Marclay's The Clock at Tate Modern

Before I went to see The Clock at Tate Modern I wondered how it could be made interesting, and, specifically, how the sound track was managed so that it wouldn’t just be a jumble of truncated dialogue, snippets of music, and meaningless noise.

I also wondered how he had managed the process of ‘ripping’ bits of film - relatively easily done, though tedious, in the days of VHS tape, but seemingly impossible now with digital media - though I realise it only feels impossible to me as I try to get a few clips for a film of my own as I don’t want to have to buy the appropriate software.  I also wondered about copyright, and how the film people felt about having snippets nicked for this new composite film.

Being the social scientist at heart that I will always be, I also wondered how he recruited his volunteers, who watched and tagged possible clips, and wondered what happened to the aberrant volunteer who mostly tagged people having violent things done to them rather than clocks.

“Over the course of the next three years, a team of assistants watched hundreds and hundreds of films, grinding through videocassettes. “My assistants had an account at the store, renting all these VHS films. We instructed them on how to ‘rip’ the part. Some assistants didn’t last very long, because they just didn’t get it. There was one guy who just kept on bringing me clips of horror movies, people getting decapitated. He had me really worried.” ” Marclay, in The Guardian https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2018/sep/10/christian-marclay-the-clock-tate-modern-london 

I thought aha! At least it was VHS, and then I read this in the New Yorker.

At Marclay’s request, White Cube posted a “Help Wanted” sign at Today is Boring, a cinéaste redoubt on Kingsland Road. Six young people were hired to watch DVDs and rip digital copies of any scene showing a clock or alluding to the time. (Sophia Loren to Marlon Brando: “I can’t appear at eleven o’clock in the morning in an evening dress!”) Files were logged with search-friendly titles: “1124—kid waiting on streets/old man checks watch—Paper Moon.” The assistants recorded their discoveries on a Google spreadsheet, to avoid overlap. Since a rival version could be hastily crowd-sourced on the Internet, the assistants signed nondisclosure agreements.

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2012/03/12/the-hours-daniel-zalewski

Does it not matter to anyone but me whether the originals were DVDs or VHS tapes? 

I was being ambivalent about going.  Its a bit of a traipse, especially since health issues mean public transport is difficult.  It seemed banal and gimmicky.  If I was going to go, would it be be better to attend one of the 24 hour screenings that were being made available to Tate Members- stay in a local hotel and wander in and out at leisure?  What if I went to do this and the room was full?  A friend whose opinion I value  (thanks Dora) said she enjoyed it, and was going back to see more, and a free ride became available, so I went.

Having sat in the room, for an hour and a half the first time and another 45 minutes later when my friend joined me, I know now the answer to some but not all of my questions, and have developed a few more questions.

First, yes, it is interesting, once you relax into the process. I got mildly irritated by the people next to me who insisted on yelping every time they recognised a clip.  Identifying every torn scrap in a Rauschenberg Combine would be a strange preoccupation, and proving one knew seemed a way of separating from the intended experience.  It seems audience behaviour in different places varies considerably, but overall people were quiet, with just an occasional ripple of laughter at the film, and an even less frequent vocalisation by an infant.  

Fretting about spotting the clock would be a foolish approach - there are so many, they are so common, that they could be seen as a simple vehicle for moving the film along, like a train travelling through countryside.  What an horologist would make of the film I do not know; there were certainly many different time pieces shown, including a fantastical one where for the first time ever (in the original film) a device to accurately tell the time was being shown off to the potentate.  They commentated on how dangerous it would be if the common population could get their hands on such a device.

It would be interesting to see the film in the dark hours of the morning, as it was apparently a lot more difficult to find footage.  I wonder how night workers feel about the world, when they never get to fit into the normal expectations that this film makes so apparent.

The film includes footage from non-English films, which do not require subtitles, as the meaning is in the movement and the clocks.  Scouring Bollywood films for time references was abandoned as there were few references to time.  Another query - what do different groups make of this experience?  Do people in time-obsessed societies like this movie as they can both abandon clock watching and at the same time know absolutely how much time they have spent on this non-task?

