A Short Thing

I want to go to bed. But I have words that I am meant to say- the Washington Gallery opening went well- I’d say 75% of the people that turned up were people I invited. Ha ha. It was quiet, but it was nice. It’s on for the next three or four weeks (it got an extension), so do go see it.

I got a ‘Warning; there is content in this room that may offend.’ sign. My work was the only thing that could possibly have meant. So that made my week. May it be the first of many.

I am fairly useless at everything at the moment. Which isn’t very nice. But trudge on and make do and it will all be ok. Or go into hibernation?  (Like a wombat. I think they hibernate? I should know, I had a slight obsession with them a couple of years ago. It came after the Dylan Thomas one. I have an EXCELLENT childrens book about a wombat- Diary of a Wombat. I highly recommend it. Cheery making.) I put a lot of pressure on myself I have realised. It’s never good enough. But I did spend last night making monoprints on my living room floor. I like monoprints. 

Night night dearies, there shall be a much more thrilling post soon.

Embroidery, 2011

The F-Word.

I do like a good swear word. When it is appropriate, and in moderation. Use any word too often and it loses all meaning. Slightly off on a tangent, a tanker driver in work annoyed me yesterday. Can’t even remember what we were chatting about in the office, but he was going to swear, and then stopped himself, because I was there. Oh the poor little innocent lady who can’t cope with swear words. BAH.

I unexpectedly sold some embroidery on Newbloodart the other week- ‘False Hope 2’. I like it, but it wasn’t overly…..well done. But I think it had some oomph. Feeling. I made it the morning following one of the most traumatic nights of my life which resulted in absolutely no sleep. Rather mad, though lovely, friends and a bridge and shouting and ringing policemen and ambulance men and panic and…yeah wow. Not good times.  Yet still we ended up in the school of art somehow the next day….?! So that is when I sewed this. All art must have a story behind it, I guess we just don’t always find out that story. I want to tell people my stories.  Oh no, I’ve been rabbiting on about this, and I can’t find a picture of it… Oh no. Please don’t tell me I sold it without taking a photo? Oops.

This page from my current sketchbook seems appropriate.

Handed my work in at the Washington Gallery in Penarth this morning, tis a lovely space, I am very excited about the exhibition opening on Friday! Although wondering what they’ll make of my swear words… I managed to leave before they’re had a look. Oh it’s art, they can’t censor me. Ha ha. Pretty, huh? Well I like it 🙂

Washington Gallery Friends Exhibition and Private View

So after having work in middle-of-nowhere north Wales and central London, it is about flipping time the lovely people of lovely Penarth got to have a gander- I did grow up there, after all. So quite excited about this exhibition, mmhmm yup. So everyone is invited to the private view- do come along, it’ll be grand 🙂

Mad sad bad

I think I’ve been doing it all wrong.

I’m reading ‘Madness Explained’ by Richard Bentall and it is fascinating. It worries me that I’ll never be able to remember all the wonderful bits! People deal with depression in one of two ways. They either ruminate and dwell, or they distract themselves. Distraction tends to be the more sensible dragging-yourself-out-of-the-hole choice. I got it wrong, the thinking behind my art and art therapy was wrong. Art in itself isn’t a distraction. It can make us dwell on things that we should just let go. I think too much. I feel that I am driving myself mad sometimes. Something needs to change.

 

Oh I do like to be beside the seaside, oh I do like to be beside the sea….

I have ‘Happy’ perfume by Clinique. I wear it and therefore I am happy. That’s quite nice. ‘Wear Happy perfume and be happy.’

I feel like I am killing time until something happens. Filling the time up. With felt making and bread baking. I don’t really want to make ‘art’ at the moment. Always drawing though, always. I just haven’t been working on the tricky bits of the project-what-I-should-be-working-on. So that was a little lie. I am making art. Just the easy bits. The non-traumatic bits. Haha. Why oh why bother? Life could be easy. Bloody art. Ah, but I wouldn’t be with out it. I think that perhaps being an artist is one hell of a love/hate relationship. I am getting better at making very thin fragile lacey felt. Which is good. It’s starting to look right. I think I shall start having a look for some studio space in Cardiff. My little flat is constantly a mess of arty crap and it doesn’t much like it. The-job-that-pays-me is going well. It’s very repetitive and gets a bit dull, but the close proximity to concentrated hydrochloric acid and other dangerous substances keeps things interesting.  And I get to do a titration which goes fluorescent purple, it’s pretty.

I feel like I had something worthwhile to say.

Some drawings. The first one’s from last week, the second one is a few months old.

Oh, and I am happy to say that I have decided I don’t like Damien Hirst. The butterflies were the best thing. But butterflies are awesome in themselves, so you probably can’t go wrong if you use them in your work. The case that the skull was in was filthy with smudges and fingerprints, which kind of detracted from it! Quite funny. Ha. Take that, ridiculously expensive kitsch art. The exhibition didn’t make me feel excited, and it didn’t make me want to make art. It didn’t feel intelligent. Why all the repetition? Hirst’s obviously been very clever at ‘playing’ the art game, and getting noticed, and making money, which is impressive and to be admired. I just don’t think his art’s as interesting as the story surrounding it all. It’s all a bit daunting, innit?! Christ.