A couple of weeks ago I spent a full, entire week only going to my studio to work on my own work. I realised that this was the first time in my entire career that I had done this. I am 37. It is both a strange and not strange thing for a ‘professional’ artist like myself to say. Why have I never been able to do this before?
I think the TLDR here is everyone’s least favourite boogeyman: capitalism! I have to pay bills, and earn income to able to live and have the life that I want. At this point people might feel inclined to jump in and ask me why I’m not making enough money from my art practice to support myself… well, I don’t make enough of a stream of saleable work, and I am not of a level where I have gallery representation or enough of a profile to do so. Some years ago I went down the ‘productifying’ route for my work, and yeah, it was good for a time, but ultimately I made work I resented and didn’t feel like I was challenging myself beyond a need to churn things out because I was worried I would have a bare looking stall at events, or too many empty slots on my online shop. Some people find their niche of making their work saleable, well made, and authentic to them, but I didn’t. It’s a mode of supporting yourself, but I didn’t manage, or have the drive (?) to keep that going- so boo hoo back to the drawing board.
Like many artists I also teach but I don’t make regular enough hours for that to my the sole source of income for me, so inevitably I have a patchwork of freelance and zero hours contracts to keep things together (when it works). Like many, I also had a PT job during my time at art school, so didn’t even dedicate all my energies to my study back then. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had applied myself fully? I also find it funny that that is where my mind immediately goes- it must be some failing on my part- lack of motivation, dedication, talent, skill, when there are bigger, overarching influences that are out of my control. But equally between the ages of 18 and 22 you have a competing range of priorities that shape-shift continuously. We are preoccupied with establishing a new identity, socialising, building relationships… enjoying youth, as we should.
In amongst all this are things that are of my making and not. I chose to undertake an academic masters degree after graduating from art school, at a time when I was getting more opportunities as an artist. So I effectively pulled the plug on my own trajectory to do something I wanted to do, and felt would ultimately enhance my practice. But looking back I see that I ‘dropped the ball’ there, fell off the map and just well… fell off. With age I think, I’m glad I did that then because I couldn’t afford to do that now, and I had some great experiences and made friendships I wouldn’t trade for anything. But when I am reviewing my progress, or lack there of, I sometimes am tempted to file this under ‘master (lol) of my own destruction’.
I stopped making art properly between 2011 and 2013, and didn’t come back to producing work I felt was ‘me’ until 2016. I have written a lot about my use of collage as a way of finding my feet again, and I value that time, but I knew I couldn’t make that kind of work forever. I was always fighting in my own head with myself about going back to photographic work. It was scary because it was hard and I had nowhere to hide.
It’s a long and meandering road, being an artist, or just a human generally, and I look back and see a varied and strange path to where I am now. I couldn’t help but wonder if my art practice would have met even my own expectations if I had had more time to dedicate to it, or even more energy. For a while I tried to come to the studio in the morning and be *productive* before doing manual work in the afternoon and boy, did that not just really add to the sense of- wow this is not workinggggg.
I recognise more than ever that I need fairly specific conditions for my brain and body in order to be able to make the most of my time in the studio:
Not feeling rushed (rushing there- bad, having to rush away- also bad)
No overhanging obligation (a meeting, a deadline, anything I need to consciously remember)
Nervous system feeling REGULATED.
I am pretty sure any artist reading this will be like, gurl that is not happening ever, and don’t I know it. We are always making do, cramming in, contorting our brains and bodies around obligations and demands and everything else, and if you manage to squeeze out a small piece of work, or focus your mind for a short time- that is golden. I need to check myself as well remembering that there are many, many frustrated artists who are denied any opportunity to work, because of life circumstances beyond their control. I have a studio I can come to. I have materials. I have goals in mind. This is very much a me problem but many artists will face it to different degrees- how do you survive? How do you keep making work? Does it matter? Should you keep going?
I sometimes think about what would happen if I just gave it all up, like I have tried, that’s enough now. I guess it depends what I was expecting my life to look like. I have painted (sorry) myself into a corner with my skillset and experience and can’t really imagine what kind of ‘regular’ job would suit me, which is why I frequently undertake manual work. On the face of it I have made myself fantastically unemployable to the general labour market. I could start thinking about ‘transferable skills’ but I want to make it through the day… or maybe rEtRaIn In CyBeR.
When I have thought about writing about this previously I just feel like, it’s whiny etc, no one cares about your self made problem. But I also think it points to bigger problems that we all face, that of the role of work and ceaseless productivity drive inherent in much of modern Western life, the cost of living, and how we find and make meaning in our lives. I chose to live like this and I bear the consequences of my choices, but you can’t blame a girl for trying.
I think the real root of the problem is my own level of expectation for myself and my practice, the vision I hold somewhere in my head, which gets vaguer over time, of what ‘success’ would look like for me. I often need to zoom out. Sometimes what keeps me going is the idea that art, and art making, have value, and enhance our lives and experience of the world. That maybe my art speaks to someone and they feel seen and understood, intrigued or provoked, in the way that artworks have infiltrated my own consciousness.
Ultimately I feel like there is something about giving up that feels larger than just a shift in occupation for me. I am not planning on doing so in the immediate future but I am unsure when I will next have the opportunity to spend an entire week in my studio.
I have been quiet over the past few months, on social media, and on here, my blog. It’s not that I don’t have anything to say, I just don’t feel the same level of need I used to about expressing myself consistently and frequently online. I have spent a lot of time thinking about the effects of social media on my practice, my own cognition and mental health, and a ‘less is more’ approach ultimately suits me better. I enjoy the connectivity, the instantaneousness, the access to a global array of stimuli. But I also need a lot of quiet time to not feel overwhelmed and disconnected from myself and my own goals. I’m not going to riff about it for too long, as there are people who discuss this topic far more eloquently than I, but I definitely feel a lot better when I am not ‘wired in’. I am also usually more productive and present in my own practice. Social media can be a valuable tool to escape from boredom, inertia, or discomfort, but I also need to sit with what is difficult, and form my own thoughts and escape plans. I also felt alienated by the disingenuous performative aspects of online personas. Yes- I get that the whole thing is in essence performative, but that doesn’t mean I have to want to play. I probably spend or have spent, too much time thinking about my online presence, to the point that I have disappeared up my own… anyway, as an over-thinker, I need to focus my energy on ‘doing’ IRL, rather than fretting about ‘presenting’ online.
As I have previously discussed, I also find social media an unpleasant space to function as an artist. If you post something that is different to your previous works or posts, you might feel a pang of dismay at a lack of engagement. Why don’t people like this one?? I thought I was getting somewhere! Low likes gang I see you! Everything about socials requires consistency- in content, posting level, presence and use of the app. These things are not conducive to everyone’s process, or indeed being a human. I admire people who have harnessed platforms to further their careers, but it doesn’t work for everyone. And that’s okay.