Marclay talks about how personal experience of time varies depending on how interested one is.  Even with the absolute measure of time on the screen I still left the room feeling I hadn’t been in there long.  I do know the elasticity of time - my sat nav gets stuck now and then, and on long roads I sometimes find myself fretting that I am not moving at all only to realised that the display has stayed static for twenty minutes. Reality and technology conspiring to trap me.

Mini-narratives are developed all the time.  Someone looks up when you hear a bang, but the bang is from the next clip, glances mesh across movies.  Each of these devices helps give a sense of wholeness, of intentionality.

What really makes the piece work as more than a ragbag of clips spliced end to end to fill the day with tricksy cleverness is the sound track. I couldn’t imagine how cut and pasting the sound would produce anything but an uncomfortable and disjointed experience.   By carefully combining sound from within the displayed film (diagetic) such as a door slam, a sentence spoken by the person we can see hear, the chime or tick of the clock,  with bleeds into adjoining clips, and then weaving them together with a subtle music track, the whole thing becomes just that, a whole thing.   

“It is through the sound editing that The Clock achieves its trance- like effect, engaging and seducing the viewer into spending time, passing time, and losing  track of time, even while always insisting on the precise time of day.”(Catherine Russell Archival Cinephilia in The Clock p246)

              ……….

The friend I sat with said he thought the sofas were black.  I presumed they were cream.  They are actually specified white sofas from Ikea (another source says cream) ( will galleries have to maintain a stock of Ikea sofas if this version goes out of production? Or pay expensive artisans to recreate cheap Ikea sofas in their dozens in the future to meet the artist’s display criteria). I immediately wished I’d asked people leaving the show what colour they thought they were - I wonder if an internet survey would generate any interest the way the storm over the black/blue or white /gold dress did a while ago.

Showing not telling in the visual arts

If you go to a creative writing class you are almost certain to hear the instruction to 'show not tell'.  Whilst the many tutors on short courses that I have attended told me to do this, they rarely know how to show you how to do this.  Rather ironic, that.  My understanding of this phrase is that your writing should make you feel you are part of the world inside the story, you know the woman jogging slowly past up the hill is hot and finding it hard to keep going not because the text says

'Jane was hot and found it hard to keep jogging up the hill'

but because it said

'Jane's hair was matted across her sweating forehead and her jaw was set. "Nearly there, nearly there" she said between coarse gasps.' (Rod Griffiths)

I'm working on visual art and not writing, and I am full of enthusiasms but unclear of my artistic objectives. It occurred to me the other day that one of the issues with the works I have made so far on my MA is that I was giving instruction, trying to transmit data, keeping things neutral and objective.  I was telling, not showing.

Kathleen Vaughan (in Practice-led Research, Research-led Practice in the Creative Arts, Ed Smith H and Dean R, p169-170) quotes Paul Rabinow

'The giving of form (whether discursive, logical, artistic, scientific, political, and the like) is..an essential goal of 'describing' a problem and of shaping an inquiry. Description rather than explanation is not a naive act but one that can arise only within a process of inquiry that is engaged in one or another type of form making.

and continues

'art as research and research as art can be transformative...being a profound engagement that changes both the researcher and the researched - the process can evoke something new.'

I have been thinking about where I benefited from the first year of this rather disorganised part time MA (staffing issues).  There have been three significant moments.  One was where a hastily recruited stand-in tutor said my work was like another student's work which I really loathed, both conceptually and in delivery.  That shook me and it took me about a month of thinking before I realised she was saying I was structuring the viewers experience too completely.  Working within the social sciences field you do try not to leave acres of uncertainty and possibility for multiple interpretations, so the notion of working to leave space is new to me.

The second was when another fellow student reacted emotionally to a piece that I was simply viewing as a small part of a story and a demonstration of a new technical skill acquired.  She made me see that, again, I had a full sentence of instruction in mind and the single word was potent.

The third significant moment was when a complex piece requiring collaboration was due. I had achieved nothing due to a combination of events.  I had been aiming at a clear exposition with clarity of message.  Two fellow students told me that I should put myself into my work.  A simple sentence but a revolution in intent. I then collaged all my preparatory work into short movie which, at the very least, got me a pass on the module.

