Another day, another drawing...or two

Back down at the Exchange gallery on this cold and windy day, I decided to do a 'warm up' drawing of the lovely Chantal Brooks, whilst she was busy being bored to death by the Penzance town nutter (not me honest!). As you can tell from the look of chagrin on her face, his three or four hours of scintillating company was not appreciated. Not sure this drawing was either, but hey, it was just a warm up!

After 'getting my eye in' and getting a cup of caffeine inside me, it was time to make use of the floor space and make a start on a large drawing...not sure where this one's going, but don't think it's headed for the bin quite just yet.

Josie's shoes

Today was a whole lot of fun! Oh yes it was: drawing, drawing, drawing! Chantal Brooks was running a workshop at the Exchange gallery in Penzance called 'I Can't Draw', the idea being to get visitors to the gallery to let go of their inhibitions, pick up a pencil and get drawing. She invited me along for the day as 'guest artist', so I spent the day drawing and talking to visitors. And drinking lots of coffee. And eating cake.

I haven't done much drawing for a while, so it was an opportunity not to be missed and to get stuck in and make use of the fantastic space. I had no plans and just drew some of the things Chantal had brought along. For some reason though, I was particularly taken with her daughter's first pair of shoes...

Better than Narnia

Today is a good one. I had enough energy to go and sort out the airing cupboard, which is huge and full of junk. And, as you would expect with this kind of domestic bliss, I came across a long-forgotten gem. Several years ago my mother gave me a set of four encyclopaedias, called The World of the Children, she said she bought them for me when I was a child, and sure enough I found them tucked up in a box at the back of the cupboard. I flicked through the pages and the smell took me instantly back to sitting under the stairs (not in a cupboard!) devouring facts (so few of which stayed...) and looking at pictures of amazing things I'd never seen, or was ever likely to. I lingered over the books, when I should have been getting on with the sorting out, and came across a chapter titled Section Twelve: The Fine Arts, Chapter 4, Beautiful Pictures. Of course I had to have a read. And this, dear readers, is what I read...

When photography was invented, artists turned in disgust from painting Nature and concentrated on doing things the camera could not do. ...they became very vague about their aims, different groups of artists having different ideas about what they ought to do; and some artists to-day are doing very queer work because they have queer ideas as to what is good art. Many strange pictures owe their existence to the idea that design is the important thing in a picture - design and not subject-matter. But many painters of queer pictures have been unkindly treated, and so you can now see queer pictures, that besides being designs, are expressions of dislike and contempt for ordinary people. Much of the work of Rouault is of this kind.

...The age of bizarre patterns masquerading as paintings will probably pass away and then artists will be found to have intentions again over and above those of mere designers.

I love it! I think it's where I must've got all my balanced views from... A quick look at the date of publishing reveals that this gem went to print in 1964 (Caxton) and was written by one Stuart Miall. Funny how I remember Rouault (link to info on Tate's website), but not Miall.

For Chantal

The story

Peter, a young boy, lives with his grandfather in the Russian countryside. One day Peter leaves the garden gate open, and the duck takes the opportunity to go swimming on the nearby pond. She starts arguing with a little bird ("What kind of bird are you if you can't fly?" - "What kind of bird are you if you can't swim?"). Peter's pet cat sneaks up on them, and the bird – warned by Peter - flies into a tall tree.

Peter's grumpy grandfather takes him back into the garden and locks the gate in case any wolves come near. Shortly afterwards "a big, grey wolf" does indeed come out of the woods. The cat climbs into the tree, but the duck, who has left the pond, is swallowed by the wolf.

Peter fetches a rope and climbs over the garden wall into the tree. He asks the bird to fly around the wolf's head, while he lowers a noose and catches the wolf by his tail.

In some versions, the duck is spat out of the wolf as he is hanging from the noose.

From Wikipedia.org (follow the title link above)

Pass it on

I received a letter today and inside was a story that I was asked to pass on...

Pete was once a taxi-driver, one of his regular passengers was a lovely woman who he was very fond of. She told him this story - he in turn passed it on to his sister, she passed it to me and now I'm passing it on to you.

Yohanna was a woman who owned a local shop, her cat would lay in the window, sunning itself.

One of her customers who came in everyday told her that he felt it wasn't right for a cat to be in a shop. She told him she didn't care as all he ever bought was a newspaper.

