I did something very silly. Shocking.
Earlier in the year, I decided I was only going to post blogs to which I could attach the completed artworks that arose from the ideas expressed in the blog.
And in so doing, brought my creativity to a grinding halt.
Because my blog has always been my out-loud diary. It’s been a place to ruminate, to cogitate, to fulminate – and all sorts of other -ates. To lay down ideas, to pursue these ideas (or not).
There will always be a far greater number of ideas than artworks. Ideas come in tidal waves. And only a few of these will precipitate an artwork. Not only that, but artworks don’t ever arise from a single determinator. They are multi-determined. They are palimpsests of ideas garnered from many sources – what I like to call, poetic walks.
Sometimes, a single idea might be a progenitor of an artwork, but in itself will never determine the end result. An idea is a speed-of-light thing. It is pure energy. An artwork has to materialise that energy that the idea flung into the physical universe.
An artwork is slow in coming, because the material world is slow. An artwork is about finding a form or forms which stand in for energy. And I can tell you, I have found only one such form so far in all my poetic walking.
And so, in effect, the silly thing I did was decide not to record any ideas, not to ruminate, not to cogitate; not, in effect, to have any ideas to pursue. I won’t go into the minutiae of the negative thinking process that led to that decision (for indeed it was negative thinking and that’s one poetic walk I needn’t have taken). I’ll just say that it was done unconsciously and when, only a short while ago, this dawned on me, I was shocked to the bone. I mean, I’m so aware, aren’t I? So spiritually and psychologically on-the-ball? Evidently, and to my chagrin, not. I’m embarrassed, angry. I’m Eve and fuming with anger at that snake.
And yet. All this time, I’ve been bombarded with signs and signals telling me to pay attention. Pay attention. Pay attention. Pay attention. (I’ll write about these signs in another blog). I’ve been driven half mad. Pay attention to what? I’ve argued, with no-one in particular. And at least, I seem to have somehow scraped together enough consciousness to have noticed these signs.
Nevertheless, 2019 has gone off at a tangent and scattered far and wide my artistic plans. An opportunity came about for my husband to cast himself loose on the high seas of self-employment; of going into business as a marine consultant (please excuse the pun) and my role in this can be described by the title of Director of Administration. While he was working out his obligatory three months’ notice, I was beavering away at designing business cards, letterheads, setting up a website and the sundry other background activities that help him into the water and once there, to keep him afloat (more puns). (So, if you feel the need coming on to hire a marine consultant, you can contact him through Crena).
On the artistic front, outside of the design work I’ve been doing for Crena, I’ve been setting-up structures to underpin my artistic progress. These have included the renovation of the garden with a focus on preparing spaces for dye plants; and sourcing and buying the plants.
The garden renovation has resulted also in two plots for growing veggies, one with two raised beds (separable into four beds each, the other, four (also separable into four beds each). That’s 24 veggie beds, to feed two people. Guess who’s having a glut of courgettes and beans right now?
I have blogged already about my participation in How Far Does The Hand Reach? My contribution for which was recently exhibited at Studio20 in Norwich (England) and is set to tour to venues around Britain and the wider world.
And I’ve blogged about my participation in The Tiny Sketchbook Project which toured from New York to London, to Paris and is now back in New York.
I want to go back now to a poetic walk I began just before I sabotaged myself: Forest of Souls.
But I’m back. Damn that snake; those snakes.