--

I spent yesterday looking at the degree show at Hereford College of Art.  The work there, in the BA (Hons) Contemporary design Crafts and Jewellery Design room, was quite extraordinary.  One piece in particular caught my attention.

Kim Colebrook produced a piece from black and white porcelain and coal.  The work is called 'Survival'  "and is inspired by the Aberfan Disaster of 1966, and the way the community has coped and survived"

It is a multi-part piece with considerable presence.  It is calm and contemplative but also monumental.  One part has a square table-top display of precise black porcelain boxes with cracked and blemished white porcelain cubes.  These represent those who survived, and embedded inside each solid white cube is coal, which distorted the clay on firing.  These hidden pieces of coal and the random seeming degradations of surface are a metaphor for the continuing impact such events have on the individuals involved.  In the centre of these black boxes are white porcelain open boxes with wavy tops, holding gleaming chunks of coal.  These represent those who lost their lives.  I cannot write about all the meanings encapsulated in this work as it is complex and multi-layered.  It spoke to me as an object of great beauty before I knew what it was about, and keeps returning to my thoughts for all the meanings it holds.

This piece of work has for me much of the quality of the 'Snark' I was writing about in my previous blog, where I talk about the hunt for that impossible to define and difficult to find attribute of art that truly resonates.  It combines content with exquisite craftsmanship and potent use of materials in a way I find truly inspiring.

--

Looking back on this piece I see that this whole conversation with myself is continuing the exploration about how to identify the Snark, and how to work towards creating 'snarkness' in my own work. I am reminded of the military tactic of continuous aim firing which is a great strategy for hitting a moving target at an uncertain distance, and using the firing process to hone in on the target.  If you pause for too long to get your  aim right the target will have moved or vanished in the mean time.  It also works if you have a giant amount of ammunition...making vast numbers of works might lead to some being successful.  I once saw an exhibition in New York of Picasso and Braque early cubist pieces,  Serried ranks of almost identical works which were their process for working out what they wanted to say and how they wanted to achieve it.

Research and context-- developing an understanding of your practice methodology

I'm an enthusiastic doer.  I enjoy something - I do it.  I don't enjoy it....I try not to do it.  When it comes to art, this methodology is fine for a hobby but completely inadequate as an MA student.  

Next term's title is 'Research and Practice', and the book to read over the summer is "Practice-led Research and Research-led Practice in the Creative Arts', edited by Hazel Smith and Roger Dean.

In amongst the gobbledy-gook and self-aggrandisement that seems an essential part of an art theory book (they always use words associated with the interpretation of religious texts) there are some interesting ideas, and an excellent description of the process of developing an idea and a body of work by Kathleen Vaughan.  She describes how her idea begins, thrust upon her by a single image of poster spotted while hurrying to an airport taxi.  

"Stopped in my tracks, I was reminded of Jeanette Winterson's remarks, on having been halted on her walk through Amsterdam by 'a painting that had more power to stop me than I had to walk on'.  In my case, I was stopped by the mental image of art that I might make, arrested mid-stride......I've learned over the years in the studio, to recognise that characteristic inner quickening - which I actually feel as a kind of stomach pang- as an indication that there is depth and density of creative potential in the idea or image that has come.  I have learned to respect and respond to this feeling, as to a summons.  Indeed, I have come to understand that (so far, at least) my creative practice is one of response, either to a visual image that grabs me and hurtles me forward into unexpected imaginings, or to a deeply felt inner experience, one that links emotional and body-based realities, and percolates into an external aesthetic expression.  Such a summons does not come just once, to kick start a body of work, but can recur throughout the entire process of making, as I am faced with decisions and directions to take up or not." (p167)

The use of the term "quickening" is interesting. I've only come across this word in the past as an archaic term for feeling your baby move inside you, or the process of spring.  This idea of something akin to creating a child is one described by Jenny Saville, when she said that painting and pregnancy were similar (unfortunately I have no idea where I came across that comment, well before I started this MA).  The notion of the liveliness of an idea, grabbing the gut, and the sensation of liveliness of an art work that really works for me, seem very close.  

