Tag Vulnerability

Motherhood I

Kate McCalmont-Woods Leave a comment

I have had an image in my mind for months. It came from the Elizabeth Stone quotation, I first mentioned in Hearts & Linos .

”Making the decision to have a child – it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”

I think it encapsulates perfectly how I felt when I became a mother. My whole world was turned upside down. I was suddenly responsible for raising and protecting another human being. I felt overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all; that life would never be the same again. It made me question the sort of world I had brought her into, how her life might be; how much of it I would be a part of, the unthinkable and unbearable pain I would suffer if anything happened to her. She was precious and intrinsic to me, now living and breathing in the world, independently of me.

Original Version
Dramatic Filter
Cyanotype
Coffee Toned Cyanotype
Altered background and darker tones
Dramatic Filter.
Dramatic cool Filter. Worked on hands.

It’s taken a while. Bearing in mind that I’m still finding my way around Procreate I don’t think that I’ve done too badly. I’m sure that I’ve done lots of things incorrectly, but I don’t really care. It’s all a learning process and it was fundamentally about me trying to realise an image that I had in my head. I feel that I’ve achieved what I set out to do. In that respect, I’m pleased with it. I think it conveys the visceral nature of my feelings.

Actually, it has taken me more than a while; it’s taken ages, probably because I kept on making mistakes, but I have learnt lots along the way. I’ve redone parts of it several times but I have to say that it has all been about the process of discovery and realisation. It’s allowed me time to focus on the detail, but it’s been as part of the process rather than with a view to trying to achieve a perfect result. I don’t think that Procreate is a tool with which I can be loose and expressive in the physical sense, but it seems to satisfy that part of me that likes to focus on surreal detail every now and then. Hopefully that will allow the other part of me to enjoy the experimentation of being looser and more expressive in my mark-making when, say, painting.

I decided ages ago that I wanted to incorporate my ink experiments as a background to a collage type piece. I sourced the heart, crawling baby and head of the woman from royalty free image sites which allow for reproduction of the resultant work, if need be. The body is my daughter. She’s a bit freaked out by someone else’s head being on it, but I wanted a neutral character, and I couldn’t find an image of a woman sitting on a chair that fitted my requirements, so I roped in a free model.

It was challenging constructing the crawling heart. I’ve had to rebuild parts of it including the hands as some of the fingers were hidden in the original image. It was quite difficult finding source images whose licences allowed me to do what I wanted to do, and were also free. I’ve played around with editing effects and colours and I think that I’m settled on the last image for now. The slight greenish tones, complement the red heart. I really like the cyanotypes, but unfortunately there isn’t enough tonal variation and the slightly chaotic background loses its delicate tonal transitions in the process. I might try again but change the background to something a little less busy. But I like the historical, almost Victorian Penny Dreadful feel to them. I might develop it further, but I’ll leave it on the back burner for now.

The time delay video created by Procreate is of epic proportions, but it’s helpful for me to watch it back so I can see what a song and dance I made of it all. This is a shortened version.

Resisting The Urge

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It’s been difficult, but I’ve been managing to stop myself from altering things after the event. To leave things undone with elements which really jar with me, which are clearly wrong and which look awful, and to post them anyway. I think that it’s starting to make a difference as to how I work – if I can get into the habit of showing the worst of it, the imperfect, work which I’d much rather never see the light of day, and preferably end up in the bin, I hope that I will be able to engage fully with the process, and not worry about the result.

The mantras I’ve adopted so far:

  • I will choose the mark-making processes which I enjoy, and not worry about the result
  • I choose the process, not the result
  • I don’t have to like what I make, and I don’t have to make what I like

So, we’ve been continuing with the subject of figures in my weekly oil painting class. We had a model today. I certainly haven’t done her justice, and just don’t get me onto the subject of faces. We had to do a few warm up drawings, starting with continuous line – always difficult to get things in the right place – and then just normal sketching, a couple of minutes each. I used an oil pastel – I like that it’s a commitment, and can’t be rubbed out. There’s nowhere to hide, mistakes remain visible – the new me. Then an hour painting.

What to say? I’ve realised that since I’ve been posting my ‘Undones’ (seems a more positive word than failures), no matter how unhappy I am with the result, I can always find something that I like, if I look hard enough. It has just dawned on me, that I probably wouldn’t notice these elements if I was happy with the end result if, indeed, they managed to survive the perfecting process. There’s always some beauty, no matter the ugliness.

I think that I’ve unintentionally transferred my feelings of being weighed down onto the model. The dress looks so heavy; although it was velvet. I think I’ve managed to capture the sense of velvet. I’m trying to avoid using any blending in my paintings at the moment – I’m working on keeping my brushstrokes defined and with a sense of movement – I think I’ve achieved this. The figure is generally good and I particularly like the neck.

