Questions of derivation

Woke this morning with such good intentions and had all kinds of thoughts about plagarism while I was getting ready to leave the house. Now, as so often I have lost the train of thought over the course of the day and I am sitting wondering what I was so fired up about earlier. We are away to hang a gorgeous picture which we have just finally got around to having framed by a Vietnamese artist called Nguyen van Cuong; just Googled him and found that there are actually two artists with the same name, somewhat confusingly. Our guy is from Hanoi, grew up in a more rural location and paints great pictures of buffalo, often with numerous sets of eyes; he also does some wonderful woodcuts. It will be so cool to have the picture up because I love it and it reminds me also of a fantastic trip.

I probably won't do the topic justice now, but the plagarism thing revolved around some comments I read on Facebook by an art critic, who was looking at the work of someone who paints car wrecks as a metaphor for the state of the world, society etc. I didn't particuarly warm to the images as I felt that the meaning was attributed a bit randomly; the images themselves were not sufficiently strong to put over such weighty themes. What I had issue with was the critics assertion that they were plagaristic as they copied themes found in other artists, Warhol and others, who had also chosen the car as their theme (of which Warhol was the only one whose cars had crashed; the rest were more 'car portraits'). I take issue with this because I don't see the problem with the guy using the same subject matter as other artists; we all have a limited repertoire of subjects available to us and no-one would accuse a portraitist of copying Rembrant purely on the grounds that he, too, painted the human face. I think plagarism is an issue when the intent or the technique is directly copied, or both, but subject?

Picasso's series including Las Meninas took directly from other artworks, but produced something that was original; likewise Rego in her 'take' on Hogarth. A painting is inherantly both unique (it is a single object created uniquely) and derivative; we all take from our mental image bank, consciously and subconsciously. I just find the topic of plagarism a thorny one; fair enough if you are a forger and make your living that way, or you consciously choose to emulate the work of your idol; that cannot be considered truly original, but I am uncomfortable with labelling something as plagaristic on the grounds of subject alone. I feel annoyed sometimes when I find after the event that I have included a subject that is an echo of another painter, but I believe that this is inevitable also; we all reach conclusions independently and use the same developing 'language' of symbols and references. Maybe too we see as critics what we want or expect to see; we all have what Umberto Eco calls our 'background books'; sets of ideas whichs we bring to a location or experience based on our own research and what we expect to see. Often we see this as a default and find it hard to see the reality. Time to go hang up a painting....

A Small Sun

The sunflower I planted in our herb box finally came good and bloomed despite watching all its siblings go down to snail attack and losing all its leaves the same way. Not the largest sunflower I have ever clapped eyes on, but a success all the same; maybe a couple of inches across? I planted a good number in our first year in the house, some seven years ago and they all provided perfectly acceptable size flowers - on stalks at a few degrees off horizontal; decided at that point that the prevailing wind at the front is far too good a match for any but the hardiest plants and moved on to conifers and the like. They do great out there and even poor olive has recovered from losing half of his bodyweight to frost in the particularly evil winter; he's less of a classic shape now, but a born survivor. Think I may build him a little cover this winter though or he may begin to think I don't care..

Looked in on the new wine shop in town on the way past today; not to buy wine as I'm not one for that any more alas, but to check out the window display, which has caught my eye as it has been under construction. The installers made use of interesting wallpaper to shield the view of the public as the place was shopfitted, and now the same wallpaper, or tidier bits of it is draped artfully at the back of the windows giving a kind of ironic living room effect. The piece de resistance, however, is a selection of 1940s living room furniture, cabinets etc on which the wine is diplayed to the front; including an old record player on which some cans are constantly revolving as if in play. Very cool, or at least I thought so. The other window that has been catching my eye was also once an off licence, but is now being renovated for a purpose unknown. Over the past weeks I have peeked in as huge stone pillars and a whole wall of stone block was unearthed and cleaned to former glory. Imagine my horror today to see the two-by-twos going up around the pillars and in front of the stone wall...they are only going to cover it in plasterboard...?!! Some people shouldn't be allowed to take on creative projects, no doubt about it; I am now glued to the site in morbid fascination to see what further horrors are perpetrated before the fat lady sings... a video rental store? mobile phone emporium? another bleedin bathroom store?? Watch that space and weep.

Ahhh, see the tiny sunflower bending in the impending force five gale...

Speak to me...

