I saw at the Pallant Gallery last weekend.

’Neighbourhood Witch’, 2008, Simon Periton, Silkscreen on mirror coated polyester

I really like the use of the mirror which reflects the viewer so that they then form part of the work. It reminded me of Craig-Martin’s ‘Conviction’ which I had seen at the RA. I could use this idea because one of the thoughts on my mind map referenced the need to reflect when engaged in dialogue.

I have decided to incorporate a mirror, possibly with the images of the die and log being raised slightly away from it so that they reflect in the mirror as well as the viewer – a die, a log, with you. It’s now becoming a fully matured wedge of Stilton!

I experimented by printing them off on some inkjet friendly acetate but my home printer didn’t do a particularly good job, but good enough to allow me to see whether the idea had legs. I wasn’t averse to it: it would mean that I would have to have it professionally printed on something more rigid, such as acrylic/perspex, and frankly, I don’t really have the time to get this done. Also, on reflection, I wasn’t sure about the reflections creating multiple images, as it was no longer a die and a log.

The only solution that I can think of is to fix the image directly to the mirror. The image in ‘Neighbourhood Witch’ above is screen printed on. I don’t know how to do this and I don’t have time to learn. I could get it done professionally, and after having done some research, it may still be a possibility but it depends on timing. Another solution would be just to collage them on. I researched the best type of adhesive and came up with Gorilla Clear Glue which is used a lot in glass mosaics. I will need to experiment with how best to apply it. In the meantime, I put some image cut-outs on a A4 mirrored piece of acrylic. I like the size.

Despite its luke warm reception, I’m going to carry on with my current train of thought. It may not be my best, but I like it because it is something that is totally different for me and it’s way outside of my box, and frankly, I’m all out of other ideas. And as General Patton said – a good plan violently executed now, is better than a perfect plan executed next week.

So I had a couple of sets of the images printed up on some 200gsm paper by my local print shop and cut them out and placed them on the mirrored acrylic to see how they would look.

I don’t know why I didn’t realise that this would happen, as it seems so obvious now – unless you stand dead straight on to it you can see the white reverse of the cut out image in the mirror.

My proposed solution is to have the mirror images printed and then fix them together so that any reflection is of the image itself.

Onwards and upwards, I hope!

Arty-farty

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In the hope of finding some inspiration, I sorted out my art bookcase and came across the exhibition handout to the Michael Craig-Martin exhibition at the Royal Academy. This quote caught my attention:

I dislike jargon intensely and cannot stand people who think that complex ideas need to be expressed in a way that is obscure or rarified… The great minds whom I have admired … are precise and economic in their use of simple language.”

Michael Craig- Martin, “On Being An Artist”

I have to agree with him. I’m very much an advocate of the Plain English campaign. Maybe it’s because I don’t have the necessary range of vocabulary to achieve such verbal smoke and mirrors, or the attention span.

Clarity of language is what made reading Will Gompertz’s ‘Think Like An Artist…’ such a breath of fresh air. He cuts through all the jargon and makes his points in such a way that someone who doesn’t have an ounce of art knowledge would be able to understand and appreciate them.

As Craig-Martin says, it’s not about having very complex ideas: ideas which challenge are good but, if we want art to be accessible to all, why use convoluted and, frankly, nonsensical language to explain and critique it? Is it to maintain an air of mystery, of intellectual superiority? And who is responsible? The artists, the critics, the galleries or curators, or all of them?

Thinking back to our first sessions when we introduced ourselves and our work, I can’t think of a single instance when I didn’t understand the ideas being expressed. There was just authenticity.

This year’s Summer Exhibition is dedicated to art’s capacity to forge dialogues but, how can art ever hope to change things if people just don’t get it? It goes back to the idea of ‘connection’ in my previous post: without a connection, however small, there can’t be engagement, and without engagement there can’t be a dialogue.

When I started this course a friend asked me whether I was going to become all arty-farty. I said I hope not but, if I ever come across that way, she should give me good slap!

It Doesn’t Mean We’re In A Relationship

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January has come around again, and I have bought my entry to this year’s RA Summer Exhibition. Will 2025 be my year? Or will I fall at the first hurdle, yet again? The theme for this year’s exhibition is ‘Dialogues’.

When I read this, two other words spring to mind: ‘connection’ and ‘relationship’.

Definitions:

Connection: a relationship in which a person or thing is linked or associated with something else.

Relationship: the way in which two people or things are connected; the state of being connected

Dialogue: a conversation between two or more people; an exchange of ideas and opinions on a particular subject; a process by which people with different perspectives seek understanding.

In the above definitions ‘connection’ and ‘relationship’ seem to be interchangeable. Personally, I think it is possible to have a connection without having a relationship. To me, a connection is an initial link based on shared interests, experiences, understanding and values, whereas a relationship is a sustained connection over a period of time.

I would suggest the following:

  • for there to be a dialogue, there at least has to be a connection.
  • it is possible to have a connection and a dialogue without having a relationship.
  • it is necessary for there to be a connection and a dialogue for there to be a relationship, and to maintain that relationship requires actively nurturing the initial connection, or repeating it, through consistent dialogue, shared experiences and commitment over a period of time.
  • it is possible to retain a connection and a dialogue despite the ending of a relationship.

