Happy Happy Joy Joy, happy happy joy...

 Paula Modersohn-Becker
Self portrait on her sixth wedding day
(1906)

 
Inspiration & Motivation

Remember Ren & Stimpy? In my darkest moments of sitting within my ill-fitting Australian skin I feel perhaps this is the treatment  that could cure me and make me a 'better Australian'. To give a true Aussie twist the treatment would need to include something about a love of endless sport, outdoorsy things, jokey-blokey beer culture and not thinking too deeply or too much about 'stuff'.

Let it be known I am unconditionally happy - inasmuch as one can know the elusive truth of happiness extracted from self-delusion, that is. However, I feel a notion of happiness seems to be a  little confused in mainstream Australian society (note: my 'mainstream' is generally West Australian - hello fundamental flag-waving Australianism) -  in that one is only permitted a sanctioned happiness. Sanctioned happiness is a happiness tested as ideologically sound and governed by our great Aussie values - steeped in the golden amber effervescent glow of a sporting win or a good laugh (outdoors of course, beachy, preferably). This means only saying light and fluffy or funny things, laughing a lot and generally giving the impression of sunshine, rainbows (remember I am female) and footy grand finals.

How Appalling

Unfortunately, I am not by nature ( I recognise the risk in using 'nature' and fully accept the consequences) predisposed to fritter precious moments of conversation away on the surface to make pretty sugar and spice. I am more of a morose and maudlin type who prefers to ponder interesting questions and poke about in the lining of our social fabric. I have discovered these qualities to be distinctly 'unAustralian' and have, on many an occasion, been fortunate enough to have been shown the error of my ways.  Well, try as I might, glass slipper doth not fit this ugly step-sister.

 Hello handbag.    

And so arrives the handbag - the eternal crafting of the feminine form. In painting my self portrait i am doing what the artist has done for centuries - making use of the most available resource to practice with: the self. My self comes with a twist in that I am also chronicling the gestation of another creative work; one that evolves with much less (? I have to ponder that) anguish in the creative process. I don't have any control in the creation of this being. I wonder how much control we should aim to impose upon our own creativity to produce what we desire.

Control

Control is a vice - it gives the illusion of order in amongst the chaos. It is also delusional; ultimate control, carefully managed, can manifest a self-delusional state of being - albeit a vulnerable bubble. Our society encourages us to live in a bubble of self-delusion. We are encouraged to be nice and polite, not to reveal too much or be too honest lest we shatter our carefully controlled and managed egos and submit ourselves to judgement and potentially hazardous manipulation. We look in the mirror plenty but we don't see much past the surface of things.

Controlling the Image
i am struggling to relinquish my artistic sense of control - to pull back the editor for a bit to see what my subconscious can deliver through the cracks of my skills and abilities. Trouble is letting go and revealing. Paula Modersohn Becker produced the image of herself not long before she died following childbirth. much has been made of her image..more on this later...

Fabric Surgery

 Raw (Handbag) Charcoal & acrylic on canvas with velvet lining 40x50x50 (dimensions approx)

I can recommend this treatment for anyone feelingly slightly miffed about their perceived appearance. A quick cut up, stitch up and re-arrange can be very satisfying for all intents and purposes. Plus this ever-useful vessel can now carry material things from the physical realm. See, previously the vessel of the self embodied all manner of strange delusions and abstractions, still a vessel, yes, however a container for all things ephemeral and slippery, enigmatic and elusive. Now she can actually hold things we can see with our eyes, touch with our hands (or other body parts perhaps?..whatever gets your goat) and smell should we be so inclined to do so (not always recommended given the aforementioned possible touching of body parts though). We can now trust what she represents - an ever useful holdall carryall represented in her most valued proportion. She is now silenced into usefulness. At least that is the general idea. Astute observers may notice an opening near the nipple region of the handbag - as yet an unresoved issue for me, one I hope to resolve as I continue. Many options for nipple surgery - but I need to be clear as to what my intention for this is.

 Sick (Pattern Markings) 60x70cm Ink & Acrylic on Canvas     

Sick (Handbag) 40x50x50 (dimensions approx)

Acrylic & Ink on Canvas with Satin Lining and Leather Handles

Again, another makeover - complete with before and after shots. And what a dramatic improvement. Here we have the parts segmented in a much more convenient manner. For example, while sporting the bag - a-la-casual - one may elect to have the gash/slash facing forward (for those days when one does feel emboldened) or gash/slash facing backwards (when we'd prefer to think that life was about more than just our sex). You may have also noticed that the gash/slash is slighly blurred - a modest soft focus 'side-effect' from the surgical manufacturing process. Read: when I sewed the canvas, it rubbed a bit (read what you will into that) and blurred the charcoal leaving the image with a nice sense of renewed modesty not unlike porn images before digital cameras, mass prinitng and enhancement...back in the days when women could let it all hang out - literally.  When labiaplasty was floating free in outerspace with all the other useless spacejunk awaiting it's moment of glory and when bush meant old growth forests and the like (now as endangered as the full map of Tassie).