So enough about what’s not working. What has been working is burrowing deep into the research phase of my VACMA (Visual Arts & Crafts Makers Award) project- Abyssal Glow (working title).
It has felt like this is the first time for a long time that I have a solo project that I am excited to progress, to return to, and I allow it preoccupy my mind daily. I keep referring to it as a ‘full circle’ project as I am returning to those long left behind skills- darkroom photography and animation. My inspiration for this project has been a combination of dedicated research, alongside a lot of gut feeling, and the infiltration of different surroundings in my subconscious.
Collage piece as I work through recurrent image ideas.
I have found myself returning over and over to particular images I took in the past, but instead of thinking ‘I need to make something new and stop dwelling’, I have actively incorporated these images into the project, with two of them becoming absolutely central. If they seem important, and keep reappearing, then why am I fighting it so doggedly?
In terms of art historical references, I feel that I have naturally accumulated a series of influences that, although contrasting, sit well together within the overarching project. Basically it feels like I have been supplying my subconscious with what seemed like disparate elements, but they have coagulated together in the background to make some kind of monstrous, cohesive whole. Delightful.
Another collage ‘sketch’ for the project.
This project has contrasted with many I have undertaken previously as I actually feel comfortable in it. I don’t feel like I am scrabbling around to bring something together, or forcing an idea that doesn’t have a lot of mileage to be something bigger than it should be. I am in a good space in this project, it is a place of refuge and stability. It is a place of depth, and I feel more than ever the influence of my subconscious on my practice. This sounds a bit airy but for this particular idea, I have been mulling over themes and influences for so long they have become part of an internal vocabulary. I don’t really like describing something as ‘feeling natural’ because what does that even mean, but it feels unforced, and even… easy? Maybe it’s the development of my own visual language.
Studio wall of ideas.
I don’t mean easy in the sense that I am not challenging myself, but that I am working around, and through, any obstacles. I think what I am experiencing is the realisation that I actually have a lot of experience now. I am mid-career guys. So perhaps the sense of confidence just comes from a solidifying of my identity as an artist. I feel much more at home there, and I can tell people what I do without the same level of uncertainty or imposter syndrome strangling me into shamed silence. I feel I have a lot of tools that support me, like a good foundation: a studio, supportive peers, access to materials and equipment… some of the basic elements I didn’t have for a long time. Being out there in the artistic wilderness is one of those oh it’s character forming things, but it doesn’t necessarily engender a desire to continue on. Being an artist can feel like an isolating, solitary experience, and sometimes you need it to be, to find your own direction I suppose. But it can also make it feel like an unrelenting slog with little reward, and a precariousness that many would find intolerable- both in an intellectual and material sense. I suppose it is.
I think another contributing factor to this sense of solidness in my identity is being employed as an artist. Being paid to work as a skilled professional in a variety of settings, as an artist. I spent many years as an arts organiser, supporting the careers of artists, designers and makers, which gave me a greater understanding of how the cultural sector works, and a sense of satisfaction in promoting visual art etc, but sometimes you need to decide if you want to be a cheerleader, or if you want to be on the other side. To be honest, part of this decision to move away from arts organiser type roles was also that every post I applied for in the past year I didn’t get an interview for- not that I felt entitled to yeahhh- but it just spelled out to me that I wasn’t going to get anywhere pursuing that avenue as a means of supporting myself.
I am often moved to have strong views on ‘art jobs’ because as an artist it can seem like a good idea as they are adjacent to your practice, but they can also take up a lot of the brain space that your own creative endeavours require. Throughout the years I have, alongside my freelance work and practice, had non-related jobs, such as roles in administration, and more recently in physical work such as cleaning (more slog). These jobs do not attack the part of my brain I need to be creative in the same way, and yes they present their own challenges, but they do not take away my desire, or ability, to maintain my practice- a new development! Some of these roles also offer the same level of pay as creative sector roles, so it doesn’t seem like some grave mistake. Unless I actually want anyone to read my CV I guess…
I am grateful for the roles that I had as an arts organiser, but I know it was the right decision for me to instead choose to pursue roles as an artist- teaching, commissioned works, workshops etc, and supplement that with ‘non-art’ work. This is the method I am using at the moment, and I very well may end up eating my words, but I am sure there are many creatives out there who can relate to this push-pull of finding work as an artist. It’s not even like there are a lot of ‘art jobs’ out there either. Who’s to say anyone would want me anyway? I certainly didn’t have much success in my last round of approaches. I also think that maybe it’s my age (oh no guys, mid-career), or that my CV is a weird mish-mash that lacks cohesion and is in no way at all linear (true). Welcome to life as an artist I guess. I don’t hold these views in a bitter way, as I think it’s clear to me what’s ‘for me’ and what’s not, in many senses. I also have to be at peace with my own life choices- to choose to pursue a life as an artist, with its innate instability, inconsistency and challenges, when I could have done… something else. I have always said that I would keep going until I couldn’t any more, I would keep trying to live this way and make it work, and maybe one day I’ll have to give it all up and retrain in cyber (we still haven’t forgiven Rishi for that one). But I keep on.
I figured it might be a good way to round off the year with a post, and although I haven’t quite established a regular posting schedule, I figure it’s better to write when you feel moved to do so, rather than forcing a post of dross out to tick a box on my to-do list.
Current reading etc
I am currently listening to the audiobook version of ‘The Body Keeps the Score’ by Bessel A. van der Kolk. A much recommended book, it has been a difficult listen in places (as any book about trauma is going to be) but has been eye-opening in many ways to the deep connection between body and mind. I think it’s very easy, as a cerebral person, to forget this, and this has been an invaluable digression.
I have just finished the latest issue of Spike Magazine- Vulnerability. Any magazine that has Tea Hacic-Vlahovic as a regular contributor is a must on my list.
I have completed my large scale commission I seem to have been endlessly toiling with (no pictures of the final piece until I’m over the initial hatred stage).
wip shot of the long commission. long in many ways…
I have started another large scale mouse based collage work in my studio.
me making something awful
I made a few hilarious Cannibal Cubs tufted rugs as gifts for people (I wasn’t going to include pictures in case someone happens to read this, though I think I am safe to say none of my immediate circle would subject themselves to reading my blog as they are regularly exposed to the live show). As many people I’m sure are experiencing, life seems to be very expensive just now, and Xmas appearing in view is not a welcome sight when the budget is already zero. I have made more handmade gifts this year than I usually do- I am normally too busy making items for markets and the like, but having swerved that this year I found myself with a teency bit more time. There’s also something therapeutic about this particular process for my addled brain.