When my daughter comes home from uni she likes to visit her favourite local eatery, the kebab van parked up in a lay-by frequented by lorry drivers. Every time she goes she makes a connection with the owner; they talk; they don’t know each other’s names but he knows, and remembers, where she goes to uni, what she’s studying, that she works at the local Sainsbury’s in the holidays, and how she likes not only her kebab but how we all like ours; my husband, as it comes, me with a little meat and lots of salad, and both garlic and chilli sauce. One might say that they have a relationship.

So, where does all this take me?

To disconnection. We seem to be living in a world in which we are increasingly becoming disconnected, in the sense that we have less meaningful interactions, and consequently we are limiting the opportunity for dialogue and relationships with ourselves, each other and the world around us.

Connections can be made quite easily, for example, on social networking sites, but does that allow for meaningful communication? Does a post followed by a like or a comment constitute dialogue? In fact, by their very nature of facilitating lifestyle curation, social networking sites can cause users to feel disconnected.

One might take the view that dialogue is something more than a mere exchange of words; it involves active listening, empathy, picking up on visual cues, making eye contact, challenging assumptions to create a sense of stronger connection and understanding, the latter being a form of Socratic Dialogue; a continual process of inquiry to deepen understanding. You don’t have the opportunity to exploit these to their fullest when communicating by text, speaking on the phone or on Zoom.

People have even stopped sending the one thing that keeps us connected, particularly to those that are not in our daily lives: Christmas cards. The trend is now to make a donation to charity, apparently. I send Christmas cards every year with the best intentions of reconnecting and furthering some old relationships which have been neglected. If I don’t manage to follow up, at least they’ll send me a change of address if they move, so I can give it another go in the future.

Some of it is a legacy of Covid: it’s easier to deliver university lectures online, to have doctors’ appointments online, to work from home. Whilst I agree that there should be a good work/life balance, not going into a workplace at all and not being able to interact face to face with colleagues, and have water cooler conversations, can’t be a good thing, particularly for young people just starting out in their working lives. The workplace is somewhere to meet friends, or even partners. You can’t really go out for a drink after work, if you’re working from home.

This is a low residency course: we meet weekly on Zoom and communicate with each other on our WhatsApp group. We had an initial connection – our passion for creativity. After the first term we have a deeper connection, and possibly even a relationship in the sense that our connection is fundamentally anchored in a mutual understanding of trust between us. That relationship will deepen further when we meet in person.

I’m not sure where I’m going to go with all of this. Possibly nowhere.

Entries have to be submitted by 11 February, so the next four weeks are going to be very busy with this and my study statement. I’m sort of regretting doing it now: I think that I just wanted to shock myself into doing something. I’m trying not to panic – if I don’t manage it, then that’s fine – I could always submit something I’ve already done, but, if I can, I would prefer to go through the process from scratch.

Part One: Think Like An Artist

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… and Lead a More Creative, Productive Life by Will Gompertz isn’t taking me long to read at all. Gompertz, artistic director at the Barbican, makes some very interesting and thought-provoking observations on what it is to be creative. As I’m galloping through it at such a speed, I thought it best to highlight some parts, as I go along, which I think will either help me in finding my artistic voice, or which reinforce ideas and concepts which we have touched on in the course so far.

On failure:

”When it comes to creativity, failure is as inevitable as it is unavoidable. It is part of the very fabric of making. All artists, regardless of their discipline, aim for perfection…But they know perfection is unobtainable. And therefore they have to accept that everything they produce is doomed to be a failure to some extent…Thomas Edison knew all about the notion of sticking at it…But at no point did he countenance failure: ‘I have not failed 10,000 times,’ he said. ‘I have not failed once. I have succeeded in proving that those 10,000 ways will not work. When I have eliminated the ways that will not work, I will find a way that will work‘…There is plenty of time for wrong turns, for getting lost; for feeling generally hopeless. The crucial thing is to keep going. Artists appear glamorous and blessedly detached, but in reality they are tenacious grafters: they are the proverbial dogs with bones… And while they are out there, worrying away, they often discover a hidden truth about the creative process… Their success is very often down to a Plan B. That is, the thing they originally set out to do has morphed along the way into something different.”

He references several artists who started out in one direction only to find their success through a Plan B, such as Mondrian, Lictenstein and Bridget Riley. In the case of the latter, in the early part of her career Riley was interested in colour theory and the work of the Impressionists, the Pointillism of Seurat, and the composition of Cézanne. It wasn’t working for her; she was directionless and lacked originality, and she was getting older. The ending of a relationship caused her to paint a canvas black, and she took all that she had learnt from her studies of Seurat et al and applied her knowledge in abstract terms. She painted a white horizontal line the lower edge straight, the upper edge forming a curve – it became a painting expressing the dynamism and inequality of relationships, human and spatial.

