Where Have I Come From?

I started this post a while ago. The act of going through all of my blog posts for the book and making the 5-minute video has encouraged me to think about the journey that I’ve been on. Sometimes I have so many thoughts in my head that I need to put them into words so that I can get some clarity and order. So, here goes…

I started this course thinking that I was an oil painter who enjoyed working with colour and shape. I’ve been looking back at the work that I was making two years ago. This is an example:

It still appeals to me – I like a narrative. It was made in response to the brief, ‘On Having an Outside’. I like a painting inside a painting, inside a painting and so on, and the use of a mirror, a play on Magritte’s ‘Not To Be Reproduced’. I thought about it a lot – the idea that we wear masks but in this case what you see on my mask is a reflection of you and how you feel about yourself which you then project onto me. It expresses how I felt at the time. I still like looking at it, but it does feel contrived, controlled, and static even though it depicts me turning to look at the viewer. I didn’t enjoy making it. I had a very fixed idea in mind as an end goal and so the process of making it was restrictive and frustrating. I kept at it until it was how I wanted it to be, what I thought was the best that it could be. It was all about the product and I was driven by my controlling perfectionist self. I haven’t painted very much at all over the last two years. I’m wondering why. Maybe I should?

These are screenshots of some of my recent Instagram posts:

I look at these images and I like what I see, but most importantly I remember how I felt when I made them. I felt free, unencumbered, excited, and intrigued. Interestingly, they are predominantly monochrome, exploring mark-making and movement.

I’ve been wondering what to do. When clothes don’t fit me I sell them or take them to a charity shop. What should I do when my work no longer fits me? Treat it like a photograph of a younger self maybe, a reminder of where I’ve come from?

The last two years have revealed many things to me:

I am happiest in the process

I am at my most productive and enjoy making the most whilst in the process and without a defined end product in mind. One of my mantras used to be that without intention there can be no expectation. I think that was useful in the early days to keep my focus on process, but I’m not sure that it’s strictly true because I experiment and explore with intention. Furthermore, the making of the book is a very intentional act with an end product in mind, but the specifics of how it looks have developed in the process. I think that the difference is that the book itself is not important save to the extent that it is documenting my process and the making of it has allowed me to develop further, as well as to reflect on the last two years.

I don’t need to be in control

Embracing the process has allowed me to give up control and it is now the foundation of my practice. It has helped me better understand myself and has changed me. It has allowed me to see that there is a direct correlation between my behaviour in making and my behaviour in life. It has taught me that in moments of personal overwhelm such as becoming a parent and caring for my mother my instinctive reaction was to try and exert control over circumstances. This behaviour fed through into my making. By allowing myself to give up control by experimentation in making, I now realise that I can deal with uncertainty in life and rather than trying to control it, I should lean into it.

I don’t have to make what I like or like what I make

Just because I love to look at Surrealism, works heavy with narrative or full of colour does not mean that is the kind of art that I should be making. Viewing and making are two entirely separate experiences. Because I am privileging process over product I may not always like what I make – what is most important is what I experience in the process. Just recently, I have been working more with video and I’ve realised that this actually gives me a means of exploring narrative.

The meaning of my work is in the process

As in the example above, I used to start out trying to make work that already had meaning. Now, the meaning comes out through the process of making, and the finished piece embodies it in some way. That doesn’t mean that I begin without any direction—I often still start with a line of enquiry or an idea—but it isn’t fixed. It stays open, changing and developing as I work.

I can embrace both the accidental and the incidental

I now feel more comfortable with accepting responsibility for the accidental within the process, and I actively look for the incidental and often go off on a tangent.

I want to be able to choose whatever process or material seems right in the moment

I don’t want to restrict or pigeonhole myself. I refuse to attach a label to myself either as an artist or as a person. I want to be able to choose whatever process or material is right in the moment. I don’t want to limit my ability to experiment or to discover new languages of expression. I live and I make.

I need some soft structure

I think that there are two distinct areas of my practice – the experimental side which is exciting, uncertain and can be overwhelming, and the side which is more of a structured wandering, for example, repetitive mark-making. I’ve commented previously that the act of drawing line after, or even now more recently, stitch after stitch makes me feel contented – it’s as if there is just enough structure to provide a frame for my attention yet loose enough to allow for response. I’ve also been using motifs such as contour lines, automatic drawing, my father’s silhouette etc. throughout the course, and it is really only recently that I understand why that is a feature of my practice. I have accepted that I can never rid myself of the perfectionist self and the soft structure provided by the repetition keeps that part of myself happy.