A mouse rugly made by me as a cyute gift. Normally my mouse rugs are a bit… intense? But I made this once nice and friendly.
Anyway, back to my version of the dreaded holiday newsletter. No one graduated, it was mostly toil. I jest.
2022 the year of leaving the ‘Kekun’.
2022 has been a year where with the rolling back of covid restrictions, I have been able to broaden the scope of what I was able to achieve in the public sphere, including exhibitions, workshops, and spending more time with people face-to-face. I think this was a necessary thing before I completely atrophied from lack of professional external contact and ‘putting myself out there’. I have a propensity to be insular when I am creating new works, but if I let that mentality seep across my entire professional life I am at risk of disconnecting in a way that isn’t healthy. Being a loner works for some artists, and I think everyone needs this to a degree, but at this stage in my life I can’t really become a total recluse. Yet.
As I’ve detailed before, the covid years provided me with time to develop long neglected sides of my practice such as beginning to draw again, picking up my analogue camera more regularly, and starting to produce written works. But we humans are social creatures and although I was able to glean some small benefits during an overwhelmingly stressful and dark time, I am glad to have been able to re-emerge and ‘do the things’.
As a practitioner this year has been invaluable in taking my first steps back into teaching. Covid restrictions made workshops retreat to the online sphere, and it’s been nice to actually get out and connect with people doing creative activities again. It was a confidence boost to remind myself of my own capabilities and also the enjoyment that art can bring to people’s lives, with simple materials a lot of the time. I am hoping to build on the workshops I have provided so far, as well as expanding my freelance working to include some more consistent teaching and facilitation. Upswing!
Image from a recent collage workshop held at a local community warm space.
Existing in the current economic climate has arguably been a challenge but this is not unusual for artists or those working in the ‘creative industries’ (am I the only one who hates that term?). Many of us are all too familiar with instability, precarity and the need for fortitude and adaptability. Saying that however there is only so far that a positive attitude can take you (maybe I’m not *manifesting* hard enough), and when bills just need paid you start to question whether you have chosen a foolish path. I think questioning your choices is pretty much innate in ‘art life’, but it has had an acute, sharper feeling this year. I have always pursued other employment whilst being an artist, but have had periods this year where I had no additional income and it was at times, destabilising. I have once again sought alternative, part time flexible employment, which will take the pressure off- even if the logistics are making it harder to commence than anticipated. I am resourceful. I will survive. I will ride my sewer crocodile into the sunset. Soon.
everything is trash and I am falling over.
But sometimes it does not stave off the creeping sense of discomfort that choosing this life was a mistake. I am sure that most creative professionals encounter this sensation, probably daily in some cases, but many of us seem to manage to keep on, keepin on, and strive towards having the sorts of lives they want to live. Also maybe we don’t talk about this enough? Only amongst close confidantes? Should artists talk more about ways to survive together? Do they already have support groups I am not invited to? Something to ruminate over next time I’m trying to meditate. Intrusive thoughts!
Anyhoo.
What keeps me going? What keeps me going in the dark night of art soul?
this again.
ART FRIENDS!
Mostly peer support. Having other people around trying to live the same kind of lives makes you feel like you are not alone, and that you are not in pursuit of the ridiculous (even when you probably are). Mostly. It gives you a sense of community amid an existence that can feel like chaos, or just out and out permaslog. Feeling seen and heard is important, having people to turn to for advice, or just to complain to can, like all problems, make the load a little lighter, even just for a while. I am forever indebted to my studio mates and other creative friends for this. But I wasn’t always so lucky. It took me a long time to build networks, and I had to actively seek out opportunities to meet other artists or makers. I initially did this by applying for selling events and naturally seeing the same faces, as well as attending a course entitled ‘Sustaining Life as a Creative’ in 2016. I was able to meet a whole room of people trying to exist as a creative in differing ways, and made some lasting connections as a result. We soon realised we all had versions of the same problems, and it made me feel less isolated. It took me a long time to actually not be isolated however, but this was the beginning of that process. I was lucky to stumble across this course, but depending on where you live you might not have these opportunities so readily to hand, and have to rely more on the interwebs to connect with others. I have dabbled in this also, but I’m actually kind of rubbish at consistently being on instagram or other platforms, so my lacklustre presence doesn’t inspire a constellation of pals and potential. It’s hard to invest a lot of time and energy in being ‘online’ all the time, I find it quite intrusive into my regular brain space. There are certainly lots of people who excel at this- more power to them- but I need IRL support or I crumble.
What else helps?
BEING A NERD!
Reading the biographies of other artists is usually a good morale boost, and has always provided me with much solace. Understanding that the path is not linear for creative people can give a sense of hope and comfort when you wonder if you should have just… done literally anything else. The only thing that can mar this slightly are biographies that include scenes of extreme wealth and status that make you think… okaaaaay, I’m not the offspring of an aristocratic dynasty or the great nephew of whoever… but there are always *some* commonalities regardless. Creative struggle is struggle, but some people have more of the general life struggle than others. You’ll never find a complete mirror of your own experience in such accounts, but a glimmer of recognition is still something in the dark.
MORE READING!
approx 1000000 books belonging to me
I have also read many, many advice books for artists, and will list below the ones I have found the most useful. I also try to read relevant blogs, like The White Pube, which features helpful advice columns, and find solace and a dark chuckle in niche meme accounts for artistic life.
Useful books/Books I have read:
‘Ways of Being: Advice for Artists by Artists’ by James Cahill– predictably this had some gems and some so-so nuggets of wisdom, as marmite as the artists themselves will be for many people. Highlights again the differing journeys each artist will have, and that success takes many forms and has varying timelines.
Plan & Play, Play & Plan: Defining your art practice by Janwillen Schrofer– this was helpful when I was trying to become more comfortable with the rhythm of my own practice, the importance of play, what productivity actually can look like. It was dense and well put together- I need to revisit it.
How to be an Artist by Jerry Saltz– this was a high energy collection of pep and encouragement, acknowledging that not everyone’s practice will look the same but there is inherent value and importance in just showing up and trying. Art is hard work! Jerry wants you to get to it, stat.
I also liked this just because: What Artists Wear by Charlie Porter– fun dive into the sartorial lives of artists and what it reveals about their differing ways of existing in the world. It’s never ‘just clothes’. As Leonard Woolf said, ‘Nothing matters, and everything matters’.
This coming year I am trying to bring a greater sense of stability into my life, with more regular freelance work and sporadic part time employment (hahaha I am aware how that sounds… ha). It’s hard to create and be creative sometimes when you are constantly thinking about the rising cost of everything (particularly materials, sweet baby J), so I am hoping that my employment changes will engender a slightly greater sense of security that might free up my creative brain. Fingers crossed.