I’ve just been watching Sky Arts LAOTY, and now Gareth Reid is now giving a masterclass on drawing faces – I could definitely do with watching this.

Poets And Lovers, And A Side Of Bacon

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Well, I made it through without a tear. It might have been the sheer number of people which meant that it was impossible to stand and contemplate too deeply, or the audio commentary going on in my ear which distracted me. The ‘Poets and Lovers’ exhibition at the National Gallery was a cornucopia of Van Gogh brilliance, although I was left wondering why it didn’t include some of the Van Goghs I had seen in other galleries, such as the self-portrait with bandaged ear at the Courtauld, but then I don’t have the faintest idea about curation. That said, it didn’t detract from the luscious visual delights on offer, many of which I hadn’t come across before.

What struck me more than anything was the direct correlation between how he drew and how he painted. The range and quality of mark-making was phenomenal. Whilst up close, the brushstrokes and colour palette made me virtually tachycardial, it was standing in the centre of each of the rooms which gave the most rewarding experience.

The only moment when I almost cracked, was when I found myself in front of the Sunflowers from the National Gallery and the Philadelphia Museum of Art: he painted his Sunflower series to decorate his guest room in anticipation of Gaugin’s visit to Arles, in an effort to impress Gaugin, who he greatly admired, almost to the point of obsession. Van Gogh’s sensitivity and vulnerability weren’t a good match for Gaugin who, by some accounts, was aggressive and egocentric, which served only to reinforce Van Gogh’s insecurities. It all made me blink a bit quicker. I have to declare my bias – I’m not a fan of Gaugin for various reasons, not least because he abandoned his wife and five children to go off and indulge his predilection for young girls.

The day was rounded off by a trip to the Colony Room Green, a replica, as near as dammit, of the bohemian Soho legend that was the Colony Room Club which closed down in 2008 after 60 years, and which was the creation of the queen of Soho, Muriel Belcher – apparently, you knew you were in if she called you the ‘C’ word. It was the favourite haunt of creatives such as Francis Bacon, Lucian Freud, John Craxton, Damien Hirst, Tracey Emin, Dylan Thomas, John Deakin, Frank Auerbach, Michael Andrews, Giacometti, and the list goes on. My husband was particularly keen to visit as he’s reading Darren Coffield’s ‘Tales from the Colony Room’.

‘ Francis Bacon was very fashion-conscious and always immaculately dressed. One afternoon Francis walked in, annoyed and pulling his collar. – “What’s wrong, Francis?” – “Harrods, I’m never going back there again.” He’d attended a special night for select clients and bought lots of clothes, but when he’d got back home he’d decided he didn’t like any of them. “I bought so many suits and shirts and threw the lot in the dustbin.” You’d never seen the club empty so quickly. The next day everyone was up the club parading around in their new suits and shirts from Francis’ dustbin.’

Colony Room I, Michael Andrews, 1962

It’s very small and down some stairs underneath Ziggy Green, 4 Heddon Street, a side street off Regent Street. It’s reminiscent of a dive bar/ speakeasy.

It was great meeting Liam, the house jazz pianist and chatting to Tim, the barman who explained that it’s not trying to be a re-creation of the original, but somewhere to come and meet an eclectic mix of people. Despite what he said, I couldn’t help but feel that I had stepped back in time, waiting for the door to open and for one of my artistic heroes or heroines to walk through it. They often have events which are free to attend, such as talks and book launches. Unfortunately, we couldn’t hang around for the Portrait of Muriel Belcher evening.

There’s something very inspiring about the idea of a group of creative people coming together regularly to discuss work, ideas and concepts. I’ll definitely pop back in next time I’m in town, in the hope that something might rub off.

Three Conversations With My Mother

Kate McCalmont-Woods 4 Comments

Some were surreal, others were sad. Sometimes she was lucid, sometimes she was delirious, sometimes it was morphine. Three in particular have lodged themselves in my memory. My logical brain tells me that she wasn’t herself, that her brain chemistry was all over the place, trying to cope with the enormity of it all.

It’s just that the last conversation I had with her, was the last.

I suppose I could talk about them to someone, together with the rest of it, but I’m not sure the spoken word will work: the words will come out of my mouth and vibrate through the air to enter someone else’s head. Then they are gone. I need a more substantial, tangible way of dealing with them, through the written word and imagery. I need to be able to confront them, physically.

I’ve had some inner conflict as to whether I should publish the image in which her face is visible; when she was ill and at her most vulnerable. This was a woman who dragged herself through the house, after breaking her leg, in order to phone for my sister to come over and make her look presentable before calling for an ambulance. She was a very private person. But she is no longer here. If it helps me come to terms with it, I think she would be ok with it. My sister’s on board – she reads this blog. She has her own conversations.