And my Study Statement?

Since the first year I have thought from time to time that I need to change and update my Study Statement because I’ve wandered off course. In it I was very specific about how I was going to approach things. I had an end product in mind (what a surprise!). Instead of exploring all of the different roles that I’ve had in my life, complying with my detailed workplan and finding out who I am, I naturally deviated from my plan and later made the conscious decision to embark on a dérive contemplating those things which seemed important or of value. To have amended it would be to remove the evidence of my progress and my process. I’m not the person I was back then – I am becoming and the prescriptive framework of the Study Statement would have limited that becoming. Thinking about it even some of the categories on this blog are irrelevant.

Tick Tock

For some very light entertainment I’ve been watching ‘This Is Not a Murder Mystery’ a quirky fictionalisation of the gathering of Surrealists at Edward James’ West Sussex pile, West Dean. Whilst he was a champion and friend of the Surrealists and owned the largest collection of Surrealist art, this particular gathering at which several murders take place is a work of make believe, with Magritte waking up next to the first murder victim in a mise-en-scène exactly like his painting The Lovers which up until that point had not been seen by anyone.

Les Amants, 1928

I was trying to put togther the transcript for my 5-minute video earlier and I was thinking that I would like to make some work with me in it, me now, rather than videos from years ago. I managed to get over my reticence at using my voice and so I think it’s time that I bite the bullet. It seemed to me that being obscured in some way rather like in The Lovers might be the answer, a veil of sorts which could also represent am element of feeling disconnected. Because I’ve been looking at my work and my blog recently, the idea of time passing has been in the forefront of my mind, and I really dislike the sound of clocks, a constant reminder, particularly the one my husband has which belonged to his parents – it ticks so quickly it makes me feel anxious.

I’ve also been wanting to have a go at stop animation. I know that I could have just taken a video and used apps such as Capcut to create the effect, but I wouldn’t really be experiencing the process, so 153 photos later…

Link to Tick Tock

Whilst it was time consuming, the act of exporting, rotating and uploading the photos was repetitive and was strangely enjoyable for that reason. There are quite few things I would do differently if I did it again, the sheer fabric has creases in it which really I should have run an iron over before starting but I was so excited to get started. Having said that, I do quite like the diagonal that it creates. Also it was difficult to see the image on the phone screen because of the double layer of fabric and there are a few areas which could have done with being straightened out. Having said that I’m really pleased with the outcome, I enjoyed the process of making it and learnt a lot and even managed to tackle it in a logical way, dealing with just one photo at a time and not rushing it, which is unusual for me, although some of my impatience is obvious in the video, as already mentioned. In particular I really like the effect of double layering the sheer fabric which creates a contour-like effect.

A Line Made by Threading

I had some leftover ink and made some monotypes with it – just swirls and wipes. The ink is oil based Cranfield Safe Wash and so I also employed a spray bottle of water.

After they had dried, I decided to add another layer, another process – I used thread. I played around with the burnt paper and threaded paper I made the other day.

My daughter walked in while I was doing the next one – oh, do different stitches she said. I’m not making an embroidery sampler I replied, but then I did end up experimenting with different stitches and combinations of colour. I much prefer the lines in which the stitches aren’t apparent – where it looks like a line made by thread.

I punctured the paper from the reverse to make raised bits to add texture – nothing new, I’ve seen a lot of it on Instagram.

And held up against the window:

I’m still thinking about Shiota’s threads.

And threads on top of threads.

Originally in this post, I wrote about an incident in my childhood in which my mother intentionally tried to disassociate herself from me by walking away when I was not feeling very well. I published the post but then deleted the passage. It felt unnecessary because this image is enough.

I’m interested in trying combinations of processes, like print over cyanotype. I used a piece of scrap cyanotype for this one and I like the effect – I’ll experiment some more.

Chasing My Tail

I’m conscious that each time I post I’m creating more work for myself in terms of making my book. But there’s so much to think about, to process and to make at the moment.

We started this week’s session by reflecting on the response we had to the prompts last week. It’s quite interesting in that I didn’t, and still don’t, feel concerned about my identity. Maybe it’s because it can’t be defined, because it exists in and is created by my work. It doesn’t seem important to me – I live, I make.