I have had some technical dilemmas resolving my handbag transformations however. The weight of the paint burdened canvas has created difficulty in it's starchiness and manoeuvreability. While I like the strength and form it gives the bag it is difficult to handle and does not lend itself to a softening effect akin to the flesh that I have been able to replicate with other fabrics. Still, I have discovered the wonders of steam-ironing through teatowel with a later version (will post next).

Notes on the details: The satin lining is gathered slightly and pinched then sewn into the angles of the breasts. The bag is stuffed with polyfil and this combination lends itsel;f to a nice boudoir sensation, all pink and creamy flesh-like. To feel it is cool, smooth, soft and spongy. Unsure as to whether it will bear contents (a stray doll's arm or some such thing) but leaning to the side of none. Nipples were resurrected from a previous bag incarnation and match the handle nicely. I think that's what they mean when the say to 'accessorise'.

All these bags will eventually form a totem pole - pole dancing handbags depicting the power of transformation.

Morning Sickness

Sick (February)' 60x70cm Ink & Acrylic on canvas

Sick: In case you were wondering, this is how it feels in the first trimester of pregnancy. I am inadvertently channelling a slight Brack influence here in my choice of colours for my nude and the obvious malaise or misery. I saw the Brack show last July in Melbourne...It is yet to arrive in WA, so starved are we of inspiration. Observing Brack's nudes I couldn't help but feel he was of a feminist inclination (he and the world just didn't know - it until now - I have enlightened everyone, be thankful) in his treatment of the female form.

 I felt so strongly standing in front of his works in the show at the Potter that he connected with an almost resgined type of melancholy in his subjects as objects of the gaze. Nobody looked delighted (but did anyone in any of his works?) to be portrayed in this way as was typical of the seductress or confrontational stare common to many female nudes. This, coupled with the fact that his nudes were not popular at the time but an expensive side-indulgence he afforded himself when he could, led me to believe there was more content in these than was given due consideration.

I digress. My nude self-portrait shows a vomit-style palette. I had intended to keep painting to finish this work but once I got to this stage I realised I had accomplished my intention of depicting my moment of joy in discovering I was pregnant and feeling like crap. True to my animal instincts I am baring my rear end (obviously to entice my viewer) and revealing the source of my misery. Juxtaposed with my foetal position (vulnerability, innocence etc) the image creates a nice tension beyond the ick of the palette that travels beyond sexy-nude-as-object to confront the viewer with a more realistic impression minus the romance. Some women suffer like this for the whole 40 weeks, poor things.

Raw (January)' 60x70cm Charcoal & Acrylic on canvas

Raw: This was my first self portrait upon discovery of the double line on the stick. As you can see, I wasn't having a very good day. Actually I am quite happy to be pregnant and do the baby thing all over again, the real trauma is the work-life-family balance. I have fought so long and so hard for so long (yes, many 'sos' in that sentence, read between the lines) to scratch out a corner of sanity and selfishness amidst the mother guilt and feminist angst, quite frankly I am quite concerned as to how I can manage to do/be/have what I need to hold onto my hat post birth. This portrait, while not a favourite of mine as it is rather wobbly, depicts the knife edge intensity and excitement/terror of blessed maternity in a very raw and honest way.

Raw (January) Pattern pieces Charcoal & Acrylic on canvas

I couldn't wait to cut this one up. It was my first foray into this series - an instant sketch done in an hour or two to capture a mood, a moment in time. I allowed myself certain liberties I don't usually allow in painting/drawing, and that is a free, unedited hand. I usually like to have a lot more structure and control over my initial sketching and spend time preparing etc. I liberated myself from any expectation of perfection (impossible anyway) knowing that it would be cut up. Ironically I have the photographic evidence here. This work is now a handbag with red velvet lining. Sick is also a handbag with pink satin lining.

Apologies I do not have an image yet, however my previous work Nude shows the dimensions of the pattern nicely:

 

M/other artist

I spent most of last night deep breathing in an effort to avert myself from the tendency to toss and turn.

Too many thoughts clouding the mind, jobs to do things to create, assignments to write.