’Kiss’, 1961, Bridget Riley (Wikiart 4 Jan 2025)

”Bridget Riley had to abandon the one thing she thought most important and appealing about painting – colour – in order to make any real progress. It didn’t mean colour could never feature in her work again, only that at that precise moment in time it was the roadblock… Only when [she] went back to the most basic of basics – a canvas covered in black paint – did she find the necessary clarity to progress. Only then did she discover the most precious and liberating of things: her artistic voice… As long as you stick at what you are doing, constantly going through the cycle of experimentation, assessment and correction, the chances are you will reach the moment when everything falls into place.”

The cycle of experimentation, assessment and correction is at the very essence of this course: Practice-based research.

Gompertz also states that if you call yourself an artist and make art, then you are an artist regardless of where you are in the process, or what skills you still need to learn and develop. I think I find this the hardest to embrace – I still can’t quite think of myself that way. I’ve only just got my head around being a student – in retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best idea to try it out first on the border official at Marrakech airport who looked at me with incredulity and repeated “Student?”. Admittedly, it’s been a lot easier since I discovered all the discounts available!

On ideas:

Gompertz asserts that originality in a completely pure form does not exist; that all ideas are additional links in an existing chain, each link adding to the one before. It is a form of disruption: something to react against and respond to, to build upon. He suggests that Picasso, in the quote attributed to him – good artists copy, great artists steal – is actually describing a process that an artist needs to go through: we learn through copying and imitating, and it is only once we have done this and developed the basic techniques that we can identify opportunities to add our own link to the chain, and to find our own artistic voice. This reminds me of my discussion with Jonathan about Frida Kahlo’s ‘The Two Fridas’, when I questioned whether any work I make which is inspired by it will be original enough: he advised me that Kahlo painted it in the late 1930s and I would be doing my version almost 90 years later expressing my own feelings – following Gompertz’s reasoning, I would, in effect, be adding my own link to her existing link in the chain.

In fact there are numerous creatives who have been quoted as admitting to building on the ideas of others.

” If I have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of giants.” Isaac Newton

“ Creativity is knowing how to hide your sources” Einstein

”We have always been shameless about stealing great ideas”. Steve Jobs

The young Picasso produced work which imitated the likes of Goya, Velázquez and El Greco, and later the Impressionists and Post Impressionists. It was only when his friend, Casagemas, died that he found his own artistic voice in his Blue Period; the blocks of colour, bold lines and expressive manner, which he had learnt from all those artists he had imitated, still influenced him, he just put his own twist on it. He took their ideas and filtered them through his own personality and experience, and used his instincts to simplify and reduce them into his original thought, into new and unique connections. Being creative isn’t always about adding to something; it can be at its most original when taking something away. This is demonstrated perfectly by Picasso’s bull lithographs, which took him a month to complete.

‘Le Taureau‘, 1945/46 (Wikipedia, 5 January 2025)

”There is no such thing as a wholly original idea. But there is such a thing as unique combinations.” Gompertz

Sisters

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“A sister is not a friend. Who can explain the urge to take a relationship as primal and complex as a sibling and reduce it to something as replaceable, as banal as a friend? Yet this status is used again and again to connote the highest intimacy. My mother is my best friend. My husband is my best friend. No. True sisterhood, the kind where you grew fingernails in the same womb, were pushed screaming through identical birth canals, is not the same as friendship. You don’t choose each other, and there’s no furtive period of getting to know the other. You’re part of each other, right from the start. Look at an umbilical cord – tough, sinuous, unlovely, yet essential – and compare it to a friendship bracelet of brightly woven thread. That is the difference between a sister and a friend.”

‘Blue Sisters’, by Coco Mellors

I stumbled across this passage whilst I was having a mooch in Waterstones on Saturday. It cuts right to the heart of what it is to be a sibling. I find the imagery particularly strong – the inhabited space of the womb, growth and development, umbilical cord, connection. Lots of food for thought.

‘The Two Fridas’, Frida Kahlo 1939 (oil on canvas)

On the subject of thinking, this image above has been floating around in the back of my head whilst I’ve been contemplating my role as a sibling, and as a mother, but more on the latter some other time. In this painting, Kahlo’s traditional identity is connected by an artery from her complete heart to the heart of her modern identity which has been torn apart by her divorce from Diego Rivera. I find it a very powerful image: full of pain and conflict, but, at the same time, resilience. It’s already informing some ideas for a piece of work.

I’ve been experimenting with pressing charcoal drawings onto a gelatine plate and then printing – the archival quality it produces is interesting – and also applying paint onto the plate randomly. It was all done in a bit of a rush as I suddenly thought: less thinking, more doing. I didn’t find the process satisfying: the colours are really unappealing and murky – in fact they are just varying shades of grey. I’ve been meaning to try this process for sometime now, since I saw it on a facebook reel, so I was really quite excited at the outset but I ended up feeling underwhelmed – the subtleties inherent in charcoal are totally lost. Maybe starting with a cross-section of an unlovely umbilical cord inadvertently set the tone, but my quickie self-portrait certainly expresses how I felt!

So, here’s the bad and the ugly…