 "Art critics, anxious to emphasise the resonance or beauty of a particular work, have a tendency to exaggerate. They will tell you, for instance, that a canvas seems almost to vibrate, such is its power. But this painting moves well beyond vibration. No superlative I can think of seems to do it justice. It's uncanny. If I heard its subject softly breathing, I would hardly be surprised."Rachel Cooke (article about Jenny Saville and her works)

I have a memory of a recent bit of data which said that well over 90% of sensory data the body receives isn't processed consciously - again I'll have to hunt for the reference on that.  There is data to support the idea that 'hunches' and intuition can support decision making as they capture some of this information even though people couldn't articulate the process for this. A simple search produces an article that says unconscious information increases performance but not people's confidence in their accuracy, which an interesting insight into why data derived from this unconscious input might be discredited.http://www.pnas.org/content/111/45/16214.full.pdf

The book also refers to Walter Benjamin and his text on 'The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction'.  An article by Nick Peim in the Journal of Philosophy of Education (Vol 41, No 3, 2007) discusses the  notion of the 'aura'...

"Aura seems to signify something of the symbolic halo generated by objects of special significance that is both powerful and indefinite."  

It is going to take a lot of energy to really get to grips with what this paper is saying, and the single sentence in the original text book by Kathleen Vaughan may be sufficient to frame the ideas I am becoming interested in.  She says

"I have...a belief...that embedded and embodied withing a work of art, almost holographically, is a reservoir of knowledge and understanding, the 'research' of the work as conducted by the artist. This conception of research is perhaps similar to Walter Benjamin's concept of aura (1955/1968) as something that pertains irreducibly to the artistic object, performance or event, a quality we can feel although not always decode." (p169)

One of my goals for the MA was to develop a clearer idea of why some pieces of art work for me and others don't.  I find, just occasionally, that a piece of art will grab my attention, and it feels as if the work dances off the wall and enfolds me in some sort of psychic force field.  I'm more Doctor Who than Mystic Meg, and I'd more happily think it was something akin to a sonic screwdriver that was affecting my response than an 'aura', but there is definitely a non-conscious visceral response to works which either entrance or repulse.

So what is it that does this?  Is it an intrinsic attribute of some pieces of work or is it a product of the interaction between an art work and an individual viewer?  If it is entirely individual, why do some pieces of art acquire cult status, with queues to view? How does this process happen?  Is it a 'forever' thing or does it vary in time- can you 'fall out of love' as abruptly as you fall into love with art.  Are there cultural differences?   Does a well-executed fake work as well as the original?

Lots of questions, and possibly impossible to answer.  I am reminded of Lewis Caroll's "The hunting of the Snark"poetryfoundation, where a ridiculous group set off in pursuit of the undefinable Snark- and hope that even if they capture one it doesn't turn out to be the deadly Boojum.  A worthy pursuit for me, with the hope I don't 'suddenly vanish away' just as I triumphantly believe I have completed my quest.

Chapel Arts Cheltenham - printmakers talks

Chapel Arts Cheltenham

A beautiful new art gallery opened last week in Cheltenham - Chapel Arts.  The building used to be a Baptist Chapel, then the Mormon's took it over, the the Christadelphians ( I hear the cries of 'splitter' in my head from the Python's 'Life of Brian').  The clear open space has a gallery with movable walls, a lift, wide glass balustraded stairs, an excellent little cafe, and a determined, inventive and witty owner.  The first show is Contemporary Royal Academicians, and includes prints of many types and some small sculptures.  An artist talk by Emma Stibbon and Anne Desmet produced an interesting insight into the impact of both Rome scholarships and being elected to the Royal Academy.

I used to be a member of the Royal Academy- an annual fee allowed entrance to all their shows and, even more important, to the Members Room.  Not only was this a good place to stop for a rest on a busy day in London, but one was almost guaranteed an excellent and amusing insight into the life of some of London's eccentrics.  The little cafe with its sofa is already producing some of the same delight- yesterday I met a woman who got an entire first class honours degree from the Open University using Tesco Vouchers.  I have a Certificate in Science from the OU gained the same way (done for amusement), but I've never met anyone before who even realised that the OU used to be a partner with Tesco and the vouchers could be used for four times their face value for courses. As an outcome of that conversation I am now going to be helping her find a home for a large slide archive.

The artists who spoke were Emma Stibbon and Anne Desmet.  The both spoke about their processes and motivation.

