Regression blues

This is a little thing with a big name. Just now only time and energy for little things as I've been busy packing up work to send off to exhibitions. Needed to learn about 'proper' packing actually, important, it's not like I'm sending a piece or two, more six or seven, a small body of work, and they are going further afield, which makes me anxious until I know the pieces have arrived safely. Five pieces are in Brighton now, next my Changelings will go off to Lithuania for the Kaunas Biennial TEXTILE 11: REWIND-PLAY-FORWARD, and a couple of other things are in the pipeline which need attending to in tiny energetic bouts. I'm esp. sad that I can't go to Lithuania myself, meet other artists, see the work, attend the conference, am half-tempted to fall into the cardboard box and send myself of too. No money coming in, I never sell, alas; loads going out, for boxes, couriers, etc. My mom chipping in, bless her. Social life (incl. blogging), small as it is, shrinking towards 0, but needs must, I'm trying to build myself a professional future and while I'm lying on the floor my art flies into the world, a bit like a glorious kite, to which I'm the tail that trails along merrily.
Materials: crocheted from cotton thread. Dimensions: 25 cm x 37 cm

TWISTED - exhibition

A fresh encounter with contemporary craft

The exhibition at Phoenix Brighton 'focuses on work by seven artists who employ the traditional materials and techniques of textiles and ceramics, but manipulate and twist them into different forms, altered meanings and new directions. Wriggling out of the traditional domain of ‘craft’, these objects escape the plinth, shelf and glass cabinet, occupying the gallery as unconventional wall pieces and installations that you can walk through.'

With Kay Aplin, Rosalind Davies, Rosie James, Marion Michell,
Karin Schosser, Isobel Smith, Alice Walton

July 23 – August 21, 2011
Wed - Sun 11am - 5pm
PREVIEW: Friday 22 July, 5 - 7 pm

Address:
North Gallery
PHOENIX BRIGHTON
10–14 Waterloo Place
Brighton BN2 9NB
East Sussex

Every day we tried to be good

Sometimes, when I finish a piece of work, put it aside for a bit and suddenly come across it again - I see it as if for the first time. If I'm lucky, and then I know I've got something right, I fill up with pleasure at what I've made. An idea which used to live in my head and in a tiny drawing on a scrap of paper - has become real! It's almost like feeling a kind of tenderness, what a weird idea, and there's a sense of recognition, by which I mean, I find some of what I wanted to express. I can see its faults too, but that's o.k. Christian Boltanski, whose work fascinates and moves me, said somewhere that he wants his audience not to discover but to reconnect. Less modest than you think at first. Good enough for me.

Materials: crocheted from Jaggerspun Zephyr Wool-Silk
Dimensions: 35 cm x 35 cm and 34 cm x 35 cm

Talk to me! (1)

While I unravel a piece that hasn’t worked out and of which only the title remains (Keeping seven sisters warm – hope to return to it in winter) I ponder questions posed by an an art professional I hold in high esteem: "What is your gift to the audience? What would you want to happen to them?" It’s something I haven’t much thought about before – I do not commune with an imaginary viewer while I crochet away, but try to make work that pleases and challenges me first of all, hoping it will ultimately be able to stand up for itself in the world. My art practice is mostly a solipsistic pursuit – after all I make my work on the living room floor and direct contact and conversations with other artists are still rare. So what better place than talking here, with you?
The first thing I would say is that I want my art to move. My work is not about big statements, even if its underlying theme, exploring notions of otherness, is an important one. I hope to affect the skip of a heart-beat, a jolt, a pierce, a sudden mini mind-stumble, when at second glance the viewer realises things are not as simple as they seem. And in that little side-step a different form of engagement might be possible, a drawing close, a connection. Maybe to people’s childhood memories, to how they felt when they were small. Maybe to other instances of vulnerability, of uncertainty - or of judgement. And when they try to imagine what kind of body might inhabit one of my outfits maybe they'd ask themselves questions about perfect and imperfect bodies, about what we phantasise and project when faced with the mystery of otherness, in ourselves, in those we know, in those we don’t know.
More to think about: abjection, the psyche, form, medium, beauty, but too tired just now. What's on your mind?

One and one walked hand in hand

I'm thinking about art and narrative, story-telling. Had been crocheting this little duo for weeks, and suddenly a poem flew into my head when a friend took me to the sea-side. Don't see them as one meaning the other - look at them side by side!

Materials: crocheted from wool/acrylic mixture and cotton
Dimensions: outfit 1: 48 cm x 57 cm, outfit 2: 38 cm x 44 cm

Away

One and one walked hand in hand
an apple to share, a rag doll to tend
and much too much to say

of leering elders, God on their tongues
while fingers fondled, shadows clung.
Away, they walked, away.

They'd heard of the sea, the end of the land
followed a murmur, or was it a scent
or colours they'd never seen?

And the apple was eaten, the rag doll dropped
but no-one was beaten and the sea never stopped
to promise its clear embrace.

On and on they went. Not a word was spoken
'till one said 'I' and the other 'yes?'
and the spell was finally broken.

They tore words off their tongues no child should know
told of places where nothing but silence grows
and weariness, worn like a hole-riddled skin.

Did they walk in circles? Was the sea near?
Their steps were steady, breath fast with fear
of the elders' all-seeing eyes.

They slept in forests, slept in fields
on cool dark earth, its scent so sweet
and moon's milky light wove a blanket.

Finally, there, a salty smell
the sound of waves, soon pebbles and shells -
a lightness lapped at their hearts.

And the sun warmed their skin, but did not touch
the wind kissed their faces, but not too much
and two remembered their names.

Read a review!

by Chris Osburn in whitehot magazine of contemporary art.

The show is over

but still resonates in many ways, illuminating these rather tired days. As per usual I didn't sell but I learned a lot from all the processes leading up to the exhibition. And from trying to answer fairly challenging interview questions, which made me think deeper and harder about my work and its temporary encounter of and entanglement with Tom Butler's and Aly Helyer's. The sensitively considered curation by Rosalind Davis and Jane Boyer came as a revelation too - in the clever groupings of pieces and the ensuing conversations between them the show positively pulsed with life. Connections were made across media between painted things and real ones (we all have an obsession with hair), textures, patterns and colours, openings and orifices… With our shared interest in the unconscious, in the refutation of the borders between the imaginary and the real, it sometimes seemed like the work came from one brain and three pairs of hands. I saw my work in a new light - it sat very well with paintings and drawings, and its materiality, its thingness shone. The audience seemed to engage strongly. Feedback was very good. One day I'll sell. At a good price. In the meantime I'm crocheting away, plotting new pieces and wishing for an abundance of hands or at least a pair that is never tired.

PS. Eye-rhyme, a video I shot 1998, and which I hadn't watched for years, was selected for the exhibition too, which was rather wonderful as it allowed me to reconnect with work made before I fell ill. A good piece, even if I say so myself. It made complete sense to have it there - I could discern the continuity in terms of subjectivity and sensibility pervading all my work. What a delight.