spill writing (a fish in water).

spillfestival programme 'on surrender'

Several months ago I applied to be a writer for the Spill Festival of Performance Art in Ipswich http://spillfestival.com/

To my astonishment I was selected. The event took place last week over a period of four and a half days. To say that most of the time I was a fish out of water would be an understatement but nevertheless I had a truly amazing time; a real education!

Some of my thoughts are published on the Spill website but I am still in the process of mulling over the impact that the experience had on me. There was so much that was essentially elusive and intangible that I am beset by random and disconnected ideas that hopefully will at some point coalesce.

A ‘surrender’ to the endurance of the artists and a ‘surrender’ to the strength of words will help me to find my way.

 

 

Well meaning!

Two very contrasting exhibitions this week on my short trip to London. Anselm Kiefer at the RA https://www.royalacademy.org.uk/exhibition/20, paintings and sculptures of massive scale, thick with symbolism and meaning, heavy laden and …dare I say it... leaden! I felt suffocated by all that ashen darkness. With no less sincerity, no less dexterity Disobedient Objects at the V and A http://www.vam.ac.uk/content/exhibitions/disobedient-objects/ with its ‘things’ of political activism, some full of poignant tragedy, others funny but all with a powerful accessibility. It all felt so much lighter with still plenty of food for thought.

Odalisque The Guerrilla Girls at Disobedient Objects V and A.

Performing with Marina Abramovic.

June 29^th

It was with much anticipation that I walked up Exhibition Road at 6.30 am on Tuesday this week to join ‘the queue’ to see Marina Abramovic at The Serpentine. Much to my amusement I was ‘the queue’ for the first two hours. The time passed pleasantly watching the park come slowly alive in the morning sun.

First in to the Gallery that morning, I was greeted by Marina at the door. I entered the quiet space and hesitantly joined in the performance, a tacit choreography of silence, deep breathing, slow walking, meditation led by Marina Abramovic and her small cohort of young assistants.

It felt good to be part of something, a small historic happening …included…and yet it also left me feeling profoundly insignificant and lonely…excluded…

Ahh well the experience was however, extraordinary and despite leaving me with this confusing mixture of emotions. And as I made my way back through the park I felt naughty and rebellious after the constraints if conformity and stuffed myself with the remains of my breakfast and kicked at the grass!

http://www.serpentinegalleries.org/

 

 

 

 

Flapping above the void.

It is a tricky thing when your happy little plans are suddenly upset and questioned and turned upside down. My trusted and insightful friend and mentor came to the Studio this week to have a little update on Stumps. She is always very thoughtful and considered in the advice that she offers but often it is the space between her words that leave the most profound impression.

Setting the cat amongst the pigeons, however, has left me feeling unsettled and uncertain (yet again)!  I feel sure that in the flapping new thoughts and another way forward will emerge but until then I must hold myself still and not look in to the void.

marked

'Soft Art' in 1988.

What treasures we are privileged to in tap into with charity shops and second hand bookshops. A serendipitous find of a catalogue from a Barbican exhibition in 1988 led me on a nice little research trip on the internet. A couple of the artists featured in the exhibition have left few traces of their work made in the intervening years. Several however seem to have continued a lively practice, quietly developing thoughtful and challenging work apparently unconcerned that their names have faded into obscurity and their art largely unsung.
...except perhaps for the few who like myself have drawn heart from a glance back to their heyday in 1988!

Barbican Catalogue 1988

The incredible lightness of pencil

The first day of Summer and after such a wet week the promise of the longer evenings and some sunnier days have opened a lighter space in my mind. And in to this space creeps the longing again for drawing, the soft call of pencil on paper. Its seductive appeal, something that I have written about before, is not to be ignored. This week my easel will be gently dusted, my pencils sharpened and lovely paper bought.

pencils

The eyes have it!

 

http://www.whitechapelgallery.org/exhibitions/chris-marker-a-grin-without-a-cat

 

Eyes follow you everywhere, looking out from the photographs, unblinking and intense from the projected films, some blindfolded, many questioning and others full of love. I did not spend enough time at Chris Marker’s A Grin without a Cat exhibition at The Whitechapel Gallery. Markers imagery however settled itself deep within my memory and has surfaced floating and powerful on a number of occasions since visiting this week.