Exhibition deadline looms- 100 works to finish by July 1st. Just to round it out I'm attempting to finish a masters (part time) and working almost full time. The M and skids need feeding but thankfully they are capable of doing washing and cleaning themselves in our non-traditional state of domestic bliss where washing occurs sporadically (or when we run out of clean stuff) and cleaning arises from the need to see the floor, bench top or table once a month on average. they would feed themselves but I like to maintain some skerrick of control. Did I mention I am pregnant? Ouch.

Mid cranial cringe and squeeze past midnight last night I decided i had a new take on the handbag (skin of the beast) works for this year. Interestingly enough the idea to manufacture a series of handbags crafted from self portraits was planned to echo the deconstruction of the image and perception of self over the nine months of pregnancy - idea conceived prior to becoming pregnant. We had no plans on adding to the family - not consciously at least.

Ironically now as I struggle to complete these portraits they depict a perspective i could never have attained previously - the sickness, the tiredness, the stress, the fear. All these seep through into the works in the most interesting way. The ultimate freedom comes from the knowledge that I will cut up these images to refashion together into a 'useful' object: A handbag.

I have been videoing friends and family about influential women who have inspired them as well as speaking on the role of the mother - or the 'ideal' mother in an attempt to create a manifesto of the ultimate woman. Last night I realised if I spliced the act of deconstruction - the slicing, dicing, stitching and turning of the artwork into craft in between these narratives it could resonate more powerfully my intention of crafting identity and my act of deconstructing, reconstructing etc.

Images to come, I promise...

Making it to the BRAG Summit

I participated in the very interesting BRAG summit on Saturday.  As I was on the first panel following David Bromfield's introductory talk about the mechanics of the Survey selection I blathered incoherently for most of my allotted time - more about this later.

It was indeed interesting to hear David speak of his and Pippa Tandy's experiences encountering the South West. Expectations of dirt tracks, mud brick huts and neanderthal artists lay the foundations for their anticipated journey. They were resolutely surprised by the volume, sophistication, depth and dedication of arts practice they encountered however. This was bone picked by local art historian Diana Roberts who took great offence to the stereotyping of artists residing in the country as poor little country bumpkins who couldn't find their way out of a landscape watercolour class if they tried.  Whether there is any truth in this is something to be debated no doubt - is it a regional hang-up or a typical generalisation applied by city dwellers considering regional art practice?

Apparently according to David, the South West region of artists has missed out on the global shift in cultural attitude to art and the centre. We seemed to have missed the point made that working from the region is apparently an empowering position. That is of course according to arts writers, historians and critics - a bunch of trend spotters who look for the next 'hot' angle to promote, seek out and conquer in art. Long gone are the Damien Hirst diamond-studded skills to suffocate our senses thanks to the GFC of 2008. Now we see not monumental and 'magnificent' art but apparently genuine, authentic, art of place and identity, belonging and humility. Art that speaks a truth without the dollars and the flash. Apparently.

Interesting to note that artists often ponder lonely hours in their studios contemplating their communication through their medium. If we read and network and google and blog I am sure we mighty stay abreast of these shifting posts - basically trend highlighters. No longer is it fashionable to produce great vast art-wank for multi-billionaires' collections, it is now the 'in-thing' to produce art not connected to the centre, art from where it exists, that reflects a sense of it's circumstance - the global chorus sung by a global tribe of various artists scattered across remote and far-flung places. What I find interesting about this is the chicken-and egg syndrome. Daniel said it is luck to be successful as an artist and i feel he is right. Beaver away in your studio and one day the trend spotlight may seek you out to affirm it's hot-spot ideal. That, my friend, is luck. Luck is not, however a trend-seeking artist who then produces work that fits the current preferential paradigm, that is savvy business sense, clever marketing and astute production, not art.

So I find it interesting that David says we have missed the 'global is in' memo posted on the art history noticeboard. Perhaps we were too busy being 'authentic' working away in our studios to be empowered by a quick mind-shift that we are in fact luck to be practicing where we are. Lucky we are indeed - to seek out exhibition opportunities across state borders that cost more than our annual income to enter, freight, insure and show. Lucky to have an abundance of exhibition spaces available to us, lucky to have curators, arts writers, a population big enough to support our growth and development. I guess if we exist alone in our studios completely internet savvy and well-read we would be in a better position to be globally aware. Quick note for me: i am on satellite broadband and it SUCKS. I can lose HOURS of studio time just trying to understand HOW I might begin to communicate with he rest of the art world about what I am doing....