We then looked at adjusting or disrupting our practice, considering whether there is anything we can do which might create new possibilities. We looked at placing ourselves on a line between two points and considering what would happen if we shifted our position between those points.

Material______________________________ Conceptual

Iterative Making ______________________________ Research-based

Intuitive ______________________________ Structured

Continual ______________________________ Periodic

Process ______________________________ Outcome

At first glance I placed myself clearly to either end: material, iterative making, intuitive, periodic and process. But thinking about it more carefully, and discussing the concepts with other members of my group, I began to see that it is not as simple as that.

  • I’m very much about materials, but then again I often have a concept in mind eg experimenting with combining specific processes
  • I make iteratively, but often there is a period of time in which I consider the work, research how other artists have approached it etc
  • I would say that I work intuitively but often that intuition is grounded in the structure of previous experience and knowledge
  • I have periods of activity in physical making, but then I’m thinking about things all the time
  • I think process v outcome is the only one in which I can say that I am possibly on the side of process although it could be said that outcomes are important in the sense that they feed back into the process of iterative making, and that outcome does not necessarily carry a sense of finality, in the same way as product does.

In a way, for me, they are more like recursive loops than linear continuums (or continua?). It was a helpful exercise as it highlighted to me that I’m neither one nor the other.

We then considered, what are the most important things to do that are not directly making art. In addition, to continuing to be part of a creative community, making space and time is important to me. In The End I talk about my concern that my time will be sucked up by everyday life. This last week has been busy and I’ve been making every day. The consequence is that tasks in everyday life have not been done and are now mounting up, and quite a few meals have been eaten separately. My art making has had a direct impact on home life and it’s not sustainable long term.

Having developed a way of working, I now need to put in place a time and place for working. By having a dedicated work space away from the house, I can try to develop a regular routine of making, physical or otherwise, in which the boundaries are clear and which minimises disruption to everyday life.

What immediately comes to mind is the Ad Reinhardt quote in After Everything Else:

one paints when there is nothing else to do. After everything is done, has been taken care of, one can take up the brush. After all the human social needs, pressures are accounted for. Only then can we be free to work.’

What Is My Work About?

Our first two sessions since we’ve been back have made me think – a lot.

This week’s session was about our artistic identity and how to answer the question – what is your work about?

It’s a difficult question to answer. I don’t want to be pigeonholed and I don’t want to be pinned down, which is why I deleted the contents of the ‘About’ page on this blog because it didn’t relate to me anymore, and I’ve been struggling since to think of what to say. I couldn’t think of a way to encapsulate how I see my practice and my work.

But this session has helped me in finding a way forward.

Jonathan showed us a quote by Robert Henri:

The object isn’t to make art, it’s to be in that wonderful state which makes art inevitable.’

It resonates with me as I interpret it as meaning that art comes out of a way of being, and that artists should focus on the process rather than the making of a product.

We considered the 6 prompts: idea, material, process, context, identity, and mood.

My responses:

Identity:

A woman who feels like she’s on the back nine of life who has been trying to find herself by reflecting on all that has been, is and will be. After Fatemeh mentioned the Iranian philosopher who said that his identity was a lover and his job was to love, I think I’ll change mine to a living maker who lives and makes.

Context:

My lived experience

Process:

Drawing, painting, photography, video, printing, sewing, paper-making, mark-making, playing, whatever feels right in the moment.

Material:

ink, pencil, paint, fabric, paper, canvas, paper, thread, charcoal, pastel, whatever feels right in the moment

Mood:

Exploratory, experimental, fluid, reflective

Idea:

The reiteration of shaping what I make and in turn being shaped by what I make.

A possible short answer: My work is an exploration of becoming; how I shape what I make and how it shapes me in return. I work fluidly across a range of materials and processes from print and drawing to video and photography allowing each piece of work to evolve naturally through experimentation. My work is rooted in my lived experience both past and present, reflecting on an ongoing shifting sense of self.

I like the reference to fluidity, it reminds me of my earlier thoughts and videos about flow and flux. It needs further work, but will do for the time being.

My Best

‘…the sane human being is satisfied that the best he/she can do at any given moment is the best he/she can do at any given moment…’ Art & Fear.

A question I’ve been asking myself recently is whether I have done my best over the last two years. Yes, I think I have. Yes, I could have spent more time making, but even if I had, I don’t think that I would be in any different position than I am now. What I have done has been enough to enable me to see that I have discovered my way of thinking, seeing and making. There are things that I had hoped to explore within the structure of the course, such as my childhood in my grandmother’s village, but circumstances have not allowed me the time to do so. No matter – it is a project for the future, something to look forward to.