Shared a joke with a customer today about the cover article on the New Scientist entitled 'Your Inner Voice' about why talking to yourself is actually good for you, increases your brain power or some such fascinating idea. Didn't read the article so I have no idea what it was really proposing, but it gave us a chance for a laugh at our own expense along the lines of 'I do it all the time', 'Only way I get a sensible answer' etc. Did like his observation that it is only if you get an answer that you need to worry; which is a worry in itself as I often do... One of my childhood hobbies, which carried through way too long into semi-adulthood and may have had something to do with a sheltered upbringing, was to act out tasks as if presenting on the television. Luckily for the world in general I never interpreted this as my calling and so spared me and the rest of the nation any attempts to launch a TV or presenting career. Blushing and muttering are not, I imagine, top of the list of qualities one searches for in the industry. To be honest, brutally and frankly, I still catch myself going to do it when I am cooking or drying my hair; it is one way to entertain yourself through life's more mundane chores and we don't have a telly.

I have just spent a few happy minutes researching what limited information is on the web concerning one of the world's lesser known, but surely well loved artists, one J. Campbell-Kerr.

The magazine 'People's Friend', published in Dundee since time immemorial and up there as a contender for longest running, has a cover illustration every week by the artist and an internal feature about a place of interest in the British Isles. It seems however that Ms/Mr Kerr is not as we may have thought; Wikepedia informs me that a number of artists produce the work and they are collectively published under the pseudonym. It makes sense as the timescale would only allow for an extremely long lived child prodigy.

Now I come to think of it, a memory is in my head of my mother suggesting this fact long, long ago on the grounds of differing painting styles; she is a lifelong reader and probably knows more about the publication than many. I must read one, for that is something I have never done; knowing me I would get hooked and end up buying copies furtively hidden among newspapers.

Finally got aroundt to reading the diary of my artist friend's trip on a symposium to Russia and it was truly fascinating; I must get around to visiting the country again some day as my memories of the art college trip back in around 1988 are still vivid. Also the only time aside from art college when group painting and discussion is possible, which must be a challenge, but also a huge buzz. Hoping to catch up with her in October when we head north on a mini-mini-break to find out some more first hand information about the possibilites of Stu learning framing and eventually other kinds of woodwork. Many things to learn and many ideas to bounce around in the coming months as we find our way forward to the next chapter.

Happy Snails

Just so you know, the term 'happy snails', which I have used a few times on posts is a reference to an early unknown work by a lesser known child prodigy composer. Me. Sadly, unlike Julia Donaldson of Gruffalo fame, who I recently read describing how she started composing children's songs at a young age before progressing to prose, I was rubbish. Sadly I don't see the Scotsman piece on my stratospheric rise to fame starting with the old 'I've always written little stories for my sister' (don't have one, another reason) line a la JK Rowling and the aforementioned. Still hoping to wheel out the episode where I copied the family copy of 'The Haywain' in watercolour aged something small, but I have a horrible feeling that I would make a certain face if said copy ever came to light again. I can dream. The happy snails, to return, were part of the very lovely work 'Freddy the frog and the slimy pond'; I seriously thought of quoting it there, but I shall maintain what shred of dignity I have and leave well alone. Suffice to say that the closing line 'Happy, happy, happy snails' has stayed with me these long years as a reminder of my childhood promise.

Looking again at my Paula Rego book this morning and realised that one of the things I love about her women is the expressions she captures; unusually mobile and descriptive. A customer in Ritchie's gallery commented on the expressions on the faces of my angels (positively) which has led me to ponder working this into some new pieces; I love the idea of angels being grumpy, irritable, pissed off... not angelic. Took some rather comic self portraits on my digital camera in the kitchen with this in mind that would make excellent blackmail material if anyone saw fit to steal them; not the most flattering portrayal and enough to have me reaching for the vitamin E cream post haste. June Carey's comments on drawing the face are also milling around in my head so I am looking forward to the next biggish piece being grumpy angel portrait based - although maybe after my acrobatic angel over Archie's Park, which has also taken residence in my head these last two days.

Darn it, sad news too in the paper; an article on Corrine Day, the photographer, mentioning her death from a brain tumour which I had no idea had happened. I remember the first couple of shoots she did with the very young Kate Moss and loved the one in Vogue in a 'grungey' flat with fairy lights stapled to the wall. I think my own fairy light obsession dates back to this, now I think of it. (Love the ones you see all over Thailand on the spirit temples and in random parts of restaurants). Corrine Day's appeal to me was that, although she staged or coached her models to a degree, the photos all finished up with that artfully nonchalant vibe that can be so hard to achieve. 'Directed realism', like Bruce Weber's all American version but with London grime.