The election to the Royal Academy was a very significant moment for both of them.  Anne talked about submitting year after year to the Royal Academy Summer Show, with some success.  Her work was rejected one year and she was wondering whether to continue but submitted two small prints, having one chosen.  The next year she was elected- which brings with it the right to hang six images without any selection process, and that shift being enough to mean she could give up an editorial job which had been essential for her financial stability (she hastened to say she had enjoyed the job, but had done it for a long time).

Anne said she wanted another 200 years to be able to work thorough the ideas she wanted to explore.  When she talked in detail about the works hanging in the show she explained some of the processes she used to modify prints to get different images from the same block.  One useful tip for collaging was to use Pritt Stick ( a child-friendly glue) rather than 'archival' glue. The Prit holds well, is a pH of 9 so won't damage the paper, and allows immediate work without buckling the paper.  If she used archival glue then each time a piece was added to an image she would have to put it in a press for a week to keep it flat, and would forget what she was trying to achieve between stages.

At university people have talked about 'materiality', and I have been struggling to understand what they mean and why they think it is important.  I hadn't really got past 'it's the stuffness of stuff', which is fun to say but doesn't really advance my understanding.  Listening to these two artists talking I begin to glimpse a different form of relationship with their materials - Anne talked about the " deliciousness of ink".   Her favourite drawing tool is an old Bodyshop bottle filled with diluted Quink ink- it fades rapidly, but allows her to sketch strong light/darks in a scene.  She explained how  woodcarving was a process of carving with light - each stroke of the carving tool takes away from the black of the image, rather than starting with the white page and adding black.  She wants her (usually) small images to pull people into a miniature world.

Emma uses polymer resist plates as her primary medium.  She has produced works which refer to her time in the Antarctic and Arctic, and large prints of icy flat vistas are included in this show.  She aims for a theatrical sense of immersion.  One of the challenges of working in these places is not only that she gets cold when outside but that ink freezes - adding salt or gin were suggested as effective solutions.  She also incorporates found materials, so, for example, images of volcanic eruptions may include ash in the final print.  Emma described the process of working with photographs, photocopying to get grainy images, collaging, painting, mono prints, manipulating in various ways- creating a fiction that has the essential qualities of the place she is documenting.  She also said it is possible to spend three weeks on a work and then decide it is not working and needs to be abandoned- leave the studio and shut the door.

Both artists use photographs, but agreed that drawing in situ imprints the scene in a way a camera doesn't do.  When looking at a drawing can remember what they were thinking at the time, how the breeze felt like, how the air smelt.  Photographs are useful data but the attention given during a sketch produces a very different relationship with the scene.

(this piece was extracted from an earlier blog)

Ya Ya Ya

I am in a darkened room.  Through the gap between chairs along the aisle I can see a small black-draped stage.  On it sits a white turntable.  A Nordic woman walks slowly to the front with a white record, takes it out of the sleeve, places it in on the machine and sets it going.  She pauses a moment, as one does after lighting a candle to be sure it is lit, then moves gracefully away and down the aisle to the back of the hall.

Behind her the spinning record emits the sound of a deep male 'Ya-Ya’, interspersed and overlaid with a female ‘Ya-Ya’, higher pitched, less regular, and often very excited.  The spotlight shining on the turntable bounces onto the rear wall, so we can see the square, the circle, and a diffraction image caused by the grooves.  It looks as if the sound is made visible.

We sit, quiet, polite, it is impossible in the dark and from behind to tell if people are quiet and still because they are engrossed or because they are trapped – rapt or trapped?  The Ya Ya Ya continues.  The male voice sounds the same, a droning tired ya ya ya.  The woman crests and falls, with pauses between her ya yas.  I think of a boring businessman at dinner, narrating his petty office squabbles, while his female companion makes encouraging noises, perhaps because she hasn’t been paid yet.  I am reminded of the diner scene in 'When Harry Met Sally', where the character played by Meg Ryan demonstrates the ease with which she can make it sound like she is having an orgasm.  A minor mental ramble through Meg’s movies uses up a few more moments – minutes or seconds, I cant tell in this strange trapped-in-nightmare space.

