The Tulip Bowl and the Heart

In the opening of Das Kapital, Marx makes the observation that within the capitalist mode of production we evaluate materials not by what purpose they serve or what they're actually useful for, but we instead recognize them based on their value in the market.

I have now made several of these concept pots/objects. I viewed them as art for sure, a kind of three dimensional poetry, so got quite miffed when an art teacher friend of mine said "Oh, are they tulip bowls?", the inference being that I had made them for no other ends than to hold flowers. Now, not only is that an affront, but I cant possibly see why something so ugly and visceral could be seen to contain beautiful flowers. She went on to explain that tulip bowls were very ornate and became a whole phenomenon of their own, because of the love of tulips and the obsession that Europe had with them, owning and showing off new varieties of both plant and plant holder. The flower itself was such a rare and sought after commodity that it had become something of a status symbol, so by extension the tulip bowl had also become a wanted and prized item.

I pondered over this a while, and for some time still smarted at the thought that I was a mere artisan, and not a fine artist, simply throwing out mindless empty vessels that most people assumed would have to be filled. Incomplete objects, primitive ones, products off an assembly line to be used and abused. Not items to be looked into in any great detail, not items worthy of a back story or a theory.

However, with art being a commodity, and this not being particular to Post Modern times, twas always thus since Renaissance times and before where the rich would commission or collect, I reasoned with myself that an artisan product was nothing to be ashamed of, and that it was a democratised object. It had Usefulness, because it was Crafted, and was not a Commodity because it was Art. It had some function so therefore it could not be evaluated purely on its artistic quality and therefore monetised as so valuable and rare an object. I shy away from associating myself from Socialism but there it was, an object of mud, almost Arte Povera but as common as a chipped mug; and since I dont sell paintings and tend to work with community arts groups for a pittance, it seems I have fallen into socialism without even trying!

It would be nice to command a high price for an object that I have not only made with my hands but made with my intellect, and be revered and sought after and my work grace the coolest gallery walls and plinths, but in a world so twisted that even staple foodstuff like wheat and corn are traded as commodities, do I really want to fuel a market and become part of this vampiric overblown captalism? At a time where "We are the 99" rallies are popping up all over the place, should I really be yearning to be part of a system that now seems very old hat and rotten by an ever increasing number of ordinary people?

But deep down, Commodity vs Usefulness is not an arguement. Its what I can make that comes from the heart that matters.

The Heart Of The Matter

"Pottery is only pottery, the craftsman stuff of the kitchen and the cabinet of curiosities, and never to be mistaken for a work of art, never to be put on a level with Raphael and Titian. One might well preserve pickled herrings in a Perry pot, drown a Duke of Clarence or even pee in it - none of which things can be done with Michelangelo's David or Rembrandt's Samson and Delilah. Indeed, the very uselessness of a narrative painted on canvas in a frame, or a block of marble carved into the image of a naked hobbledehoy, is the simplest of all distinctions between art and craft." Brian Sewell, London Evening Standard, 6th October 2011

Recently I read an interesting article (which I now cannot find) that highlighted the difference between Art and Craft. The writer hit the nail on the head very succinctly and candidly. They said the thing that distinguishes Art from Craft is that Art provokes an emotional response. That is not to say Craft cannot engineer an emotional response, and I am as guilty as the next craftsperson to make something that wrenches no more than an "Awwww" (internet speak for "Aint that cute!"). Cute sells, I'm sorry, but that's the way it is. Amongst the non-academics, the estate housed, the mumsy or teen (or gay, yes, this is the main market for my little ceramic cats apart from pre-pubescent girls!), if its little and brightly coloured and anthropomorphic its straight onto the mantelpiece or bedside table without a minutes thought. And why not? Are we not biologically disposed to liking tiny fragile baby like things? Things we want to take care of or carry around with us? The advantage of owning one of my ceramic pets is that you can carry it around in your bag or show it off to your friends and not have to feed it or clear up after it. Its like a Tamagotchi without the responsibility!
But as a "serious" artist do I want to be known as a breeder ot cute inanimate pets, or something more visceral or intellectual? Do I want to re-animate pottery with crude drawings, for example, to try and bring it into the realm of Fine Art?

