Transmission

Transmission of light through a tinted window, is like transmission of an idea through a filter.
Language is a filter. It only allows certain information through. Hence the word “transparency”, and and the phrase “to be opaque”. Transmission of ideas takes place through technologies of transmission. Radio itself uses transmission: radiation of radio waves, sound waves. Sound waves are in our voices and our environments.
Ideas are transmitted through speech. Word of mouth. People chatting about the weather.
The volcano transmits ash through the air, and affects air travel – incidents around this event are transmitted on the radio, the TV, and by word of mouth.
(The newspaper is a static form and therefore is a complicated kind of transmission, not flowing but a dead text on dead wood, obsolete and still as soon as it is printed).
Sometimes corrupted information can be transmitted like a disease, a virus that changes from host to host.
Transmission doesn’t care where its going, the endpoint always moves during time.
Radiation is transmitted by the sun, and burns our skin. It also makes our grass seem greener and makes us feel better. It sparkles off the sea, and off car bodywork. It is beautiful but deadly. It brings out the glorious colours in the garden, but dries out and kills the flowers....

Words dont come easy...

I'm really jealous of people who can write books, who can devote themselves to one subject, focus like a raptor on the details and sieze the ideas like so much hidden prey and make them their own. To be an authority on a subject. To be able to digest and re-present. To actually have the working memory to be able to remember names, dates and conceptions and put them in the right order - and then write fluently with enough factual evidence to impress academics and critics but with enough fluidity to make the passages readable. Having said that, there are plenty of books out there that are reading for the sake of reading, insofar as they appear on reading lists on courses up and down the country (even when there are far more interesting books on the same subjects out there, often more accurate and updated); and plodding through these is like bog snorkeling. But to be able to write ANY sort of book would be a pretty amazing dream for me. I already have enough anxiety writing a few thousand words in an essay. I read and write copiously, give myself a bad neck and a headache, and end up with chunks of typing that start off sensibly enough then end up as either a rant or a barely readable stream of conciousness...

Occupation..?

I like to tell people I'm an artist, but in reality I dont know what I am.
Quite apart from the fact I dont know if what I make is "art" in the contemporary and exhibitable sense, there is the employment aspect.
Employing oneself in an activity doesn't necessarily make one an expert in it, even if its 8 hours a day. Being paid for doing so counts for a bit more vailidity, but then one can feel trapped. Being an officially self-employed artist may mean you have more contacts and business, but setting oneself up as a limited company and getting a loan and insurance and all that that entails makes for a pretty big gamble.
Getting some sort of part-time job seems to be the option for many artists I know. Unfortunatley this does not leave a lot of time for networking, let alone making work, and they never get further than a few small local shows or a bit part in a group show somewhere better known - if they are lucky.
I'm at the point now where I have to make this big decision. The MA is all but over, I'm out of my comfort zone, and despite all the discussions and seminars on careers I'm still no clearer about my future plans than I was 2 years ago!

Invigilating the MA Show

Its been a lot cooler of late weather-wise in the South East of England. The Private View felt like vegetables in a boiling stew, and the first day I invigilated I thought I was going to pass out from the heat. The Gallery, being as it is fully glazed and facing West, pulls in the sun, from the afternoon especially. Now, this is all very useful for my work, which, from 3pm takes on some real life as all its coloured shadows extend, but for someone who has to sit by the window and watch the public to make sure they dont damage anything (including themselves) its the equivalent of sitting in a greenhouse!



However, being in Brighton was a joy rather than a chore on Saturday. No oppressive heat and sweltering people. I could've easily spent the day outside! Walking to Grand Parade, surrounded by shoppers and tourists of every description, in their summer pastels and colours, pinks and blues and cut-off denims (the boys AND the girls!), with the sun gently warming and the air fresher and cooler than it had been in weeks; I felt invigorated and energetic. The train down to the coast was packed with a gaudy rainbow of bodies and happy voices, loud in their abandonment of responsibilty; the windows were open - it was like a fairground ride where the air whips you and you are surrounded by noise and colour. It made me excited too, it was catching, even though all I had to look forward to was sitting in one spot all afternoon, and getting warmer and more uncomfortable. Compared to Tuesday when I had to invigilate, the little drop in temperature caused a great deal of relief and happiness. Even when the full heat of the sun had not yet flooded into the Gallery, I still felt confident that the heat inside would be actually bearable. And, as I said before, it needs to be sunny! The sun needs to shine! Not just because my coloured transparent work inside "depends" on it (although I did make it have more interest than merely shadows), but to also lift the spirits of everyone under the canopy of the blue and add sparkle to the surfaces and faces of this dense and busy seaside city.