The attention in this meaningless space also reminds me of a Pentecostal revivalist meeting, where the speaking in tongues is met with reverence and envy and praise, without anyone knowing what the sounds mean.  I’ve always been wary of crowds and fervor, always worrying that I’ll somehow be induced to go up and Be Saved.

I watch the almost but not sufficiently hypnotic pulse of the reflected image.  I wish I could see the position of the needle, so I knew how much longer the thing would go on.  I have a sudden fear there is a side B.  I recollect sitting in concerts where I crane to see how thick the music is on the unplayed side of the sheet, getting caught out by repeats. I also remember an evening at the Wigmore Hall where Ravi Shankar placed his watch in front of him on the mat and then seemed to seemed to play until his watch told him to stop. I remind myself that many people chose knowingly to sit there, rather than just using a free ticket from a flatmate.

The sounds stop.  The elegant woman goes slowly to the recorder, picks up the record, and pauses facing the audience.  She is waiting for the applause.    We pick up the cue and clap.  When we stop she tells us about the piece.

These two voices were recorded in the same studio but at different times.  The man, in his eighties, was asked to say Ya until he couldn’t any more.  He seems to see the brief as continually saying Ya, which he heroically did without pause for 22 minutes.  Unknown to him, the artist has also stopped at 22 minutes, though her Yas were much more varied and with longer gaps. Fewer Ya’s, more verve-.  Perhaps the same amount of effort then.  These two tracks are overlaid and became a record.  At the first performance the setup accidently produced a reflected image on the red curtain behind.  It is noticed,  and a visual performance is born.  

Such is art.

Learning to exhibit

Some artists work in secret, satisfied only to push themselves in their search for clarity or enjoyment of the process.  I find I am a bit of an exhibitionist, loving the burst of laughter at a wry comment on something I am striving for.  Laughter is best, which is an odd statement, as I usually work on things where there is little reason to expect anyone to find things funny.

I have been making myself learn about exhibiting.  I have been helping the curator at Hardwick to exhibit on the wall of the cafe and the Crush Hall Cabinets on FCH campus.  This required putting out an open call for exhibitors, (I used Curatorspace, they had a free trial for one use), selection and hanging of the works.  I received so few submissions -it seems students are busy with other things, so everyone who submitted participated in the exhibition, though not all pieces were hung.  It was interesting working with Sarah Bowden, the Curator, as we looked at the pictures and the tall blank wall, two technicians ready on a scissor lift,  and decided where to put each piece.

I have never been through the process of balancing images like this before, even though I have exhibited and hung friends and family shows.  One piece (a newspaper collage of Castro by Angie Hunt) was positioned first in the centre, and then the rest added carefully around it.  Three small black and white detail images were not hung in a row, as might be expected, but were separated to add punctuation between images which needed a breathing space between them.  We stood together doing the 'up a cm, left five' bit for a while, and I was relieved that generally my instincts matched Sarah's.  When most of the pieces were up she left us to hang the rest.  One piece proved complex to hang, a cascade of electrical ties that were intended to be strung on a structural beam across the window.  It made the point that anything unusual needs a proper installation diagram supplied ahead of time.  Even the little monochrome images proved a little difficult as we didn't know which way up they should be hung (close-ups of leaves) as there was no indication on the pieces themselves.  A 'this way up' or arrow on the back of pictures is a useful thing- we found the artist and hung them correctly, but another thing to specify in advance in this type of process.  Perhaps a disclaimer in the call out would be sufficient - if you don't mark the canvas or provide full installation details, we will 'hang as we see fit'.

Only one person submitted a 3d piece for the cabinets- a small piece of cast concrete. With a little coaxing Fi Hill, a second year BA student, filled both cabinets with an exuberant display of her experimental cast concrete, plaster and textile pieces.

I also submitted a piece for the Wilson Gallery's new phone box display in the middle of Cheltenham.
I found out about the opportunity a few days before deadline- to make disposable pieces the correct size to fit in the window panes of these old red phone boxes - either one, eight or sixteen images.  The sizes meant that my first idea, to print onto acetate, wouldn't work, as I would have needed A3 acetates, so I printed on paper.  I awkwardly photographed my face and hands through coloured glass, using my phone, and these were then increased in size to meet the specification.  My acceptance letter  included the sentence "The panel met today, and they were very impressed with the intriguing nature of your work and how it relates to the phone box environment. The panel were also impressed with your accurate response to the formatting brief."  This seemed a little surprising until I went to see the display to discover that very few people had works that accurately fitted the phone box dimensions.