Three Conversations With My Mother No 1, Montotype on A4 Cartridge Paper

Three Conversations With My Mother No 2, Monotype on A4 Cartridge Paper

Three Conversations With My Mother No 3, Monotype on A4 Cartridge Paper

I don’t need to reflect on them. I don’t want to reflect on them. Not yet.

The Power of Ugly Art

Kate McCalmont-Woods 1 Comment

I was watching a YouTube video yesterday morning and happened to look at the list of related videos on the right hand side: The Power of Ugly Art – Creativity Exercise for Dealing with your Inner Critic In Your Sketchbook, Marie-Noëlle Wurm, caught my eye.

During our critique session on Tuesday afternoon, whilst talking about my experimental digital collage, I mentioned that I feel particularly drawn to the process and that I have some ideas as to how I can use it to express my feelings on motherhood, in particular, in relation to the quote in Hearts and Lino about the heart walking around outside the body. I commented that it might be a bit gruesome, reflecting that actually that didn’t matter as sometimes art has to be ugly to convey what it needs to; it doesn’t always have to be aesthetically pleasing.

I mentioned N’s reference, in her introduction to her artistic practice, to Louise Fletcher’s course in which she actively encourages the creation of ugly art, which I have also watched. This is what Wurm encourages – an artist’s fear is creating ugly art, so lean into the fear instead of running way from it. Creating beautiful art is an expectation and she suggests detailing the expectations we may have as artists, and then expressing them in our sketchbooks. By letting our expectations exist, instead of pushing them away, we give them space to exist within our art practice, which will lead to more powerful art, growth and compassion for ourselves.

I’m going to give her exercises a go in my sketchbook, ordinarily a safe place for no one’s eyes but my own.

Hearts and Lino

Kate McCalmont-Woods Leave a comment

”Making the decision to have a child – it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”

This quote from Elizabeth Stone (I’m yet to fathom out who she is!) is apparently well-known, but I only heard it recently when someone, I think it was an actor, was being interviewed about becoming a parent.

I think it sums up brilliantly the utter overwhelming sense of vulnerability and responsibility that I felt on becoming a mother. With this in mind, I attended a workshop on Saturday and Sunday on linocut led by Lisa Takahashi. Whilst everyone else started working on their images of sea urchins, birds, landscapes and flowers, I sat there, initially reluctant to reveal my chosen image of an anatomical diagram of a heart – it seemed particularly grisly and gruesome in this environment of natural loveliness. I suspect a few eyebrows were raised, on the side!

The workshop was on multiple-block linocut, a process in which you use separate blocks of lino to print individual colours, as opposed to reductive linocut where the colours are printed from the same block. I’ve only ever done a basic linocut with a single colour, so the process of working out what areas to cut for each colour meddled with my head a bit. Also, because you use separate blocks you can reprint in different colourways, although there is more room for error in terms of cutting and registration when printing, which can lead to unintended gaps and overlaps which add to the feeling of it being handmade, apparently! Also, as with all linocuts, you can sometimes get marks from ridges of lino which have inadvertently picked up the ink, particularly in large areas which have been cleared out, and this is called “chatter”, which is a lovely term.

We were limited to two colours, which effectively means that there can be up to four colours in the print: the two chosen colours, their resultant mix, and the white of the paper. I chose red and blue as they were the colours on the diagram.

Well, the prints are a bit rough and ready. I’m not keen on the white area around the heart – originally the background was also red and so I wanted some differentiation between the two, but later on I decided that I preferred the darker background. Having said that, I think it does give the image some dynamism, as if the heart is beating and pulsating.

Feeling Our Way

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During our second session half of the group gave short individual presentations about themselves and their work. It was fascinating to learn how they have come to be here and their inspirations. We then went on to consider how we are feeling at the beginning of the course and the idea of vulnerability was a recurring emotion.

This is something that I have been thinking about a lot recently: to expose one’s vulnerabilities takes courage. It reminded me of an interview I watched between between Alan Yentob and the actress, Miriam Margolyes, in his ‘Imagine…’ series for the BBC which was made shortly after she had published her autobiography.

ALAN:”Have you hidden anything in this book? Are there things that you haven’t spoken of?

MIRIAM: “I didn’t mention something that I should have mentioned and that was that I hit my mother when she was paralysed. Anyone who has been a carer will know how frustrating and difficult it is and I let that happen and I’m deeply ashamed of it. But the thing that really gets to me is that my mother forgave me. I hit her when she was paralysed and she forgave me.”

I remember thinking how tremendously brave she was to admit to an act which most of society would view as anathema. I was shocked by it; it was a stark statement made without context or explanation and without looking for sympathy.

They say that before you judge a person you should walk a mile in their shoes; two years later I was caring for my terminally ill mother and if I had watched that interview then, it would have spoken to me and I would have been more understanding.

So, I need to have the courage to embrace vulnerability because there’s just a chance that someone else might be feeling the same way.