I am still pleased with the variety of projects and shows I have undertaken this year, and similarly hope to build on this again next year. I think it’s easy to underplay your own achievements but in the midst of what has at times felt like a difficult year, I have still managed to pull together work and explore new avenues, new techniques, all whilst moving studio (goodbye OG Kekun Studio, hello Arkade Studios) and working on larger projects.
Also committing to maintaining and creating this blog has been a step I had wanted to take for a while, and although this is only in the very early stages of becoming something, or indeed anything, I am pleased I took the step to encourage me to write more, and share my thoughts and ideas with a wider community.
Thanks for reading- I hope you have a restful xmas/holiday break
I have been working as an artist for many years, but only in the last few have I taken on a permanent rented premises in which to make my work.
Post art school, or in the early stages of building a practice, this is a dilemma many artists face- where will I make the work I want to make? Do I need a studio? Am I legit if I don’t?
(Disclaimer: I’m using my art school —-> real life journey as an example here, but there are obviously many, many ways to start and maintain an art practice, and the road this takes towards needing a studio or not. Leaving art school can be quite a shock in some ways as you go from having lots of space and facilities to (often) nothing. It’s like being a very spoiled pet and suddenly you’re an alley cat. Other routes can involve this harshness from the get-go, so I appreciate the years I had before the Big Bad World encroached).
To rent or not to rent
For some people their practice necessitates the sourcing and renting of a studio by virtue of the method or the scale of the work produced. But many of us who use a laptop, or a desk, to work (though limiting oneself is also dangerous…) it can seem like an unnecessary expense to rent somewhere to make artwork.
When I was a fresh graduate I took a space with a couple of other artists in an open-plan, office style, pig-pen set up. I really didn’t use the space as often as I should have, due to waning motivation after the initial post-graduation rush, and the cramped nature of sharing with several others. I had to give up the space fairly swiftly, as an unused studio quickly becomes a financial burden, and the guilt is just as anxiety inducing (are you even an artist??? what are you doing???). I think I had yet to work out exactly what I wanted from a studio, and what kind of space I actually needed for my practice- too much too soon.
Following this, for most of the years after I graduated I worked from home, at a kitchen table, a living room floor, or wherever the work suited. Because my practice was largely photographic or paper based I was only really in need of a desk. I missed darkroom access once I left art school, and made various attempts to construct my own darkroom- one memorably in a basement where people also… hung their washing… anyway- the least said about that the better as the photos that emerged were as dire a quality as the overall experience. One star, would not repeat.
When I shifted towards more academic study and stopped making work as regularly I didn’t really worry about having a specific place to work as it would be whenever the whim to work took me, and subsequently I spent many sporadic collage years accidentally gluing hair from the bedroom carpet into whatever I was making.
Making of meaning/meaning of making
Francis Bacon’s studio. sorry.
I always thought a studio (in some part of my lizard brain) was something you had when you had ‘made it’. My definition of ‘making it’ at this point would have been successfully making and selling work to the point where you are self-supporting and need a place to produce the steady stream of perfect pieces people are banging on your door to buy.
So in my mind a studio became a sort of legitimising thing. A validation of artist-ness. It was something that came along with the ability of being able to say ‘I’m an artist‘ without looking around shiftily or sweating. I used to feel kind of embarrassed when people asked me if I had a studio and I said I worked from home. Perhaps because I was reading some kind of glee in their response that I wasn’t a real artist. I think these days that’s known as projecting, but that’s not to say that you don’t encounter lots of people along your creative journey who would like to see you fail. That’s life innit. Haters gonna… delegitimise-your-shaky-sense-of-self-perpetually-unless-you-harden-yourself-and-nurture-self-belief. Anyway.
Home working before it was mandatory
I quite liked working from home in a lot of respects- it’s cheap, it’s easy to work any time, you can take breaks without judgement (inner critic aside) and have some element of privacy (where possible). But it can also be hard to delineate your time correctly between work and leisure and self-motivation is a major element (I mean arguably it’s core in any artistic practice, but it takes a lot of willpower not to just sit on the sofa).
Very early working from home set up. Wow so neat.
My peak of home working probably occurred when I was working several jobs, some art, some non-art related, whilst kickstarting my practice again, between 2013-2016. I often needed to make work for shows, events, markets etc, and had to work predominantly in the evening or at weekends. I found this quite an exhausting time. It was great to drive my practice forward at pace and have actual deadlines to push towards, but man, I remember a lot of going straight from my desk to bed in a fugue state.
My desk when prepping for a selling event, circa 2015/2016. Did I mention how much I hate making greetings cards?
When I first started having a ‘studio day’ I found it really hard to structure my time. I think initially I was being far too rigid. I had this idea in my head of what my day should be, or look like, and I would either fritter away the time meeting up with someone (people would often call my studio day a ‘day off’ ha ha haaaa), or I would just panic that I wasn’t using this time wisely enough and freeze. There’s nothing more stifling for creativity sometimes than having a designated ‘art time’. Like cool, no pressure then. But often this is the reality of your schedule. Capitalism! It demands we work to survive, so we have to fit everything else in.
oh no not this.
Motivation and its discontents
There’s also this notion of ‘everyone has the same 24 hours’ which can be particularly toxic for creatives. I remember once reading an interview with some fashion entrepreneurs in a magazine for an online brand/retailer. They were both young, high flying and successful. One of the questions related to how they managed to build their brand alongside working other ‘normal’ jobs. I think the response was along the lines of ‘be like Oprah! Get up at 5am’. I remember feeling like… so if I don’t sword-dance with burnout constantly I’m not trying hard enough? And I shouldn’t have any time to rest? Which is integral to creativity, and errr, sanity? Infuriating. Damaging. Bullshit. I’m not saying that it doesn’t take lots of hard work to make anything a success, but when did this gross side-hustle-girl-boss-entrepreneur-influencer work ethic become the only way?
The long and the short of my particular version of this saga is that in order to dedicate more time to my practice I had to let go of some paid part time work. This has happened twice in my career so far, once with a part time job and once with some freelance roles. I just couldn’t handle having four separate jobs, and trying to work on my own projects at night when I felt like I couldn’t keep my head off the desk. Demoralising and unsustainable- delightful! My moods ranged from Eeyore to Godzilla and I hated everything I made. Awful. Again, one star, would not repeat.