Yohanna eventually retired to a remote cabin in Canada with her beloved cat. It's thought she was in her 70's.

One day her neighbour who lived some distance down a track heard a terrible noise, screaming and howling - and took off up the track to see what it was. He found Yohanna's cat in the mouth of a dog - who had wandered down the track and thought it was lunch. Yohanna had seen the attack and had run from the cabin and was beating the dog with her stick to let go of her cat, and screaming at it.

The woman in the taxi explained that it wasn't a dog - but a wolf. Pete asked what happened to the cat. The woman exclaimed "oh it's fine it just walks with a limp now'. x

Blackbird

I knew I'd find one,
I see me in them everywhere.
I can't help looking,
wondering, was it worth it.

Goings on at Newlyn Art Gallery

The 'anti climactic eruption' of Oliver Sutherland's Volcano

Kim takes a look into Patrick Lowry's sculpture, to see how far down it goes...

We trundled down to Newlyn yesterday for this fun, light-hearted exhibition that was part of the Newlyn Art Gallery's Transitions programme and was curated by Sovay Berriman. The work on show was inspired by the film Journey to the Centre of the Earth and had a fantastical, childlike quality to it. The film was playing throughout the event on a tiny old-fashioned tv and was a great distraction for Kim - while I hung around stuffing the rock cakes on offer! Mmmmm, well what else is there to do on a wet Sunday afternoon?

The killing

I've just spent the last half hour or so reading about cabbage white butterflies on the web; I was shocked to discover that all most sites talk about is how to kill them. The one on the left, I can assure you, died a natural death and now lives on as a work of art! It was sent to me via post by Chantal of course, and I hope she'll forgive me for the fuzzy photo, because it is a very beautiful thing - not done any justice by my shaky hand and crappy mobile phone camera. My little bit of research has revealed some interesting facts about this lovely insect though, not least that the one pictured is female (because she has two spots on each wing - well she would have wouldn't she!), and, according to the BBC, they're also known as 'summer snowflakes' - how beautiful and descriptive is that! Why anyone would want to kill them off in favour of a cabbage is beyond me...one of the most foul tasting things on this earth - yuk. I bet even the butterfly tastes better, though being a vegetarian I'm not about to try it and find out for you, even for the sake of art.

As part of my 'research' (very loosely termed, believe me!) I did a picture search for the cabbage white and what I'd like to know is, just where do other people get all those lovely images from that they post on their blogs? Do they actually pay Getty or what? I can't believe they do, so where do they get them from? Are there a whole load of copyright-free images out there that I just can't find, or are there lots of blogger thieves, denying artists and photographers some control over how their images are used and a right to their meagre livings?!!! I mean, if artists and photographers, or whoever, were actually paid for their images it might mean that they could make more lovely images for us instead of having to do the whole gamut of low-paid, desperately un-creative work to keep the wolf from the door. The amount of exceptionally talented people out there that have to waste their time behind the counter at the local Spa shop is criminal. If you can't afford to pay the artist then take your own photos.

Well, I didn't know I was going to rant about that today! I think must've had a good week this week. I'm sure I only rant when I'm in a good mood; it's just too much effort when I'm not.

Journey

Mylor, Church Road: view of road.

Mylor to Penryn: plants growing on the verge and view of road.
Already the journey to you is a struggle; I’m so tired and my legs are aching from yesterday.

Road to Penryn: view over to hills.
There are tears running down my cheeks, and the sun, low in the sky, is drying them.

Penryn, Church Road: Travis Perkins.
This journey is about time. The time we take to make connections between us, the fragile threads we so easily break. It’s about the time we have through life, the things we miss, the stuff we see, the destination.

Penryn to Treluswell: workmen.
Some people travel so fast, seeing nothing. I’m plodding along, contemplating. Am I too slow? Against the flow?

Treluswell: Plastic in the verge.
The transparency is lost.

Treluswell: signs to Mylor.
This is a bigger undertaking than I’d expected. It’ll probably be dark by the time I get to you! How will I get home with no lights? I think it’s going to rain, heavily.

Treluswell to Ponsanooth: horses.
I can feel the spots and I’m unprotected against harsh elements. I’m watching the horses, some with blankets, some without.

