Solo-show and other delights

#artling 43 (2015)

On Saturday I gave an artist's talk via Skype during the private view of my solo-show Strands of wishful thinking: Hairlings and other things at R-Space Gallery in Lisburn, Northern Ireland.
Here you can see an illustrated version of the talk, which will also give you an impression of the actual exhibition:
Greetings from the in-between

Marion Michell 

Strands of wishful thinking: Hairlings and other things 

2 – 30 May 2015 

Artist’s talk at 3 pm on 2 May 2015 

R-Space Gallery 

The Linen Rooms 

32 Castle Street 

Lisburn BT27 4XE 

Northern Ireland

Something a little bit different (1)

For someone who runs out of steps before she gets to the corner and hasn’t worn her hiking books in years a little callus is a splendid thing. I’ve got one on the tip of my left middle-ringer: not from poking it into the dense autumn sky, but from crocheting! Which is after all my most consistently maintained activity...
I’m trying to write a better artist’s statement and have been thinking about the formal aspects of my work, which I find much more difficult to formulate than speaking about its meaning. It made me more conscious of the fact that most of my pieces go flat on the wall, to be viewed frontally, like a painting: I’m reaching to find images, not sculptural forms. Which may or may not be a contradiction to claiming that my pieces are inhabited.
Isn’t this wool gorgeous? I bought it a year ago but did not how best to use it until the shape of this new piece literally demanded it. Compared to the muted colours I usually work with it has an almost garish aspect, brash, loud. Then there is the excess of form, which is strangely in opposition to and contained by the neat tightness of the crochet. Something here pulls and pulses and yet holds perfectly still. A bit like a teenager’s rollercoaster states of being: not quite sure of what one is becoming, trying to hide in the shadows and wanting to be in the lime-light. Standing there, bathed in anxiety, or is it the chemical glow of mutation?

Dimensions: 25 cm x 50 cm
Materials: crocheted from a virgin wool/polyester mixture

And by the by, but immensely cheering, read this: there's news from Norway regarding recent research into the aetiology of M.E., which is wonderful, but what really amazed me is the apology to M.E. patients that was given by a politician.

We were wicked, we were wild

This is one of two works I showed at 48 Hours. It was an interesting little show, with photographers and painters and a video-artist. My pieces breathed from the walls amidst lots of rectangles. Originally I thought of 'them' more like Hänsel and Gretel-figures, lost, abandoned children, but when I was considering titles I decided to go for a different angle, steer away from anxiety and abjection towards something more open. 'We were wicked, we were wild' adds another dimension, I hope. Different, yes, vulnerable, yes, but maybe I'm tentatively feeling my way towards the freedom that lies in difference. There's strength in numbers too.
I also like them laid out, and am getting more interested in folding. Actually I'm crocheting a piece now just so I can fold it.



Materials: two viscose embroidery threads and one woollen one
Dimensions: 19 x 29.5 cm and 18.5 x 31 cm

Great news this morning: The Arthouse have had their Arts Council grant renewed! I can't think of an arts organisation that deserves it more. The Arthouse is singular in the comprehensive support and encouragement it offers to artists of all physical abilities. It is a great facilitator - no labels are applied to the artist - the first focus is always the art. The well-thought out package: tailor-made building (I've never been in a building before where access has been considered on such a level - brilliant!), flat, studios, exhibitions, courses, communication, networking, and utterly committed staff - is one of a kind. Congratulations, dear Arthouse - wished there were more of you everywhere!

Giddy

My Five perfect maidens, last shown at the Arthouse in Wakefield, weave their magic in a new dwelling, with a very dear friend, and as the five empty pins on my wall pronounced their absence silently but fiercely I decided to crochet a new set. This one leads the way…
Otherwise I've made a tiny wedding present and am trying to prepare for the excitements of the private view on Thursday night at Core Gallery. It promises to be a very interesting exhibition - the list of artists is impressive and I can't wait to see how my work looks surrounded by art in different media. What catapults my excitement to giddy levels is that Mien will be there. Yes, Mien, my lovely blogger-friend from the US, is in England and will come to the private view! We've been visiting each other's blogs for a couple of years but have never spoken or met. Wow. Welcome, Mien and John, and can't wait to see you...