I reduced my paid working hours enough to cover myself, and carved out extra time for my practice during the day. I was able to breathe and take the pressure off those bounded moments for creativity in my schedule. I still overcommitted myself to events and projects (saying no, not my forte), but I didn’t have to do all my working at night. It took me ages to relearn that evenings = downtime. I still struggle with this occasionally when at home, as I still have a work room which can beckon me. What is relaxation?????????
A different kind of ‘Kekun’
During 2019 I became involved with a local art collective/studio, Kekun Studio, that had a premises in an area of the city that wasn’t far from my home. I began spending time with the resident artists, Mary Butterworth and Jon Reid, and participated in two collaborative shows (Little Shop of Horrors and Bygone) and assisted with their residency programme. In early 2020 I was offered the chance to become a permanent part of the studio and rent a space there, alongside my collaborator on Cannibal Cubs.
Kekun studio, 2019
This was my first real experience of having a studio and it really opened up the range activities I could undertake. It was particularly useful for the Cannibal Cubs projects as we had a space we could screen print in more easily (having previously worked on a living room floor, cleaning screens in the shower).
Screen printing Cannibal Cubs products at Kekun studio, early 2020 (pre covid!).
It was also helpful to be around other artists again, an experience I had previously left behind in art school. It’s invaluable to have other people around to discuss elements of professional practice with, to shoot the shit with, complain to, rejoice with. It can make choosing a life like this less lonely and a unrelenting perma-slog (it’s fun really! Kinda). It can be hard sometimes for people with more linear career paths to grasp the precarity, unpredictability and sheer grind of working for yourself in the creative industries. It also allows you to become part of a larger network, hearing about opportunities, meeting fellow creatives, as well as learning new skills from the people around you. Professional practice and development is something a lot of artists struggle with, and I wouldn’t have gotten by without others sharing their advice and experiences with me. Beyond this, it also teaches you that there is no one ‘right’ way to be an artist, to make work, to exist in the world. I think I was very lucky to be in a studio situation where all the other residents were people I could count as friends.
2020 naturally presented some challenges with regards to being allowed to use the studio, but when restrictions slowly changed around working away from home, I was able to utilise the space again, and this was a welcome respite from always being in the same place. It provided a much needed element of work/life balance, as well as contact with people outside my ‘household/bubble’ (anyone else feel triggered by these words? If I never hear the word ‘household’ again I’ll be delighted). The studio became a lifeline for us during a strange, unsettling time, and prevented my practice from going into homeworking stasis.
The space provided by the studio allowed me to expand the scale of works I was producing, and in my last months in Kekun I was experimenting at a scale I had not previously tackled before- with painting, drawing and even constructing a textile based installation. Kekun, its occupants, and its facilities, were instrumental in broadening my thinking around my practice, as well as diversifying the methods and materials I was willing to challenge myself with.
An installation set up for a project I was working on in Kekun studio (2021)
New beginnings
Unfortunately in the summer of 2022 we all had to vacate the space due to a rather strange situation with a neighbouring business. This was a big wrench, but the studio had become a difficult place to work, and the once welcoming, relaxed atmosphere had been damaged irreparably. We were all very lucky to find spaces in another large city-centre complex- The Anatomy Rooms, run by All In Ideas and home to Arkade Gallery and City Moves Dance Agency.
I moved into my new room there in early September 2022, and although the move was protracted and gruelling (oh the lugging), we are all ultimately happier in our new spaces here. I have my own self contained room, just along from where my old studio mates Jon and Mary also have their own spaces.
The Anatomy Rooms is a building that’s steeped in history (having been, as the name suggests, the anatomy building for Aberdeen University) with a lot of unusual features (disused morgue anyone?). It has been an artist studio complex for many years now, equipped with an exhibition space (Arkade Gallery), areas for teaching, and larger scale events. Being part of a studio like this means I am already embedded in an artistic community. It makes it easier for me to hear about, and be involved in, projects and events. Not that being part of a studio or an organisation should be a prerequisite for this, but I can sometimes be lax in keeping informed about what’s going on, or what opportunities might be open to me. My head is invariably in ‘making mode’ not ‘promote self and be successful’ mode *chefs kiss*. I also resent the tyranny of Meta apps to keep up to date with… anything.
I think it also depends on what phase of working I am in. Sometimes I am deep into a research/making phase, and I don’t want lots of outside stimulation, or I don’t have the bandwidth for anything participatory. But at other points in my ‘making cycle’ I am more open to involving myself. I recognise this about myself more as I develop as an artist- when I am most likely to make the best of a situation, or apply myself to the required standard. Sometimes, particularly after the completion of a big exhibition project, or body of work (even if it’s unseen…) I can feel really drained. I didn’t understand that post-project slumps are a thing, until I talked to other creatives and found there was a common theme of collapse after doing something big, or something that requires ‘giving your all’. It can be similar to burnout, but manifests in different people in different ways. For me I can feel like I want to lie in a dark room with absolutely no stimulation for maybe… four years? I jest. Maybe.
Anyway, I hope you have enjoyed, or at least managed to follow, my foray into my relationship with renting studios.
Last point- would I say having a studio is a good thing for an artist? I think it’s a good thing if it works for you. If it suits your practice, your temperament, your budget. I’m ultimately glad I gave it a go as for me it was beneficial to the development of my practice on a few levels. But I always know that if I had to go back to a spare room, a table, a floor, I would make it work. Adapt or die eh.
The draft of this was created on time and I didn’t post it! Shocking.
Making
Last week I started working on a brand new zine, here’s the draft front cover image:
Cover for the new zine I am working on: ‘Host Organism’
This zine will feature some of the monochromic works I’ve been creating in the last couple of weeks. Mostly these comprise of digital collages compiled from photographs I have taken (35mm, DSLR, iPhone) and found imagery. I may also try to include some text with these works but I will see– I don’t want to put pressure on myself to create some poetry or written texts, as generally if I think to myself ‘okay gonna write a good thing’ I generate complete guff.
The theme is probably quite dark (surprise!), but that’s just the direction my work has been taking, so I’m just going to roll with it until I feel like I’ve exhausted or exorcised whatever theme I’m in the grip of. Gloom era.
Other projects
I’m also currently working on a collage commission. The brief for this project was to create a kind of ‘journey piece’ for the client based around the renovations to their two previous homes. To create the work I have been given a large amount of paperwork relating to the two projects- mostly architectural drawings and plans, and the accompanying administrative paperwork.
I spend the initial stages looking carefully through the material to try and form a structure in my mind, pick out any imagery that appealed, and trace a thread from start to finish.
I am now at the ‘draft’ stage, where I have settled on a layout I am happy with (it’s quite a long, thin artwork), so now it’s *just* a case of arranging and rearranging the content until I have something I feel works coherently.