One of his works was based on T.S. Eliots The Hollow Men, a disquieting visual reflection of Eliots poem.

We are the hollow men

We are the stuffed men

Leaning together

Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!

Our dried voices, when

We whisper together

Are quiet and meaningless

As wind in dry grass

Or rats’ feet over broken glass….

Studio rhythms.

Sometimes there really doesn’t seem much to show for a week of work in the studio. The unseen processes of thought and of time taking over and allowing natural rhythms to dictate the pace of the work. My lovely studio companion, soft brush against board, her shapes and rhythms echoing mine, a gentle sharing of minds.

echoes

Was it all just a load of rubbish?

Was it all just a load of rubbish? It was really hard to know quite what to make of Phyllida Barlow’s newly installed commission dock recently erected in the Duveen gallery at Tate Britain. http://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/tate-britain/exhibition/tate-britain-commission-2014-phyllida-barlow

Stacks of painted wood roughly screwed together, planks, bits of polystyrene, ropes, bursting bin liners, taped together cardboard…you name it it was there...hanging, swinging, sprawling , tottering, towering!

Walking through, beneath, in and around the seven massive works was certainly impressive but sadly left me cold. I have to admit that it seemed to me that Barlow was given the commission and following on from previous work she felt she must ‘fill’ the space with BIG! I couldn’t help thinking how unsubtle it was and that perhaps something really really small might have been rather more mysterious and interesting.

Anyway she has finally in her 70^th year been recognised so that at least is something to shout about!

dock
Phyllida Barlow

 

Whatever next!

Not quite the shiny silver paper of an Easter Egg but the comforting sense of a treat yet to come!

Piggy Pink.

Lovely Stump!

After six months of blood, sweat and tears Stump is finally finished! She’s not going anywhere, how could she without legs! But she is beautiful and weird and delightful and odd and raw all at the same time. One of my studio companions compared her to the iconic figures of women which have been unearthed from ancient civilisations throughout time. What a wonderful thing to say!

And as Stump sits heavily on my studio table I like the heft and weight of her and am reminded of our shared journey and the journeys yet to come.

Gutsy passion!

mouthed

Seeing two exhibitions back to back is always interesting and leaves much food for thought! The past week I was in Edinburgh and was able to see works by both Louise Bourgeois and Tania Kovats.

http://www.nationalgalleries.org/whatson/exhibitions/artist-rooms-louise-bourgeois-a-woman-without-secrets/

http://fruitmarket.co.uk/exhibitions/current/

Although both women produced works of great depth and power I was left feeling that it was the personal and passionate touch of those by Louise Bourgeois that carried the most weight and meaning.

 And, yes I know I’ve said this many times before but it was her total gutsy fearlessness that really bowled me over and, yes, gives me the courage to carry on…

 

Mother

Many of the works in Martin Creed exhibition at The Hayward Southbank What’s the point of it? are caught between their innate humour and absurdity, and the seriousness of the questions which he poses in the making of his art.

http://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whatson/festivals-series/martin-creed

The huge revolving neon lit sign ‘MOTHERS’ raises many questions about our relationships with our mothers as well as being a brilliant piece of ‘performance’ art involving each visitor who entered the exhibition space, every one automatically ducking to avoid her long shadow! Accompanied by the mesmeric beating of a 39 metronomes marking off time and a wall of 1,000 broccoli prints, a reminder to eat up our greens, the mother figure looms large!

Although some of the works shown are not considered appropriate for young children and some do indeed seem rather pointless he has to be admired for his confident fearlessness…a scary mother maybe but she did a good job!

 

Off with her...legs!

It was with a certain amount of satisfaction that ‘body’ became ‘trunk’. On Wednesday rather unceremoniously my scissors dispensed with both legs. It is with some pleasure that I am now left with the core, the nub.

 

stump

 

 

'body' wrestling.