The big challenge of the month was to submit to the British Glass Bienniale.  Submissions needed to be media quality, and glass is a tricky thing to photograph well.  I hired a third year student to photograph my three pieces.  This was a very interesting process, as she wasn't photographing with the camera tethered to a computer.  I had expected an interactive process but was unable to see the work she did until it was complete.  The work was very precisely photographed but looked rather forensic- and I wanted drama.  As she was completing her dissertation with the same deadline as the submission I attempted to photograph the pieces myself, and submitted a mixture of her photographs and mine to the Biennale.  I submitted not because I expect to get in - this show has world class glass, but because the process of submitting needs to be learnt like any other.  How to chose work, how to photograph work, how to meet project briefs etc.  One of the difficulties in working with glass is that other people go 'oh wow!' even when the actual technical quality is poor.

Scanning the University opportunities notification I spotted internships at an exhibition of outdoor sculpture near Cirencester.  I can't manage that kind of work and am already participating in the Open Studios in Cheltenham, but I followed the link to the artists call for the show.  Submission was nearly over but they were still looking for some glass, so I hurriedly photographed and measured two pieces (the large red gecko and the Antarctic Porthole) and submitted.  I'll make sure I visit this year, and hopefully when it runs again, in two years time, I will have some excellent works on suitable stands/supports and properly photographed.

The Corinium Museum in Cirencester held an exhibition of art inspired by the Cotwolds. I submitted a glass panel of Bluebell Woods, and was selected.  At the private view I felt a bit sheepish (sorry) that I had taken such a restricted view of the what the selectors were looking for.  There were lots of pictures of curly headed sheep and charming scenery, but there were also so edgier pieces of ceramic, tweed and paint.  
   
I also attended a Masterclass on Hospitality as part of John Walker's The Zany Capsid exhibition at the Hardwick Gallery- where we made costumes and practiced the notion that as bar staff/jesters we could take any query or comment and use it to make the gallery attender feel comfortable - this was recorded, and the video includes my take on the process, based on a five year old I once interviewed about some art at their school. 

So, a busy period.  I am hoping that some reflection on these various processes will allow me to take a more planful and measured approach to exhibition.  I did launch myself at the process in an attempt to make myself aware of the issues, and thought it best to consider and record them before I forgot.











 

Artists talking - about their work and the business of being an artist

This week the lecture was by Simon Ryder, discussing collaborative practice.  Simon described the complex and changing process he has taken to be able to do the types of works he envisions.  The key messages from this talk were that it takes persistence, flexibility of approach and the willingness to shift the key strategies used as the financial and cultural climate changes.

He showed examples of his work, some of which incorporated sound as a key feature.  One of these was working with transcriptions of the sound made by the Aurora Australis, the light swirls caused by electrons and the solar win around the south pole. I was startled to realise that I had never given a single thought to the fact that the south pole would have its own light show.  I was caught out on a trip to Australia, trying to navigate by the sun, and it wasn't until we went around in a full circle and passed the same person pushing a pram that I realised I was so completely and unthinkingly a northern hemisphere person and had forgotten that the sun would be northerly at midday.  I have lived on three continents, but always north of the Equator.

Simon regards the audience as integral to the planning of his works.  The production of any guide to the work is carefully thought out to be a meaningful part of the experience.  This is a useful point to remember with the work I am doing, as I have the audience clearly in mind but hadn't thought of the accompanying handouts as an essential component that should be given as much thought as the works themselves.

Managing expectations during a collaborative process can be difficult.  Artists have their own strong drives, public bodies have their own expectations and these can change at very short notice.  Simon agreed to a prison residency, and the prison closed a week after he started.  It was to be turned into an immigration detention centre, but was empty for a long time.  The work produced here became an exploration of the history and space of the empty building.

There is uncertainty of process.  There can be anxieties that there will be something that will fill the expectant space.  Have to keep opportunities open, and manage the uncertainty that comes with it being hard to predict the pathways and process.