My desk while I work on the commission
This project is the first time I have been asked to incorporate element like technical drawings, and I have been given permission to cut up the original paper plans (!) I have been assured that everything is stored electronically now- phew. Despite this, I have been a bit tentative about actually cutting them, and have been working with photocopied images of sections of the plans I have chosen. For the final piece I will however take the plunge and sink my scissors into the originals. I think the variety of textures the papers provide will give the work a tactile quality and stop it being too flat (a constant quest/problem in my collage pursuits). I also do need to fill the client requirement of actually utilising the materials provided. Imagine!
Desk scraps
I don’t generally do a lot of commission work, but it has been a change of pace to have something larger scale to work on, that allows me to incorporate a variety of techniques. I am hoping to finish the piece by the end of October- nothing like a deadline to induce some sweaty trips to the studio.
I am pretty good at self-motivating, but for something like this, I could quite easily let it sit on the back burner instead of giving it my full attention. The deadline helps me to prioritise, and also gives my client some sense of certainty (gracious of me lol).
I am always incredibly nervous showing either the finished piece or a draft to the client. In the past, for smaller commissions I have mocked up several options for the customer to choose from (which can sometimes create issues!). But these days I tend to go through that process myself and decide on which version or draft I feel meets the brief, and works as a whole. Is this professional confidence? Or streamlining the process? Both?
Pricing commissions is my least favourite activity. To calculate I usually create a budget of materials and calculate my time using Scottish Artist Union rates of pay. It’s helpful to have this reference point to explain your pricing to clients, organisations, or anyone else who asks (fun). But naturally I never end up charging accurately for my time, because generally I’ll have discussed a budget with a client and sometimes I feel (however erroneously) that if I choose to fuss around with a piece for an extended period then that’s on me. I might just be in that kind of mood and I don’t know if I can really charge out my time for that.
Saying that I’ve made some serious errors when creating pieces for people I know in terms of costings. Mates rates are good and all, but I don’t like walking away from a project feeling undervalued or sore about it. It’s obviously on me to assert myself but I can feel uncomfortable sometimes about that in a friend/acquaintance/colleague dynamic. Any experience in navigating this? Tricky area. Let me know below.
It’s actually quite a short story- because I realised I wasn’t as good as other people! Goodnight!
boo hoo right? Quit before you feel worse.
THE SAD HISTORY OF AVERSION
I used to draw all the time from childhood onwards, and could mostly draw things accurately by the time I was in high school (faces being an exception here of course, the proportions of the human face were not what my 16 year old self wanted to master, but I sure did enjoy drawing eyelashes). I had a reasonable enough skill level to get into art school with my portfolio, and so, it wasn’t all bad. But in 1st year of art school I embarked upon SERIOUS DRAWING CLASSES, and these, I did not enjoy. The lack of enjoyment stemmed from two things- looking at the work of more skilled students in my class, and the cryptic advice (‘don’t draw the space, draw around the space! don’t draw what’s there draw what’s not there!’, ’Okay… thanks I guess I’ll start again? Okay… yeah I will’). It’s weird, drawing in front of other people, I probably needed to get over myself, but I was 18 years old and my self confidence required the setting of a darkened bar, not a brightly lit studio with a life model shrivelling climate.
I think what I was never going to master was realism. I understood scale, composition, but I couldn’t replicate the structured set-ups in the same way some of my classmates could. One of the worst experiences I had was trying to draw a stack of ladders. I struggled for soooo long that the tutor brought me a taxidermy bird to draw instead. Not sure if it was a gesture of kindness or condescension but there you go. Confidence was le crushed. To compound this, instead of doggedly keeping going, I stopped drawing. Completely (well, bar story boards from my crappy short films). Part of this was due to the fact I selected a specialism which did not require drawing classes, so I heaved a sigh of relief and didn’t draw in an academic environment again.
me pretending nothing but photography exists in my art practice
I can look at this two ways- in one version I put aside the development of my drawing skills to focus on developing new skills, some of which I possessed in embryonic form already and were allowed to flourish with the correct facilities and tutelage. But sometimes I feel like I put on a set of blinkers and just shut down a whole side of art-making and my art practice. My drawings weren’t ‘good’ so I stopped. But what was ‘good’? In my own instincts I know when something is ‘good’ or ‘bad’, but I think I didn’t allow myself to get better. I can see myself now, standing there, holding the pencil tightly, trying to get it ‘right’. I was tense AF, and my drawings probably reflected that. Tight, so excruciatingly tight. You can see it- imagine a drawing of some ladders painfully rendered with a 2H pencil, by an anxious teen sweating out last night’s vodka. Yeah- you’d give up too just from looking at that.
VALIDATION SESSION #6423476
I should have listened to the advice people around me imparted about ‘loosening up’ my drawing with various techniques (things I actually do now, how embarrassing for my former self). Techniques such as- tape your pencil to the end of a massive stick! Fit it all into the page no matter what! Use one line only!! But I was thrown off balance by this whole experience of ‘not good’ (in time I will also detail some of the other reasons I did not utilise my time at art school as successfully as I should have, but let’s focus on this dung heap for now).
A few years ago I had a mentor as part of a funded project (thank you Anne!), and she pointed out to me (after my paranoiac rambling about not being good at drawing etc) that the collages I had been making were a form of drawing. It resonated with me for two reasons- it validated that what I was doing was of some value (was it ‘good’ though???), but also exposed the fact that some of the mechanisms of drawing- composition, scale etc- were right there, in my work. Basics for art making, first encountered in drawing, of course they were there! I had even labelled some of my collages ‘sketches’ prior to this encounter, of my own volition, without feeling idiotic for doing so.
It’s perturbing sometimes when you take a step back, to see how deeply entrenched a lack of confidence in yourself and your work can be. Practicing art can feel so fragile at times, and in dark moments very small slights, or failures can be enough to snuff your drive for significant periods.
WHAT’S GOOD?
At this point, re-reading the previous paragraphs, I noticed the important undercurrent in this entire ramble- WHY was it SO IMPORTANT that I was GOOD at drawing?
Because, dear reader, I had bought into the notion that to be an artist, and to be a good artist, you need to be good at drawing. Eek.
