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...

Sneak preview

If your name is Chantal, you may want to close your eyes now!!!


I feel I've been neglectful here for several weeks, months even. Ill health and an imminent move are not conducive to clear thinking, for me! So, just to try and square things up a bit, here's a sneak preview of something I've been working on for months - just to prove I am still an artist! I'm making an artists' book (well, it wouldn't be an ice-cream maker's book now would it?). If you're unsure what these are, well I guess they're best described as unique books, one-offs. And being artists' books they probably (but not necessarily) have more images than text. Mine does anyway; it's like trying to create a visual narrative. This one's about journeys and the threads that connect people to each other. It's about other things too, but I don't want to go into detail here. The best way to experience will be to see it. So once it's bound and on it's way north I'll put some more images here for you to see. In the mean time, here's two! Aren't you lucky?! Right, more packing...

Pissed off

I am pissed off with the world and its wife telling me what I should be, what I should do and how I should live my life. I AM AN ARTIST. I will live my life as an artist and if the rest of the world doesn't like it, the rest of the world can sod off and get over it.

On the scrap heap

I sent this image to Chantal recently as part of our exchange. I hope she doesn't mind me reproducing it here, because to me it symbolises so many things we've been talking about and making things about for each other. In other words it feels very personal between us, but then on the other hand it will eventually be shown to a large gallery audience... Anyhow, I'm not going to show you what I wrote on the back of it - you'll have to come to the exhibition to find out. I took the photo about 18 months ago at an old mining site near Redruth; I was so struck by the way the dolls had apparently been casually disregarded and dumped. The metaphors come flooding to my mind every time I look at it...

Finally...

For the first time in months (what four or five?) I've updated my website - woohoo!

www.stephanieboon.co.uk (just in case you'd forgotten!)

Something a bit weird has happened today. After three months I finally got around to loading Dreamweaver and an ftp program onto this laptop. Then I sorted out the inevitable headache that goes along with that, mostly to do with the fact that I can't remember all the passwords on the web hosting account... Then this evening, I actually managed to re-get-my-head-around how I edited the Java script on my site to create the slide show on the home page, and I've FINALLY updated the bloody thing. What I can't understand though, is why have the brain cells come together now? I've been in a cloud of mushy thoughts for months and quite frankly think I'm still in the pea-soup; if you'd asked me yesterday how to mess about with Java I'd have asked what the hell you were asking me for...hmm. Well anyway, that's the homepage sorted for a month or two, but what about the rest of it? I kinda updated the exhibitions page and the cv page, but quite frankly I don't know what to do with the rest of it yet...turn it all pink maybe? I've got loads of images to add, but god I'd rather just make some more!

Talking of which, I've been boiling up wax again over the last few days making something for Chantal for Unspoken (see the website!). I managed not to burn myself either. Something's definitely wrong. It could be that I've forced myself to stay awake for two days now; needless to say I'm feeling somewhat sleep deprived, which may of course account for the peculiar behaviour. Or, now you might want to sit down for this, it could be because I've been feeling just a teensy-weensy bit happy over the last couple of days. Don't ask me what's brought that on, I'm just hoping it might last a day or two more...just think what else I could get done.

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.

Making stuff

My desk this afternoon...hmmm, maybe that bottle of turps shouldn't be quite so close to the pan of boiling beeswax?

First and Last

The first book I ever made, age 10 (in Miss Oliver's class at Lavender Junior School!) :

The autograph book's cover - just look at the quality of that stencilled writing!

The inside cover, signed by the class monitors!

My favourite little ditty by one of my classmates; oh to be 10 again!

The last book I ever made, er I finished it today...

I've made a notebook/sketchbook for the collaborative project
I'm working on with Chantal Brooks


The cover of the book is made of a body-printed waxed paper

A sneak preview of what I've done inside so far - not much!
You can just see that the book is made up of a range of
different hand-made papers, some of them are very transparent
and others are really textured.

It's been a pretty crap week all round, so what better way to forget about it than making something useful? Thanks to the lovely Chantal's brilliant instructions I think my latest version far exceeds the first version I made; I just hope it lasts as long! Actually, I did have another reason for wanting to practice book making - I plan to make some unique books (artists' books) soon. I've been thinking about it for a long time, but never got round to finding out how to actually make a book without all the paraphernalia, like presses, that you think you're going to need, but don't of course; sometimes we seem to make things so unnecessarily complicated. I'd also forgotten how therapeutic craft can be - especially when you know that you're going to get something good at the end of it, unlike a load of mangy old knitting full of holes and dropped stitches! It's great just to be able to lose yourself in something and suddenly realise you should have gone to bed hours ago, rather than sitting there clock watching (although I quite like watch clocking myself). Right, I'm off for a walk.

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).

Guilt, guilt and more guilt

I'm feeling guilty. Making Unspoken has been a breeze. And making art shouldn't be like that should it? It should be a tortuous affair, with much pulling out of the hair, tantrums, swearing and staring blankly out of the window. It's the big day tomorrow, not today as I'd been lead to believe. No, setting up is now from 8am tomorrow morning. In Penzance. 25 odd bloody miles away. And I have a child that has to be at school here at 9am. How will that work then? Thanks to a friend it's kind of sorted and I can get to the gallery at 9am, giving Chantal and me exactly one hour to set the installation up. No worries there then. I'm going over to Chantal's first thing in the morning to load up the car with some plinths that she's stoically made, with very little help from me whatsoever. More guilt. Here I am fart-arsing around doing stuff I have no recollection of, so must have been hugely important, and there she is working like a Trojan in the lashing rain and howling gales. She was expecting cows to fly past the windows of her cliff-top cottage, she told me - and I could well believe it, having been up there today in a bit of blustery weather. Wuthering Heights suddenly seemed so real! The trees hereabouts are depressingly leafless now, the winds having taken away the last bit of autumn colour...