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Library books- the university has helpfully changed the renewal system so that books are renewed automatically unless requested by someone else.  It takes all the pressure off reading them.  Not a good idea.

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Chapel Arts Cheltenham

A beautiful new art gallery opened last week in Cheltenham - Chapel Arts.  The building used to be a Baptist Chapel, then the Mormon's took it over, the the Christadelphians ( I hear the cries of 'splitter' in my head from the Python's 'Life of Brian').  The clear open space has a gallery with movable walls, a lift, wide glass balustraded stairs, an excellent little cafe, and a determined, inventive and witty owner.  The first show is Contemporary Royal Academicians, and includes prints of many types and some small sculptures.  An artist talk by Emma Stibbon and Anne Desmet produced an interesting insight into the impact of both Rome scholarships and being elected to the Royal Academy.

I used to be a member of the Royal Academy- an annual fee allowed entrance to all their shows and, even more important, to the Members Room.  Not only was this a good place to stop for a rest on a busy day in London, but one was almost guaranteed an excellent and amusing insight into the life of some of London's eccentrics.  The little cafe with its sofa is already producing some of the same delight- yesterday I met a woman who got an entire first class honours degree from the Open University using Tesco Vouchers.  I have a Certificate in Science from the OU gained the same way (done for amusement), but I've never met anyone before who even realised that the OU used to be a partner with Tesco and the vouchers could be used for four times their face value for courses. As an outcome of that conversation I am now going to be helping her find a home for a large slide archive.

The artists who spoke were Emma Stibbon and Anne Desmet.  The both spoke about their processes and motivation.

The election to the Royal Academy was a very significant moment for both of them.  Anne talked about submitting year after year to the Royal Academy Summer Show, with some success.  Her work was rejected one year and she was wondering whether to continue but submitted two small prints, having one chosen.  The next year she was elected- which brings with it the right to hang six images without any selection process, and that shift being enough to mean she could give up an editorial job which had been essential for her financial stability (she hastened to say she had enjoyed the job, but had done it for a long time).

Anne said she wanted another 200 years to be able to work thorough the ideas she wanted to explore.  When she talked in detail about the works hanging in the show she explained some of the processes she used to modify prints to get different images from the same block.  One useful tip for collaging was to use Pritt Stick ( a child-friendly glue) rather than 'archival' glue. The Prit holds well, is a pH of 9 so won't damage the paper, and allows immediate work without buckling the paper.  If she used archival glue then each time a piece was added to an image she would have to put it in a press for a week to keep it flat, and would forget what she was trying to achieve between stages.

At university people have talked about 'materiality', and I have been struggling to understand what they mean and why they think it is important.  I hadn't really got past 'it's the stuffness of stuff', which is fun to say but doesn't really advance my understanding.  Listening to these two artists talking I begin to glimpse a different form of relationship with their materials - Anne talked about the " deliciousness of ink".   Her favourite drawing tool is an old Bodyshop bottle filled with diluted Quink ink- it fades rapidly, but allows her to sketch strong light/darks in a scene.  She explained how  woodcarving was a process of carving with light - each stroke of the carving tool takes away from the black of the image, rather than starting with the white page and adding black.  She wants her (usually) small images to pull people into a miniature world.

Emma uses polymer resist plates as her primary medium.  She has produced works which refer to her time in the Antarctic and Arctic, and large prints of icy flat vistas are included in this show.  She aims for a theatrical sense of immersion.  One of the challenges of working in these places is not only that she gets cold when outside but that ink freezes - adding salt or gin were suggested as effective solutions.  She also incorporates found materials, so, for example, images of volcanic eruptions may include ash in the final print.  Emma described the process of working with photographs, photocopying to get grainy images, collaging, painting, mono prints, manipulating in various ways- creating a fiction that has the essential qualities of the place she is documenting.  She also said it is possible to spend three weeks on a work and then decide it is not working and needs to be abandoned- leave the studio and shut the door.

Both artists use photographs, but agreed that drawing in situ imprints the scene in a way a camera doesn't do.  When looking at a drawing can remember what they were thinking at the time, how the breeze felt like, how the air smelt.  Photographs are useful data but the attention given during a sketch produces a very different relationship with the scene.