How. Embarrassing. Right? Or?
me looking at graphs of the kind of art people buy
It makes me think of one of the first lectures I attended at art school where the lecturer said ‘if you tell someone you go to art school and they ask you what you paint- tell them to fuck off!’ I mean I was taught this straight up from day one, but I still bought significant shares in the notion that ‘artistness’ was tied up with notions of being excellent at drawing and painting (I was also scared away from serious pursuit of painting after a two week stint but that’s ANOTHER sad story I shall spare you here… for now….). I think this notion has followed me around in one form or another, but really raised its head again after being away from the academic environment, out in the big world. After a hiatus from art-making during a foray into a non-studio based postgraduate degree, I tried to recapture my practice about 5 years after graduating. This was *HARD*, I had completely changed how I wanted to work, and had no real sense of direction. A deep reticence about making anything ensued and I crept into a cycle of note-taking, collecting, stunted attempts at making, and then retreating into inertia. I told myself my practice was ‘research based’, which actually just meant lots of reading and avoiding making. I don’t hate the work I did manage to squeeze out in this period, but I was really trying to find my feet, and it felt like the floor was covered in inner-critic (we’ll come back to THEM) shaped marbles. Interacting with people outside art circles doesn’t add to confidence either, a lot of people more broadly equate ‘good art’ and being an artist with drawing, painting and realism. People like what they like! Right? That’s fine! But if you don’t fit into this mould, or this worldview, and are lacking confidence/direction and you STILL want to endeavour to be an artist, you need to find a safe space to develop, even just in your own head.
But how?
You know, I actually followed one of the most insensitive and yet probably accurate pieces of advice I have ever received about making work and the problems it entails- ‘you just have to do it’.
just do it Jenny
INSERT NIKE SWOOSH
I’m now going to tell a really predictable story about when I started drawing again… LOCKDOWN 2020! Wow, very original. But yes, I did in fact pick up a pencil (charcoal actually) and start drawing again. Probably just before the pandemic really took hold, but around that time. Cute lockdown hobby! Groan. At least it wasn’t sourdough. Anyway- in order to get over the immense blockage that was preventing me from drawing (I am my own road block, this is a recurring theme so enjoy), I required two things. Some friendly drawing materials (charcoal, soft pencils), copious paper (newsprint sketchbook), no pressure (we are all maybe going to die v soon?), and some support. The support was key. I work on a collaborative project with a close friend, and they offered me a safe, non judgmental space to start drawing again. This friend was adamant that nothing had to be ‘good’, and it should even be actively avoided. My drawing was looser, more comfortably naive, more fluid, expressive and actually really enjoyable. I mean, I’m not entering a drawing prize any time soon, nor have I even really shared my drawings with many people (and especially not my main instagram account which is focused on a very specific kind of work, and I wouldn’t want to upset the cart that Zuck built). But I really take pleasure in drawing. I draw quickly, and move on from anything I’m not happy with, not dwelling on why it went wrong for ages just going going going. Liberating! Joyous! Okay, I obviously still suffer from frustration and fear, but it’s not preventing me from trying, and deriving actual enjoyment from the process itself.
Before I started drawing again I was getting really frustrated with how flat my work was. Flat, flat, flaaaaaaaat. But bringing drawing back into my practice made me immediately more adventurous. In fact, since the initial draft of this blog I have brought my drawing into several larger projects, and I even hung some up in my studio where people actually see it! And no, no-one has laughed or been sick to my knowledge. I’ve even included pieces with my drawings in two exhibitions. Who is she??
I suppose this exploration of my drawing anxiety is part of a larger issue- how to build and sustain confidence in your work as an artist out there in the big, bad world. Some people have innate confidence in themselves and their work, and I’d love to hold onto something like that, like a solid state of being, something immovable, but I am not in that place yet. I’d like to be the Castle in the Desert.
It’s been ten years since I stepped away from art making and it’s been a bumpy journey to get myself back to a point where I can call myself an artist and not feel like someone will pop out from behind a pillar and yell ‘no you’re not!’ (imposter syndrome is a career must, guys) and I have to immediately concede and jump into the sewer. It hasn’t been linear, but being able to swallow my pride and be willing to re-engage with drawing has been a big part of strengthening my confidence. I was allowing myself to be pigeon-holed as a ‘collage artist’ when really I’d prefer to operate freely under the more general banner of ‘artist’. Identity crisis! How novel. But flexibility is something I really wanted to cultivate. Today my work ranges across mediums from textiles, photography, digital work and, more recently, written texts. The confinement of the label ‘COLLAGE ARTIST’ only existed in my own mind, one of those ‘the cage door was open all along’ type moments. There are issues however when it comes to sharing DiFfErEnT work on my social media channels, but that’s something to explore in more detail later (algorithm diaries, the serialisation no-one needed).
I never feel like I’ve resolved anything when it comes to my practice, but I suppose that’s the point. It is forever a work in progress.
Are you an artist who has had a difficult relationship with drawing? Am I just a crybaby who needs to sharpen their 2B and shut up? Let me know below!
For some time I have been aiming to shift the direction of the collage element of my practice. I wanted to, among other things, create more depth in my compositions, and introduce more elements of my own creation (photographs/drawings). I felt a bit trapped by the sometimes repetitive nature of my high-colour, vintage looking collage pieces- and for a time I couldn’t really stand to look at these works.
A really busy early Corvid Eyes era piece.
I feel less like this now, but also recognise that dissatisfaction is a driver for me to keep creating. I would probably be a bit worried if I made some works or a work I was completely happy with… what would keep me going? I think that’s a fairly generic refrain from artists generally. Sometimes looking at old work is like looking at old photographs of yourself, and your response is dictated by how kind you are feeling towards yourself in that moment!
The developmental process in my collage works had been moving- predictably- slowly throughout 2021 and into this year. Previously this would have caused me some frustration but I have taken a more relaxed approach to allowing my own ‘process’ to happen. Being overly fixated on how my ideas should arise and be developed is something that has dogged my practice since my undergraduate days. One of the major salves for this particular problem is being around other artists and creators, and see the myriad ways they allow their ideas to ferment, and change.
In early 2022 an opportunity to exhibit arose with a venue in Aberdeen known for its support of local artists and creators- Parx Cafe. I decided to utilise this opportunity to host the first public outing of my ‘new style’. Initially I was quite worried about how I would pull the show together in what felt like a short space of time, but like many other creative types, sometimes I need the fire of a deadline to make me move. For a time I thought about including some quite loose, scribbly, experimental works, but decided my confidence wasn’t high enough for this kind of show, and also, I was mindful that these works would be displayed in a cafe environment to a range of people, so they should suit the space and the overall atmosphere.
The scribbly work that didn’t make the cut (haha collage joke soz).
After the initial stage of ‘oh my god what am/what am I doing/everything is embarrassing’ which is required for every public showing of work, I settled on creating a series of digital collage works which I would present as risograph prints. My thinking was that the show would be summery, the works printed on brightly coloured paper, and hung in hand painted coloured frames. My work can be quite dark, in theme and aesthetically, so this method seemed the perfect antidote to a potentially very gloomy, buzz-kill hang. I think #summergoth might be the most appropriate hashtag here.