Ponsanooth: wall and leaves.
Why does my mind feel so blank? I have good thoughts, but forget! I’m driven forward by the timer, stopping only when it rings. Every time it does, I’m 5 minutes closer to my goal, the end. Should my mind be so blank when the journey is actually racing by?

Pengreep: sky and trees.
The rain is falling now and my hands are getting colder. I’m hungry too.

Burncoose Nursery: bottle and hydrangea.
Sometimes I see such unexpected colour. Now I’m wondering whether I should amend this journey in some way to make sure I achieve it. What if I stop less often, will I see so much less?

Comford: trees, road and tree in flood.
Redruth is closer than I thought, so I’ll stick to my original plan. There’s so much detritus in the verges, you never really see it.

Lanner: blackbird.
I knew I’d find one, they’re everywhere. I can’t help looking, wondering was it worth it.

Lanner: tree trunk.
So cold I’ve stopped for soup.

Lanner: children’s playground.
Thinking about Rousseau’s Confessions, his journeys. Life is about the people isn’t it? The journeys you take with them, what they open your eyes to?

Lanner: crossing and road.
This is where you grew up, can you follow the threads?

Lanner: bus shelter.
I wonder what it would be like if I’d taken the other journey; would there be any shelter?

Lanner to Redruth: trees and road.
No matter how arduous this is I feel I have to continue. I must get to you.

Redruth: road signs.
I wish it was clear, by now I’d be able to see my goal.

Redruth: main crossroads/traffic lights.
Too wet. It’s impossible to write.

Redruth Tesco: flowers and sign, carts and ground.
I’m moving on from here now.

Road to Illogan: pylons.
The pencils were a good idea, but I’m so cold and tired now that I’m wondering if I’m seeing anything at all any more?

Illogan: tarmac.
The only thing that’s keeping my spirits up is knowing the warmth and welcome that you will give me. My hands are frozen to the bone after 4 hours of this and I can hardly write at all.

Illogan: puddle and drain.
These intervals seem to be getting shorter and closer. Camus, or was it Satre, Camus I think, was right - time is not constant.

Illogan: Puddle and memorial.
The water is pouring so much redder here.

Road to Hayle: muddy farm entrance.

Road to Hayle: Your cottage.

And a few more from Chantal

Installing Unspoken - Chantal on the left, me on the right
(the black thing with the hands on has nothing to do with us!)

Installation view showing the paper plinths (Chantal's brain child!)


Correspondence: in the window on the left is a photo and envelope from Chantal;
on the plinth on the right is a 'postcard' from Chantal and the 'bird and be' box I sent to her


Some of our earlier correspondence hanging in the window. On the left is one Chantal sent to me, a beautiful envelope made from a clothing pattern with a button, safety pin and upholstery pin inside. On the right is one I sent to Chantal; it's made from a body print and has a butterfly (dead of course) trapped under plastic with the word 'resuscitation' on it. There's also some embroidered text 'he pulls' that you can't see in this photo!

A 'unique book' I sent to Chantal. It's made up of paper, text, stitching, photos, ash, prints, wax...

And finally... ('cos I really think I should be doing this on my website!), here's a lovely
little box that Chantal sent to me. The narrative she's written is on all sides of
the box. Inside it there are pottery shards and dried blue hydrangea petals.

A few images of Unspoken

Unspoken is an installation by Chantal Brooks and me, and these are just a couple of pictures of the installation on show at Invigorate at the Exchange in Penzance last week. It's made up of a correspondence between the two of us and includes narrative, images (including prints) and small sculptural 'artefacts'; there were probably around 25 objects on display, but the work is ongoing and will continue to grow. The correspondence is really intimate and personal, touching on themes of vulnerability and protection and has developed a distinct aesthetic as it's grown. All but one of the images images in this post are of things I've sent to Chantal, but I plan to take some more of things that she's sent me, so call back soon!

Left: paper-chain of cut out girls with circles cut out of the bodies, some filled with threads, some with fabrics (from a dress I wore age 10)

View of part of the installation, showing paper

plinths with correspondence on top and visitors looking at
correspondence hanging in the windows.