Apparently we need a center to fight against, to establish a regional identity so that it would be easier for an art historian to make broad generalisations about us (or in my case, include but completely ignore because i do not fit the boxes applied to the region in question or the meta narrative applied to the region in question). Are meta narratives useful in creating meaningful dialogue about a region or a group of artists from a  particular area? It makes it easier to create a picture or snap shot of unifying features perhaps, easier to apply a metaphor or allusion...it does not however, do the artists any favour to have their work skewed slightly so that it fits more meaningfully within a package that promotes a meta narrative...(I miss spelt 'meta' as 'meat' and that seemed quite a nice analogy, a meat narrative, all fleshy).

I guess I feel our very real complaints & concerns have been swept aside in view of a preferred critique that makes it easier to generalise and patronise our area. Having our very real problems diminished by an outsider in a position of privilege is no more than a parent reprimanding a child for being too demanding. Our complaints and concerns are very real to us and bear a greater degree than faced by urban artists - isolation, financial support, available exhibition opportunities, lack of cohesive guidance (like Artsource or DCA etc). The sheer cost of transport alone in getting to see shows or trafficking work to and from exhibition needs to be considered before you point out that we missed the boat when the global art trend squad decided we were empowered artists because we lived authentically and could join the global community at will despite our location.

BOOK REVIEWS

Saw a short version of the film 'the road' - pretty good. It's interesting that the intimacy between father-son comes across better in the film that the novel. perhaps it's a male author a bit starchy - difficult to evoke the same sense of sentimentality in a tough bloke without compromising his tough survival exterior....felt that the road was highly constructed as a novel - not organic, flowing naturally - more like oooh this will really horrify them every 40 pages or so just to effect impact: 

'What's really, really disgusting?'
'...A woman roasting her own baby!'
'- yeah, how desperate must they be to do that?' 

Obviously not desperate enough to grab the roast meat (remember we are STARVING) and run with it. Where's the placenta? Illogical. AND the reference to Auschwitz with the piles of shoes and blankets in that house...why would they want to freeze their food? Freezing them will only make them eat up more of their energy stores = tough meat. PLUS what were they doing with the blankets/shoes etc? nothing. Again illogical but there with the slap- shock factor.

 

Tim Winton's Breath. Don't know a female yet who loved it - such a boys book. And how is the sudden wrap at the end? i completely didn't buy it - grand sweep over wife and kids to sudden psychological impact of his youthful dalliances. Bullshit. He was atoning for having plumbed the depths of depravity = psychologically damaged man. wank. he needed to go there more to make it believable except he got bored when the sex was over, rolled over and went to sleep to finish the novel as quickly as possible. crap. ripped off having to put up with all that macho bullshit to get to the end empty handed. THIN.

 

On a happier note - just finished Revolutionary road- read it? OH MY GOD it is wonderful. It's up there with Capote for character analysis, I loved it, found it hilarious - without actually laughing - wry humour in his harshly realistic cauterizing of the suburban marriage. One of the few books I want to turn around and read again to linger over his clever insight and share passages of his brilliance with others. Brilliant. Brilliant. Brilliant. I definitely like my character novels. If you cannot see yourself in this you are as delusional as they are about themselves. Something for all of us to be learned here. Desperate to see the film now while it is all still fresh...stay tuned

Want to read the slap next - heard of it?  Shit I haven't ploughed through this many novels EVER before - I've read 11 books so far this year!!!  I wonder what's happened to me?

Mrsterpiece

Skin of the Beast is moving into second stage of production now. I am planning to move into the manufacture of handbags en mass experimenting with an array of materials. My favoured approach is to paint a Frida Kahlo style portrait that is then cut up and stitched into a bag. Will post pics soon. Looks very weird, hald an eye here, part of a lip over there, lovely rendition that critiques superbly the path of the 'masterwork' by the 'master' artist.

I have been videoing the women in my life and interviewing them about the women who inspire them the most trying to elucidate descriptors from them. I have also been asking about mothers and ideas of the good mother...very interesting that what we value in mothers is not often married with how we judge one another and ourselves...more of this later.

I have been invited to exhibit skin of the beast in the 2010 Bunbury Regional Galleries South West Survey.

The survey this year is a special celebration of the best and brightest in contemporary art practice of the South West and is curated by Pippa Tandy and David Bromfield.

Artists were selected following a three-month travelling safari where David and Pippa visited artists in their individual studios across the south west region of Western Australia visiting as many as 8 a day. I couldn't think of a more exhausting time to be had...

Needless to say, skin of the beast makes her debut alongside the very special video featuring my Gran and Aunty Vick fingering my handbag with disgusted delight....