To this end, I have tapped into the most physical and tactile represntation of the ideas that have been lurking in my mind. I have explored what it is to be vulnerable and translated it into a material that is invulnerable (well... clay... its breakable I suppose), I have gotten my hands dirty like a surgeon would, covered in wet and stain. I have created a Heart Of Stone. I call this work "Vena Cava i". It's the first of a series. It started off looking like a strange organism, a fungus or a deep sea creature, but as I added more material to it it became as I saw it in my minds eye: a thing of ventricles and vessels. Maybe its because I am getting older and I see people who were fit and vibrant adults who I look up to weaken and become more fragile, but I really want to explore the fragility of the human body. When the work is fired it will be like the Greek Urn "a thing of beauty is a joy forever".. when THESE arteries harden it will not mean death but everlasting life. And a useless one, at that!

Half the air with added hair...

Great exhibition at the Tate St Ives.. pity the balloons have so much static they attract hair.. so that when I entered the installation there was other peoples hair stuck on the balloons that smacked me in the face. Yuk. Hair-face!
It was an amazing experience. Ok it did elicit the old "a three year old could do this" response from my (non-artist) husband, but I didn't care that we didn't see eye-to-eye on it (I could've so easily lost him in 8ft of aerated latex but I needed the lift back and the the keys to the cottage!). We nearly came to blows. I tried to explain that the theory behind such a supposedly simple idea was very complex and interesting and involved regarding the human condition and all the senses, but he was still remembering the Vorticists theories that were so loud and furious and ringing that he probably still had those petulant voices ringing round his head from when I dragged him round Tate Britain.
The balloon installation could scarcely be in a more appropriate place. Bounded on one side by seaside sunlight and the other by an "audience" looking down from the corridors above, the crescent shaped trench seemed at once open and enclosed, private and watched, free and kept in, authoritarian and childlike.
There may be those who criticise Martin Creed (I will go into that another day), but in this particular exercise he really suceeded in making me think of myself as a lone individual, hemmed in by all sides, listening to the laughter of others but not being part of it and being seperated from it by so much airy bulk. The balloons were like all those things that prevent you from progress, and I realised I was anxious once the novelty had worn off. I was lost, I had lost my husband, and I couldn't find a way out. I envied those who where whooping and throwing their arms in the air with childish glee, scooping the balloons out and throwing them as hard as they could. There was a brief moment when I allowed myself this joy.. and then I became a scared adult again. I wish the joy of being alone within the cells of my "womb", able to think and play with innocence and ignorance, unemcumbered by behavioural or psychological restraints even in a physically trapping environment, had stayed with me.

The Bronze Sea may be Blue after all...

Cool bronze oxidation, a photo by steve renaker on Flickr.

Is this what the Greeks meant by the "bronze" sky? In all the literature I have read its assumed that either the Greeks didn't have a word for blue, were colourblind, were using poetic license, or the sky looked different in Ancient times. Not once (in my looking, anyway) has it been hypothesised that they actually meant oxidised bronze when they talked about the bronze sea. It would make sense, seeing as oxidised bronze is in fact a turquoise blue colour.

Be Careful What You Wish For...

Well girls.. you wanted equality.. look what you got:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/business-12606610

Higher car insurance premiums!

I've never believed in the feminist agenda. I dont want to feel I have to go to work because of all the rights my "sisters" have fought for. I dont want to have to battle against men. I dont want to be classed as a gender, but as an individual. I also dont believe men and women are the same. Our bodies and our brain chemistry are totally different for Pete (or Petals) sake!

Wake up and smell the banknotes girls!!

An Exploding Rash!

No folks, its not something I've caught from a seedy Soho venue.
Rathermore its to describe the sudden and copious output from my studio. (No, that sound horrible too!! I'be been reading too many blogs with British humour in.)
Anyway, after finishing the MA and trying for months to summon up some sort of creative urge from the ashes of my inspiration (I haven't given up on the coloured transparent work but it got such a poor mark as my final project I felt pretty useless), I decided January was about the best time to make a new start, New Years Resolutions and all that.
So after a surprisingly sober and boring NYE, even an early night, I was looking at a long day of work ahead.
I started in earnest, not realising quite how much paint I would be using up! I based it on a one off painting that I did last summer. I showed it at a crit at uni and they were overcome with indifference, however mere mortals like my family and people on the net liked it so I thought it had legs.
Here is some of the output for January:







There's about 1/2 dozen more since them, and its only the end of Feburary!

I'm planning to hawk them on the saatchi website but after I realised they need 1500px pics on the shortest side I found I had to photograph them all better.. dammit!!