2 views of a piece made of 5 small waxed prints, stitched along the top.
Each print (taken from the body) lifts up to reveal words beneath
(although under the first print is a black graphite square), including 'feel' and 'discover'

The letter above is made from a print of my foot with the words 'we will disappear' stitched to it.
The letter, stitched to the reverse reads:

Sunday. I've picked up this pen to write to you, but all I can think is empty. I want to say something worthy or something that you'll always remember me for, but I realise there's nothing. I stitch and sew to keep things together, to keep you bound tight to me, but the nature of thread is that it's fragile. I must stitch tighter, more creatively. I wonder always if you want me bound to you in the same way. Do you use an invisible thread, because I just can't see it? xx

This is the last piece I've received from Chantal (to date).
It's made of paper, dress-making pins and her hair.
It has the words pin, tuck, join, hold, secure, fold and stitch
running from top to bottom (typed).

Invigorated

ooh have a look at this...

www.vjtheory.net

Listened to a discussion on vj-ing this pm at Invigorate - very stimulating, even late in a busy, busy day (drinking the gallery coffee mostly...). Interesting to learn how practitioners are collaborating in a relatively new field to create a means of debate on an international scale. Have a look at the website for some great articles and links to vj sites and videos and stuff. Go on, I dare ya!

Midnight ramblings

I'm sending out words and images and have no record of them. It's weird in the day of emails and computers to send out a hand written letter and not be able to reread what you wrote. I could have copied them out verbatim before I posted them, or photographed them or scanned them into the pc, but I wanted to remember what it was like not to be able to do that. Somehow I think it makes it more intense; you need a kind of clarity so that you can follow the thread, so maybe you take more care about how you remember it and in some way that lodges deeper in the mind. Or maybe it's just because of the nature of the person I'm corresponding with; our reactions to each other's letters are just so visceral and that's what you remember, rather than actual words or pictures. Maybe I don't have a clue what I'm on about and should just go to bed, we are, after all, supposed to be setting up this correspondence as an installation tomorrow and I can hardly keep my eyes open. Help!

Invitation!

Come and see our new installation UNSPOKEN at The Exchange in Penzance! It'll be on display on the 5th and 7th December from 10am - 2pm (both days). There's also an artists' talk on from 10.20 - 2 on the Friday - yours truly and Chantal will be waxing lyrical for a bit, and 4 other artists will be talking about their installations too. It's all part of Invigorate, a four day event at The Exchange with installations, performances, archives of artist-led practice, talks, discussion and loads more.

Hey, did you notice the picture? Phew - at last!

www.chantalbrooks.co.uk and www.stephanieboon.co.uk

For Chantal

To see thread in your dream, symbolises a path or journey. It also represents a connection to your thoughts and ideas. Consider also the colour of the thread.


Dreammoods.com

Invigorate

The Brooks and Boon (or should that be Boon and Brooks?) installation UNSPOKEN will be on display at The Exchange as part of the Invigorate event on the mornings of Wednesday 5th and Thursday 6th December 2007. There are talks scheduled about the installations (I believe there are five all together) on the Thursday, but I'm not sure about the times, so will have to confirm it soon...

I've just realised that it's only three weeks away - aaaargh! I can cope, I can...

Invigorate

www.invigorate.org.uk

I'm lucky enough to be involved in the upcoming Invigorate event (see link above) at the Exchange gallery in Penzance this December and have begun work on my first collaborative piece with installation artist Chantal Brooks. It's really exciting! I'm wondering though, whether for the first time in my blogging life I ought to keep my mouth shut about what we're up to! That's going to be soooo hard, so here's a few words: envelopes; intimate; vulnerable; protection; exchange. I think that's enough for now. I guess a few more things might pop up here over the next couple of weeks, but I don't think I'll make things too explicit. Now you're intrigued aren't you? Aren't you? Why not? You should be: I told you already, it's exciting.

Embark again

Ooooh, the lovely artcornwall website has another review that includes reflections on yours truly's participation in the Embark ferry show in May this year. Thanks Rupert!! It does of course include reviews of the other artists' shows, I guess I should just mention that!!!

17:27

If I call myself a visual artist, how often does that mean I have to make something visual?

2nd Nature Review

A review of 2nd Nature has been published on the artcornwall website recently. The exhibition, which includes my piece Other Shores, has finished in the cathedral now, but continues at Vitreous gallery until the 13th. The review is by Joseph Clarke and has some good text and images - and an interesting nugget of information about my work that I didn't know... There's also a short video that shows some of the projections and stuff.