Materials: Crocheted from artificial hair,
coat-hanger made from twig and wire
Dimensions: 24 cm by 30 cm

When I grow up I'm gonna be a suffragette (Changeling 3)

My artwork is around me again, which is lovely because I like living with it, but also a bit sad, one: because I didn't sell, two: because it's the full stop to the exhibition in Wakefield. Yes, the show is over, and I'm feeling very tired and a bit empty, but I'm hoping it is a step into a professional future.
This is the newest piece for my changeling series (see posts of 20 June and 21 April). Underwear ruminations are the formal starting point - I'm having fun with the proliferation of shapes. A new one is in work already and a few more are making a clamour in my head, wanting to be made now.

Dimensions: 39.5 cm x44 cm
Materials: JaggerSpun Zephyr Wool-Silk

Dandelion dream

smile burn, tickle turn
pleasure peal, hormone steal
yolk yawn, lemon dawn
golden chill, compass spill
free fall, summer call
spinster's song, crochet pun
eye rhyme, flying blind
hopscotch halo, cross crawl, yellow
double dose of underpants
envelope for the sun

Dimensions: 28 cm x 29 cm

Played myself a drawing

Actually drawing is such a frightening thing to me, not sure why, maybe it's the blank white paper. Have been trying out different ways to get around that and played myself this drawing: took a girl's dress, cut it along the seams and laid it out. Initially it felt a bit difficult to cut into something entirely o.k., felt like almost wanton destruction. Isn't that a funny word, 'wanton'? Of course I can't use an intriguing word without checking my trusted Thesaurus for further clues and found that it has much more meaning than I knew of and a lot of it referring to women, which of course interests me even more. You'll have to look it up yourself as I'm getting too tired to sit at the computer. Funny that, really only meant to post the pix and then find myself typing away, running behind my own train of thoughts which I'll cut of now.
(Wished I'd taken more care when cutting so that the 'lost' shapes had clearer shapes as I find them interesting too. Next time.)

Playing is hard

I’ve been thinking a lot about playing lately. Playing experimenting trying out letting things happen not working with a plan, it’s something that doesn’t come natural to me. I like to know what I’m working on, even if it changes while I’m working on ’it’. I like to have a bigger plan that guides my creative steps. Lately that has left me dissatisfied. I found that it quenches strangles chokes cuts off some of my artistic impulses which suddenly demand to be followed up. I am torn. Between my need to work in a structured manner, to produce coherently, to be good, to do good, to do right, to do well, with a clear aim in sight, and this new urgency to stumble mumble fumble in the dark. Normally I start out with an idea about what I want to say, what I want to explore. Things branch out from there of course, accidents happen, new ideas and impulses find their way in. And I’ve done some good work like that. But then I started thinking about playing… and found that playing and thinking are mutually exclusive. As soon as my ever-domineering head kicks in JUDGEMENT comes into play and spoils the fun. Judging does not go with playing. This is not new to me and playfulness has never been my forte, but having ME has strengthened that forbidding voice: every small period of energy has to be used and made the most of, every instant of alertness probed and squeezed and utilised and manifested and made meaningful in that vast grey fog of fatigue. In those short moments I have to prove myself. In a strange way I’ve remained a workoholic, only one of a very condensed kind! First work and then play is still my self-activating self-regulating over-arching motto. Ha! No more! Says she and then doesn’t know what to do with herself. Panic. I’m breaking into a sweat just writing this. But I want to play and see where it takes me. I want to be excited and surprised and have adventures with myself. I have tiny moments when I can, do, tiny moments.