I never used to have this attitude. I always had to do my absolute best, I had to fix everything and in my head I was the only person who could do it. I decided to become a parent and so I would be the best mother that I could be. Fortunately, (or maybe not), I was able to give up work and stay at home, devote all my time and energy to my new job. I tried all sorts of things from puréeing superfoods to baby Beethoven dvds and playing educationally stimulating cds in the car which used to drive me round the bend. I kept up to date with all the new advice being dished out by ‘professionals’ as to how to be a good parent.

I wish that I’d seen this:

You’re Not the Architect of your Children

And I put my hands up to having been a helicoptering mother who carried out her own 360 appraisals as to how well she was doing as a mother by looking at the success of her daughter – how well is she doing at school, how many friends does she have etc.? I’m not entirely sure how it all came about – maybe because I was brought up with the belief that if a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well. I stopped being that parent years ago, but I wish that I’d done it sooner.

Some might say that having given up work, I was somehow validating myself through my daughter and there might be a small element of truth in that but, with hindsight, I can now see it for what it really was – a coping mechanism – a practical way to try and deal with a situation which was emotionally overwhelming. And that’s what I do when I feel that way – I try to exert some control. If you were to ask me what the most momentous events in my life have been, my answer would probably be having a child and experiencing the possibility of losing her, and the death of my parents. In both instances I felt overwhelmed, by responsibility, fear, vulnerability and grief. Not having fully processed those feelings of overwhelm has affected how I have related and responded to circumstances since.

This course has given me the time and space to come to that realisation and to begin to process. One might argue that all I needed was a break from everyday life or therapy, but there is something intrinsic within this course and the making process that has brought me the clarity I needed – the process within which I felt able to relinquish control; to experiment and to accept where the process led me, to lean into the uncertainty and not to resist it.

The Accidental and the Incidental

I wanted to make some marks – layers of marks – and so I took some A2 paper and used charcoal, pastel, an eraser and a pen.

It wasn’t meant to be anything. I thought that I might use it as a base for something else. I had been wanting to have another go at overprinting the linocut image from Never Say Never. In that post I comment that the shapes look like crouching figures – in retrospect they are foetal-like. The subject of microchimerism has come back to my mind recently and I thought that the idea of making the ink more transparent with each print could touch on that. Also, the marks underneath would also become increasingly visible. I gave it a go but I made a hash of the ratio of ink to extender, and I couldn’t find the new tube of extender so I just added some white which, of course, made the print totally opaque, which wasn’t the original intention.

I left it for a while and got on with other tasks relating to the book and when I revisited it I thought about umbilical cords (something I have referenced previously in Sisters). I thought I might use some of the red thread that I had for my paper experiments to sew some kind of twisting cords which then made me think of using black stitching to delineate between the three shapes. I used a blanket stitch on the second shape as I’d seen at her Tate Modern exhibition that Tracey Emin had used it on her blankets to give a less defined line.

I’m really chuffed. I was thinking as I was sewing that maybe I should have planned where I was going to go, but then decided that, no, I liked the spontaneity of it all. Would I have done anything differently? No. How did I feel as I was making it? I felt pleasure, at all stages. I enjoyed the making of it and I like how it turned out. In fact, over the last few months (Summer Exhibition aside) I have really enjoyed making. That’s not to say that I haven’t enjoyed the process of making before then – I have, particularly the experimenting and and the wandering, it’s just that recently I have felt contented, as if some things have fallen into place. I particularly enjoyed the experiments with lino cuttings and packaging, and I’m really happy with the video that I made.

I think that it comes down to the accidental and the incidental; the unexpected that happens in the process and the small things I notice within the process which then lead to something else.

Rain, Rain, Go Away.

Having been distracted momentarily by my line drawing phase, I’m experiencing delayed January blues. When is it going to stop raining? It’s really difficult to get enthusiastic about much when it’s constantly dark and raining outside. Opportunities to go out for a good walk are limited, although Otto, the dog, still has to have his walks but they’re generally quite quick because, likewise, he doesn’t like the rain, and won’t go in puddles.