A great loss as she had been working away with minimal ego and publicity for years in a way I really admired producing great images. I have never lost my love of photography as a medium, particularly in the realm of photojournalism or this kind of personal vision.

On a more postive note, I kicked butt this evening despite fatigue due to Stu's nasty little 1am finish followed by the old 6am alarm. 'Trade winds' is pretty much done; the one with the angel riding a blue elephant. I'll post it tomorrow when I have had a finish-up in daylight.

Oh, and a mini rant: how can anyone seriously throw a wobbler about a dented tin of food that they 'could not possibly eat' without feeling ever so slightly spoilt and over-priviledged?

Meeting Morso

Had a bit of a play with framing machinery this afternoon; hanging with my framers is a favourite painting day pursuit as they are really fun and you can go a little loopy sitting talking to cats all day in your studio. Make that loopier. Actually, make that any other word than loopier as loopy is actually right up there with 'arty-farty' as one of my least favourite expressions.

Long ago in London I and a friend once held to hostage a terrible photo of another friend and made her write out 'lines' like in school for its safe return. We chose her self proclaimed least favourite words as her lines and I can still see the piece of hand written scrawl she handed back;

baps, baps, baps... nick-nacks, nick-nacks, nick-nacks... thankfully my memory has erased the rest of the words; love those two though. This, I hasten to add, was how we passed some of our working time at a large and reputable publishing house in Covent Garden when we were supposed to be picture researching. Every time I hear articles on how many man-hours are lost through people calling in sick and web surfing I think of those days before widespread internet services when our job was to trawl libraries and photo agencies across London for pictures to include in publications. Key words here? 'Across London'. Bad day at the office? Trip to the British Museum. Hangover? Trip to somewhere no-one has heard of, which actually meant 'staying in bed'. After a very bad home hair dye experience I once managed to spend the entire (working) morning finding a salon that could do a repair job and getting it redyed; officially I was out hunting for botanical illustrations or similar. We always handed in the jobs on time though; no bad karma on that one; we just did it in an early approximation of flexitime.

And so to Morso; a Danish company who manufacture the industry standard framing mitre cutter and wood burning stoves. They seem to have a thing for cast iron, and very chunky and hard wearing it is too. I have been in the framing workshop a zillion times without really clocking the fascinating machine that is the Morso, so today's lesson was a real revelation. I had always imagined mitre cutters as a kind of saw, but no, this boy is a chopper. Two wonderfully hefty looking blades at a right angle and a foot pedal; clamp in the wood, adjust some adjusty bits and *whack* - down with the blade and a perfect bite of 45 degrees is removed. I am in awe of this as a piece of machinery and hope fervently that we can own one before long; so much more cool than a saw and of course not messy or sawdusty at all. I imagine you could lose a piece of your body pretty easily however so I don't imagine Morso is top of the H&S wishlist for a playgroup or similar institution; the plastic safety guard is a mere Hannibal Lecter mask which does little to diminish the apparent power.

Stu's framing ambitions are leading us to Gairloch in October; having played with my Edinburgh framers equipment we are to spend a quality day seeing how a rural cottage industry framer plies her trade; can't accuse us of lacking in thoroughness in research. I want to get an overview of how different systems work and the workability of different machines as relates to our situation. Then we can progress with authority, methinks. Or me hopes certainly.

An unexpected treat comes from this step of the learning curve (don't you just love a mixed metaphor of a Friday); I have found the solution to indulging my camping obsession while securing a less canvassy environment for Stu. Teepees. The campsite in Gairloch boasts a selection of wooden hut like constructions on a loosely teepee shape, complete with beds and heating -ta dah! Problem solved - Stu can, with a little imagination, think himself in a rigid structure with mod cons, and I can use mine to hear the flapping of canvas and the nestling reindeer nuzzling outside. I am sure we will be just peachy as long as the rain is kind to us, and if it chucks it down I am more than sure that a welcoming hostelry will be found for shelter and even a quiz night if we are really lucky...

Painting like a painting beast tonight so I shall away to my painty lair to keep the momentum going; Lotte the elephant riding angel is on her way to completion!

