Tag Inheritance

Maps

Kate McCalmont-Woods Leave a comment

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

Kate McCalmont-Woods Leave a comment

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?

Solitude

Kate McCalmont-Woods Leave a comment

I feel particularly drawn to this photograph of my father. It’s solitary and contemplative, evoking a sense of vulnerability – a side which was never apparent whilst I was growing up. It makes me want to go and give him a hug. He was the world’s best hugger. Either that, or he’s watching someone doing something and he’s not that impressed – a more familiar experience.

Having missed out on visiting a couple of exhibitions on Sunday, I decided to experiment. I took a piece of A1 flipchart paper, a graphite stick and a 5B pencil and got to work. First I created multiple silhouettes of the image using the graphite stick.

I was inspired by the Richter drawings (The Rich Are Getting Richter) and used the tiles on the kitchen floor to create texture with some frottaging.

Having really liked the effect of some of the lines and marks made in my automatic drawings, I used the 5B pencil to create a wandering line, holding it at the top and twisting it from side to side in the process and then holding it on its side to create a second softer line. I like the idea of tree roots and mycorrhizas connecting and creating a support network for trees, a concept we touched on in last week’s session. The lines are connecting each figure so it’s no longer alone. They are also reminiscent of a map or a mapping out. Not sure which, but I like the effect. I like the delicacy of the lines. They also remind me of the lines in skulls at the points where the plates have fused or cracks in a surface, fault lines. I wasn’t keen on the overlap on the two figures on the right which created a hard box-like edge, so I cropped it out on the last image.

I really enjoyed doing this, particularly the lack of control of the line making and the unpredictability of the frottaging, and despite that, it does bear a resemblance to the vague image I had in my head. It ties in with the idea of shadow selves (Sniper’s Alley) and the idea of inheritance and being made up of multitudes (Bus Replacement Service). It’s definitely an approach I will develop further, but I’ll use better quality paper next time.

Bus Replacement Service

Kate McCalmont-Woods Leave a comment

I was planning on going into London yesterday to catch Donald Rodney: Visceral Canker at Whitechapel Gallery (as well as revisit the Cardiff audio walk), and Linder: Danger Came Smiling at the Hayward, before they close in the next day or two. But what I forgot was that it was a Sunday on a Bank Holiday weekend, a perfect time for railway engineering works. A bus replacement service would almost double my usual journey time, and so I decided to stay at home. Instead, I had a look on Whitechapel Gallery website, to see what I had missed. There is an interesting piece on Rodney by Caleb Azumah Nelson, particularly on their relationships with their fathers.

Rodney had, and ultimately died at the age of 37 from a complication of, sickle cell anemia. He was in the midst of a sickle cell crisis when his father died and he was unable to attend his Nine Night.

In the House of My Father 1977, photograph (Image Source: http://www.whitechapelgallery.org accessed 5/5/25)

Made from his own skin, the house is held together with small dressmaking pins.

This is the first piece of work by Rodney which Nelson encountered, purely by accident:

’The strength, not in the structure, but in the vulnerability of exposure, his open palm an invitation into his heart, his family. With this gesture, Rodney suggests, this is who I am, this is who I might be.

How does the self come to be? And how do we make space to be our whole selves? … a condition he would have inherited from his father, who would’ve inherited it from his father before that. Their selves, our selves, folding into one another: we contain multitudes. And what else do we inherit? And how do we carry around these inheritances, how do we make space for them in our lives?…’

At the time he was reflecting on his own relationship with his father:

’… wrangling with the things he cannot say to me, or doesn’t have the language for, the many rooms in the house to which I do not have the key…’

He finishes his piece with:

’I believe Art gives us a space to be honest, to confront, to dismantle, to reassemble. To imagine. Visiting and revisiting Rodney’s work reminds me that other worlds are possible. It reminds me, that even in the face of continued crisis, it is necessary to dream. It reminds me that , even in the face of death, we must continue to inhabit many rooms, to hold space where we can be honest, where we can be our whole selves. Where we can feel alive.’

So many thoughts have come to mind:

  • The idea of inheritance and how we find a space for it in our everyday lives. To me this feels like a burden not just in the physical sense of belongings, and ‘stuff’, but to the extent that I might feel defined by it: I don’t want to be, I want to be my own person steering my own course independently of what has gone on before, but I can’t ignore the extent to which others have shaped me. Last weekend, I lost count of the number of times friends commented how my daughter is a mini-me or the spitting image. No, she’s not. She’s her own person, living her own life. But, inevitably, I will have had an input into who she is, even if it’s just a matter of genetics.
  • I have inherited my family history from my parents. I used to spend ages looking through the family photo albums talking to my mother about the contents. I feel an enormous responsibility to pass this knowledge on. It’s a burden. My daughter is not particularly interested. Maybe it’s an age thing – as we age we need a greater understanding of who we are? Or maybe it’s a digital thing, we don’t have a physical record of our lives lying around the house to prompt an inquiry and so the questions never get asked. Sometimes I think that I should write it all down in case she’s ever interested, and other times I think that I’ll take it all with me and free her from the burden.
  • I think that I’ve been dismantling myself over the last few months. I’m not entirely sure that I’ll be able to reassemble myself, but maybe a few left over bits here and there wouldn’t be such a bad thing. I could even write my own instruction manual.
  • The child/ parent relationship: I remember the moment when I realised that my parents didn’t know or have the answer to everything; that they were human. It really stopped me in my tracks.
  • The idea of the house with many rooms; our ancestors folding into one another; the self containing multitudes.

Marking

Kate McCalmont-Woods Leave a comment

We had a friend to stay at the weekend, so we took her to Jane Austen’s House which is less than half an hour away from where we live. It’s the 250th anniversary of her birth this year, and so there are lots of Austen celebrations happening to mark the occasion. She, together with her sister, Cassandra, and her mother lived in the village of Chawton, in one of the houses on the Chawton Estate, which was owned by one of her six brothers as his country residence. He had been adopted by a wealthy couple who were very distant relations, and who didn’t have a male heir.

My husband, who had been a bit reluctant to go as he hadn’t read any Austen and thought her writing a bit girlie, enjoyed himself. She’s far from girlie, I told him: she had an ascerbic wit and was a keen observer of human nature. I picked up a fancy edition of ‘Pride & Prejudice’ in the obligatory gift shop, and told him to read the first few lines; he laughed, I laughed, Alexa laughed, Siri laughed.

I discovered two interesting facts. Firstly, that many wealthy families were heirless, and so hunted around on the peripheries of their family trees for a suitable candidate who would inherit, but on the condition that he changed his family name to that of the bequeathing couple. Sometimes there were no suitable candidates and a daughter would inherit as in the case of Elizabeth Knight who inherited her parents’ estate at Chawton and Godmersham in Kent in 1702. Because of the size of her estates she had a raft of voting rights in Parliament, but was unable to exercise them, because she was a woman. A formidable woman at that, and thought to be the inspiration for Lady Catherine de Bourgh in Pride & Prejudice.

The second fact was that markings were often made next to vulnerable areas of a house, where evil spirits could enter e.g. doorways, chimneys, windows etc. They were called witches’ marks and ranged from daisy wheels to the letters V and M, possibly signifying the Virgin Mary. There was one such mark by a fireplace at Chawton.

Talking to Cat in yesterday’s session about her recent performance, and the drawing of a pentagram, reminded me of the rich tradition of mark-making as a form of protection.