Nevertheless, I’m keen to keep up my recent momentum in making. One pressing concern is next week’s looming deadline for the Royal Academy’s Summer Exhibition. Somehow, I managed to apply for two entries this year – I was intending to apply for my husband to encourage him to pick up a paintbrush again, but clearly I wasn’t wearing my thinking head that day. So I’m now setting myself for a double rejection, but it’s happened so many times now, I’m feeling quite immune. As always, there is a theme but I’m not even going to bother thinking about it this year, although I do note that they are encouraging students to enter – maybe that will improve my chances!

I had the idea during last year’s low residency to get hold of the images from my endoscopy which I’d had a month or so before. Well, I eventually got around to requesting them, but the good old NHS has sent me everything but what I actually wanted. Whilst I’m waiting to hear back from them (let’s face it they’ve probably got better things to be doing), I thought I could make use of last year’s mammogram. There’s really nothing quite like having your breasts squeezed between two rigid surfaces. Before I had my first one, a friend of mine commented that she hates having them done because the machine reminds her of the meat slicers you get on delicatessen counters. I relayed this remark to the radiographer who grimaced and squeezed her legs together. I have to say that the thought does flit across my mind in the moment. Rather ironically, because it feels less clinical than a hospital, I always choose to go to the mobile unit in Tesco’s car park. It means I can do the weekly shop afterwards – two birds, one stone, and all that.

I took all four images: right and left mediolateral oblique and right and left craniocaudal. I removed my personal info and removed some digits from my hospital number as I wanted it to be apparent that they are medical images. I then imported them into Procreate and played around with inverting and layering etc. And this is when I learnt an important lesson – whilst it’s great to experiment and try lots of different things, if you don’t make a note of it somewhere you won’t be able to recreate it. I liked the first image I made but wanted to adjust some of the transparency in some areas. So I adjusted it but couldn’t remember what I had done to create the final image. Try as I might I just couldn’t recreate it so, in the end, I decided to run with the original image. I displayed the image on my laptop screen and then took a photograph of it which incorporated some of the reflections on the screen, which I think add a bit of depth and additional interest to the image. The idea was to print it and then overdraw with pencils, charcoal etc. I experimented on a home-printed image. I became even more despondent because nothing seemed to work. I decided to fold it, scrunch it and cut it up. Then I thought, a good approach when something isn’t working is to cut it into strips and weave it. I liked the effect, and my mood lifted.

Anyway, when I got the A3 image from the printers I didn’t think it was that bad, and I couldn’t bring myself to cut it up so I just overdrew some areas adjusting tones using black, grey and silver pencils and some charcoal. I quite like how the inclusion of the straight lines and the curves suggest a graph of some sort, how it has both a geometric feel but also a natural, landscape feel, as if the line towards the centre is the waterline and beyond is a land mass, the dark area on the left almost reading as a tree. It was rolled up, so I’m going to have to flatten it and sort out proper lighting before I take a photo for submission. I actually really like it.

Aside from the importance of making notes whilst experimenting, this exercise has also taught me something about myself, which I suppose I have secretly always suspected. I started out with the idea of overdrawing the image. Initially that didn’t work, but rather than accept that I could change my thought process, and go off in a different direction, I allowed myself to press on and become despondent. My thought process was not flexible – it was a form of tunnel vision. Once I let go of it, I felt more positive.

Now for number two…

A Moment

So, we’ve received our feedback and grade for Unit 2.

The feedback, the most important bit, is incredibly helpful, and has lots of questions for me to continue to think about. Once I’ve finished ruminating, I will discuss it in more detail. In general terms it mirrored my feelings that I have made significant progress over the past few months. I think this was the reason why I felt the way I did when I saw that I had been given the same grade as for Unit 1. I felt disappointed. I told myself that the grade itself doesn’t matter; what matters is the process, not the result. I should be happy with the knowledge that I have made progress, and developed within the process. That is, after all, my mantra: I choose the process, not the result.

So why is there still a part of me that cares about the grade? I spent quite a while talking to myself, trying to resolve it, and in the end the answer I reached is this: whilst I am all about the process, it does not mean that the result does not matter at all, it is just that I care more about the process.

Since Ambivalence, I have reflected further, and I think that it is either a case of wanting the product to reflect the process (which I didn’t think the grade did), or that there will always be a part of me that is invested in the product; I just need to learn to live with it and allow it to be heard, but not to dominate as it has done in the past.

And so, I listened to it, and asked what else I could have done. A typo. All’s well that ends well.