Some dodgy scans of some decent sketchbook pages from the last couple of weeks. All in biro, which I like very much. My illustration tutor in uni was so anti-biro, I have no idea why….. I am currently thinking about moving to London. And I wish I could make my mind up. I think I may just have to do it! Apart for that massive, life-changing decision, not much exciting happening. I have wasted many days theoretical London house-hunting on rightmove.com, and I have a big pile of unfinished textile work, but all I want to do is draw and paint. Almost finished a watercolour commission I’m working on. I want to spend all my time making art and absolutely no time with admin and applications and scanning and resizing and photographing and emailing and blah blah blah.
But it was ridiculously sunny today and I love the sun. More than you do. And I have tomorrow off work and am going to the beach with my little sisters and my picnic basket and I shall swim in the sea. I love the sea more than the sun. It’ll fix everything. Nothing matters.
“For your touch there are no words, I fly with high hopes and the birds, and I know there’s nothing better ‘cos I’m smiling.”
Or something of that ilk. I’m not as grumpy as I sound, promise.
My grand sketchbook installation exhibition plan isn’t going to work. You know know ‘the wall I bought’? The wall I could do what I wanted with? Well I can’t. I can’t hammer anything into it. You can do what you want, as long as it happily lives in a frame. I do not want to be making work that lives in a frame. That is not what I want to do. So the gallery have offered to give me a refund, and I think I shall take them up on it. Sigh. Shall just have to find somewhere else to exhibit the piece.
Haven’t been oh-so-happy lately, which does seem to happen from time to time. So making work, and indeed washing up and brushing my hair, have been a little tricky. But things have started to look a bit brighter, and I am off to my friends open mic thing tomorrow, and there shall be life drawing on Thursday, and the boyfriend is coming here on Friday, and I have another GRAND PLAN to keep me occupied… May let you in on it one day! Exciting, innit. Everything shall be fine.
Oh and you should all watch True Love on iPlayer. Like, seriously. It’s good. David Tennant was wonderful. Harsh, realistic ‘love’ stories. It’s not all fairy tales.
Irresponsibly drinking port on a sunny afternoon, and I have installed my new scanner. New drawings, all done with Biro. I need to get my work out of sketchbooks and onto walls, I think these are quite good.
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.
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.