I'm mildly concerned that I'm not sitting here panicking. Surely that means I've forgotten something? Well, I did leave half the installation over at Chantal's house when I needed to bring it home to be able to work from it, but hey at least I know it's now in safe hands! I should probably be worrying that it's pissing down with rain again and that the windscreen wipers on my car have all but given up the ghost. I should probably be worrying that we've got to load up some very delicate, paper covered plinths in the wet and there's no time to put right any possible damage when we get there. I should probably be worrying about the talk we've got to give about the installation (and complete lack of any preparation). But no, I'm more worried about what the gallery coffee will taste like and whether I should take a flask. So now I feel guilty about not worrying about tomorrow too. I just don't get it: why has it all been so 'easy', so far? Maybe it's because the idea is relatively simple; maybe it's because Chantal and I just seem to mirror each others thoughts and processes without any stress or arguments (unlike some other collaborations that are going on at the moment - so I'm told!). Maybe it's because everything will go pear-shaped tomorrow instead, when there's no time to do anything about it. And maybe because I know there won't be any time to do anything about it, I'm just going with the flow and what will be will be...

And tomorrow, if all does go to plan, I'll take some photos of the work and post it here, finally, for you all (all 2 of you!) to see! You have no idea how hard it's been for me not to put up any pictures of the work! I deserve a bloody medal, I tell you. I'm so excited about it that I can't wait to share it!!!

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

The gift

So beautiful. I could never have imagined that I would receive something today that would touch me so deeply; a love letter, weaving your words of love into the fabric of my soul. The deep umber shadow that is with me through day and darkness, my constant companion, lifted long enough for me to feel the depths of your words. I want to sear the edges so that there are no loose threads to be pulled or unpicked, so that the cloth you made will bind your words behind my eyes and I will never forget. My body, so ravaged by the years, crumpled easily under the weight of tenderness you packaged up and sent to me. But what words of love can I return to you? I am bereft of anything but deep depression and longing. I long so much to be loved in the way that you love and cry rivers of tears that words like yours are never meant for me.

Oh for a male muse

God, think I may have to change that dead bird drawing on the left. As someone very sweetly observed the other day, I haven't done much with dead stuff over the last couple of months. Er, well actually there was a butterfly recently, but that definitely died of natural causes on the kitchen windowsill, and it didn't get drowned in wax, so I'm pretty sure it doesn't count. Trouble is, what would I replace said admittedly rather macabre looking picture on the left with? Hmmm, think I may possibly have to have a word with my muse. My what? You know, that thing that occasionally thumps you on the back of the head and your natural response is to go "ooooooooh", just like a Toy Story alien. Then you kind of go "ummmm, is that an idea or what?". Then Miss Muse gets you all excited and you start jumping up and down saying "Oh yes, oh yes, I AM a genius!!!!". Then of course you try out the idea and realise that Miss Muse has just given you the crappiest idea in the universe, saving all the good ones for the famous, well-payed artists in the world and not bloody well you. Then Miss Muse takes it upon herself (for of course she is a she) to kick you back down to earth like a deflating balloon. Then you hit the earth all flat and lifeless. That dear readers is a muse and I am now questioning my own earlier judgement about consulting with her in the first place. After all, I am already on the earth and flat as a pancake, so why bother with the faff? Think I might have a go at trying out a male muse in future. Oh bugger, I think that should have been male model. Any volunteers anyone?

Extract Only # 2

That which remains unspoken
That which will kill me
That which unhinges me
That which will kill you
That which is affection
That which is anger
That which is confusion
That which is fear
That which is love
That which remains unspoken
That which is pointless
That which is good
That which is empty
That which is blatant
That which is implicit
That which is envy
That which I do not speak of
That which is central
That which is love
That which is lies
That which is longing
That which is needy
That which remains unspoken.

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...

Pulling the threads

It's gone midnight and I'm still sat here making things. I'm making something small at the moment; it won't be with me long, I'll be sending it on its journey tomorrow. Journeys have been on my mind a lot over the last few days. I'm thinking more about the journeys we make as people, rather than physically crossing the land in some way, short or far. I'm on an amazing journey at the moment, several even, and I have no idea of its destination. There's something extraordinarily thrilling about the unplanned, the not knowing what will happen next. It's like a journey of encounters: the threads of the journey are all tangled and you take hold of the end and pull and pull at it, so that it unravels, but ahead of you is still this tangled unknown. You could stop pulling at any time and stay, but the threads I'm pulling at are leading me into beautiful, exciting territory and I'm not ready to stop anywhere yet.

The unknown and unplanned doesn't come without its anxieties though and I've got plenty of those. What if this part of the journey is the best it will be, what if I carry on travelling and miss it? What if I can't cope with what I find along the way? But this is one of those journeys where there's no going back, and that, in fact, is the scariest part. I am a restless person and feel like I will always be travelling, so I have to accept that with my restlessness, anxiety will never be far behind. Perhaps anxiety is just the fuel that will keep me going.