I am still puzzled by the discrepancy between what is selected for exhibition in public galleries, for example Camden Arts Centre and how the ‘man/woman in the street’ views what art is.

http://www.camdenartscentre.org/whats-on/view/ex-nc

 I must be honest here and say that this is a personal issue for me. For many years I have sought to question my work, to undermine it and to revere experimentation pushing myself to the limits. And this I believe to be the point of ‘art’ to a certain extent….but I still find myself having to answer ( well meaning) questions…’what are you doing at the moment?’, ‘how is your art going?’, ‘are you selling much at the moment?’ and these questions upset and unsettle me…particularly as the only answer is to carry on wrestling and shedding the odd tear over ‘body’ in my studio.

 

'body' pick

Bird Watching!

 A flock of debating, chatting, filming, singing, laughing, thinking and observing girls from NFTShttp://nftsfilm-tv.ac.uk/  paid a flying visit this weekend. A bit of bird watching to capture some footage of birds ‘of character’ on the river was their intended aim. And for me another kind of bird watching as I listened, a fly on the wall, quietly fascinated by the difference in their characters as they danced and negotiated their way towards the achievement of their goal. A gradual unwrapping of each unique personality.

 

Bird Heads

 

 

 

 

 

In stitches at Centre Pompidou!

Pouring rain, howling wind and the dripping queue of umbrellas stretching up the plaza in front of the Pompidou Centre Paris could not dampen the long anticipated pleasure to see Le Surrealism et L’ Objet. The exhibition was devoted to a weird and wonderful collection of surrealist objects and photographs many of which had been shown in previous exhibitions in the 1920’s, 30’s and 40’s.

My daughter and I were frequently unable to quell our laughter and sheer joy at the absurdity of the humour that so evidently motivated many of the artists at the time, Dali, Man Ray, Oppenheimer to name but a few! There were a number of works by contemporary artists such as Cindy Sherman but her photographs in particular seemed crude and obvious next to the rather more subtle works of her forerunners.

It would be hard to pick out the highlight but I guess if my back was up against the wall I would choose:

 

Salvador Dali
Venus de Milo with drawers
1916

Hannah Hoch- photomontage.

Untitled
Hannah Hoch

A missed turning, a howling wind and an unseen pavement gully did not put me in the best frame of mind as I approached The Whitechapel Gallery to see a retrospective of Hannah Hoch’s work. http://www.whitechapelgallery.org/exhibitions/hannah-hch

 Midweek the gallery was busy with A level art students busy with their pencils and crayons (whispered back biting and furtive over the shoulder looking) oblivious to the rest of the visiting public. I was however in for a treat! Hoch’s work largely using the technique of photomontage is intriguing, playful and clever.

 Over the past few weeks I have been trying to work out exactly why it is so fascinating. I think it is due to the way she so instinctively juxtaposes dismembered body parts, thrown out of proportion, with all sorts of other odd and unlikely things. Once seen they are hard to forget and another source of inspiration to add to my collection.

Swimming pool muse.

I saw my ‘body’ idol in the shower at the swimming pool. Ageing and folding flesh still beautiful and cared for under the pampered cleansing of sweet scented soap. Under my surreptitious gaze my unselfconscious model etched herself on to my memory.
 Thank you lovely muse!

swimming pool muse drawing detail

swimming pool muse

Hand - me - down.

‘We become ourselves through others, and the self is a porous thing, not a sealed container. If it begins as a genetic map, it is one that is expressed over time and only in relation to the world.’ Siri Hustvedt

Join A to A, B to B

Join B to B, C to C

All that remains.

Removing my work from the window of Woodbridge Museum this afternoon the words of Bob, the Museum’s dry custodian rang in my ears, ‘well it was not appreciated by many but it certainly brought amusement to some’( said with a wry smile)! As I tuck away my little objects with their serious intent I am happy if the echo of laughter is after all what remains.

remains 1

remains 2

remains 3

 

Stuffed and stuffing.

Stuffed from the excesses of Christmas it is nevertheless to stuffing that I turn at the beginning of the New Year. The ‘body’ is a challenge and I can feel myself shying away from the edge, procrastination and dillydallying threaten to win me round. But I know that the black, prickly horsehair packing will draw me in to its visceral heart and get me locked back into my work once again…the irresistible draw of the corporeal.

 

stuffed