Work from ‘Omens’ (2022)
I compiled a collection of twenty or so works, produced in the space of a few weeks. I sometimes find my ‘flow‘ when I’m working on a project and am able to fully embed myself in the process, drying my eyes out for hours on my laptop merrily reworking compositions until I am satisfied (as much as I can be). The theme of the show emerged more concretely as I worked, and was inspired by an earlier series of photographic works I had produced. The set of black and white photographs were taken on my 35mm camera during those mandatory ‘lockdown walks’ of 2020 and 2021. Trudges. Anyway, because of the circumstances of the time I found myself seeking meaning in the things I saw, examining everything as a portentous image. The collage works took a similar bent, incorporating some of my own photographs, alongside my drawings and found imagery (as an aside- a lot of people ask me where I find my imagery for my collages, and it’s an accumulated mass from years of collecting from open source archives, magazines, books… I’m a hoarder of any scrap of paper my brain deems useful).
various collage bits
The works for ‘Omens’ were a departure from previous pieces due to the amount of space I allowed to remain in the compositions, choosing to centre many of the works within a border of negative space. Looking back over works from the preceding couple of years, I can now see that this was the direction my work was moving in, but these compositions solidified this move. I was startled by the effect that space had on the works, giving the selected images space to breathe, instead of taking my usual ‘wunderkammer’ approach to collage, ramming every piece from top to bottom, with no control over my colour palette (I did learn to reign myself in after some very valuable input from a mentor- thank you Anne). Looking at the works it seems like such a simple and obvious change, but in fact it took my a long time to feel bold enough to strip my work back in such a way. Each chosen element holds more emphasis, more power- at least that’s how I came to understand this reorganisation.
Work from ‘Omens’ (2022)
Sometimes my works felt like jumble sales, or those ‘hidden object’ games, providing intrigue in searching and a small joy in finding new features continuously, but I started to feel like the wealth of imagery I was including was obscuring my insecurity in some ways. In the last fews years I have tried to undertake a bit of self-reflection to enhance and develop my practice. This sounds very formal but it actually just involves coffee and staring. But one revelation I did hang onto was why after my photographic based degree I pivoted towards collage. Why did I chose to step away from the production of photographic images for so long? I graduated in 2009 and I probably only started working seriously with photography again in 2016, why did I abandon this tract of my practice?
Like many artists, after the initial rush of post-degree show excitement and some unexpected opportunities, I started to experience real anxiety about being able to sustain the momentum I had built up in my final year of study and the first fruitful months as a new graduate. I remember feeling like my project ideas were becoming more forced and lacking. I felt like I just had to keep taking photos, I had to keep pushing myself. I probably just needed a break. I remember staging really pointless photoshoots and looking at the results knowing they were lame. Outside the environment of the art school, with group crits and studio mates, I stumbled into a weird vacuum. It’s very easy as a result to lose confidence in your own abilities, the direction of your practice- yay, identity crisis! I’ve also easily slid into being a cheerleader for the careers of others and significantly neglecting my own- but that’s a whole other story!
Early collage work (2009)
Collage became a new fixture for me in the autumn of 2009. I found some interesting open-source books on a trip to London and was really excited to try out some compositions. The ‘Une Semaine de Bonté‘ phase! Collage, as a method, wasn’t new to me, so it felt safe. A safe way to explore ideas without the feeling of exposure photography was giving me (wait- is that a photography pun? sorry). Looking back now I understand that it was a feeling of my ideas, or lack of them, being exposed, which didn’t make me feel very good either. Collage was also a way to circumvent drawing in creating works. Drawing was something I had left behind, with a similar ill feeling, in my early years at art school- and probably warrants a deeper exploration, so I’ll save that for another post (the anticipation! for no-one!).
Early collage work ‘Consumption 02’ (2009)
Against the rather uncertain origins of focusing my practice on collage, the ‘Omens’ show represents for me, a positive step towards feeling more comfortable within my own practice (but not too comfortable- also dangerous). Including my own photographs and drawings allowed me to claim a greater sense of authorship over my works (which may seem counterintuitive as they are still my works), and create a new, stronger aesthetic for the show.
Work from ‘Omens’ (2022)
The works are also an attempt to make visible my attempts at creating my own visual language. I didn’t want to impose any particular reading of the individual pieces, but instead leave them open for the viewer to decipher using their own memory bank of symbols, signifiers and meaning imbued in the mundane. While researching themes for this show I came across this Joan Didion quote which embodies this idea quite specifically, but succinctly,
“Survivors look back and see omens, messages they missed. They remember the tree that died, the gull that splattered onto the hood of the car. They live by symbols. They read meaning into the barrage of spam on the unused computer, the delete key that stops working, the imagined abandonment in the decision to replace it.”
Work from ‘Omens’ (2022)
In the creation of these works I had tuned into this idea of messages, of seeking meaning in the mundane, of how memory is created, of how we react to the barrage of visual stimuli we encounter every day, consciously and subconsciously. Our minds are well versed in collage, pulling together disparate elements all the time, particularly when we dream. Whilst working, the combinations of images and materials I selected occurred to me often very intuitively, in a dreamlike way, and I tried not to overly question why I chose this image to accompany that, etc. On one hand this sounds kind of flip or ill considered, but I have, for a long time, been genuinely interested in the role of the subconscious in art making, and how I will have deep associations within my own mind between image and memory, image and sensation etc. I tried not to fight against that while I was working and engage too much with my over-active critical mind, saving that portion for the work selection stage.
Work from ‘Omens’ (2022)
I enjoyed the process of creating this series of works, even if I put myself under pressure initially. I was pleased how they fitted into the bright, airy space at Parx, and that my vision for a colourful summer show came together without looking too much like a rainbow exploded. I’m very grateful for the opportunity to showcase my work, particularly during a stage of transition in my practice. It always feels like a risk to show work that is a departure from what came before, particularly in the instagram age. For artists it can feel like a huge knock to share works that are going in a new direction and face a significant drop in engagement and reach as a result (that’s before we factor in the capriciousness of the algorithm). It almost felt better to share the new works in a physical space than an online one- because I am oblivious to how people respond, or don’t, to the works. I suppose you can judge success in sales, or online shares, but you are largely removed from the process of audience engagement outwith the space. This is a blessing for me during the upheaval of turning my practice in a new direction. Years of exhibition space invigilation have rendered me resilient to off the cuff comments about my work, or harsh interrogation, but there are times when you feel more vulnerable. Like a crab shedding it’s skin for a new one, there’s a period when it’s incredibly vulnerable- and that’s where I am right now. And it feels like an okay place to be.
Thanks to anyone who took the time to read this, or to visit the show 🙂
DRAFT EXCLUDER 