Chrysanthemum sky

Started the day with the song 'Ape man' stuck in my head thanks to Stu's Planet Rock habit; marginally better than the day I spent with Little Donkey on loop. Now, I am not in the habit of telling the porky peas on my blog, but a little frugality with the truth may be necessary in the weeks to come; suffice to say that developments are occurring in our tiny minds with a view to our continued creative development and lifestyle in the new year. While nothing is concrete we are working ourselves towards a new future and looking to learn the needed skills to fill the gaps in our repertoire.

Exciting times for the residents of the Bateau-Lavoir and testing ones too; a spring is in the step and a bright golden haze on the meadow. With this in mind I was much amused by the horoscope proposed by my crap magazine today: 'Ignore those suggesting that you're meant to remain where you are rather than hurl yourself into some new kind of venture. The sun's tie-up with Pluto is making you restless and causing you to question recent developments that have left you feeling powerless. All that's about to change, and only you can do anything about it.'

I do hate a feeling of powerlessness of an afternoon; quite right that I should get the heels on and start marching...

Chum and I were debating a Japanese pop artist who we had both forgotten the name of; lo and behold if the same crap mag didn't also provide the answer to this conundrum as well; Takashi Murakami is the man in question and I must look him up as I have been touching on the area of Far Eastern kitchy pop in my last picture. It started out being more about Sweden, but an element of Hong Kong has crept into the final piece when I decided to go with a chrysanthemum sky; I had been toying with using flowers as clouds before but it was only when I cut the potatoes that I realised they reminded me of the greetings cards I bought in HK on our trip there years ago. Bangkok has also provided me with a fine array of kitch poppy art material over the years but in Hong Kong I found the source of all things fluffy, pink and sparkly. As the spiritual home of Hello Kitty it has no competitor in my experience for an explosion of accessories, toys, backpacks, hair ornaments... you can imagine. One of my most prized possesions, literally, is a wind-up toy plastic panda in its little box that I bought in a supermarket over there for pennies; for some reason it just really does it for me.

Had a comic moment last night introducing Stu to the concept of the porn star name; an established convention where the name of your first pet and your mother's maiden name are juxtaposed to create your unique porn star name. I, for example am 'Smokey Tallis' (love it); Stu comes out as the glorious and definately spangly cowboy themed 'Hammy Danne'.

Spent last night working out the nitty gritty for the Angels show; how many pictures, what framing I need to look at, sizes and ideas for the last few pieces. Looks like I will have 14 main images and a wee bunch of six smaller ones, all framed, and then as many postcard sized pictures in biro, watercolour, crayon, collage etc. as I can produce in the final weeks. Feeling happy and confident in what I have produced so far which is a minor miracle in itself, and still some of my favourite ideas left to go. Today I embark on a pair to the painting 'Over the roof' which was the first to suggest the relationship of angels over the roof of the world; this one sees our Swedish rock angel making the journey astride a big blue elephant. Can't wait to get started, so I shan't.

Went West

Went over to Glasgow for various reasons; mainly to visit private view of printmakers/painters in the Big Mouth Coffee Co, also to have long driving-down-motorway catchup, gossip, inspirational chat with art college buddy who I have just re-met after a ten year interlude. Great way to fill a journey and fill in all the shared news at the same time. I have been to Glasgow plenty of time in the years I have been in Edinburgh but never to Byres Road area, north-west of Kelvingrove and near the Botanic Gardens; this is where we were headed today. Spent a lovely afternoon wandering vintage shops and checking out cafes, bars and shops; it is a great area for browsing and we found all kinds of little inspirational things. Also ate the largest (and very tasty) piece of carrot cake known to man and drank one of my very rare cups of coffee; one too many and it all goes tits up as I seem to have a lowered resistance to caffeine nowadays.

I was particularly interested in seeing June Carey's work and meeting the artist in question as a) I love her pictures and it is always good to do a bit of hero worship and b) she is one of the organisers of the Art off the Rock function that takes place in Stirling in October. When I finally plucked up courage to talk to her, which my chum quite rightly described as being like trying to build up the pluck to approach the boy you fancied at a school disco), she was very pleasant and interesting on a couple of things I had wondered about in her pictures. Having my own issues with lack of models and being a largely figurative artist I am always interested in how others get around the problem. I was amazed to find that Stephanie Rew, who produces amazingly academic figurative studies with draped kimono fabrics, works largely from photos. June said something similar; how we all essentially use our own face for reference, then warp it a bit so all our paintings don't end up looking like us, but now we need the reference to keep the drawing 'true'. Very true. She also uses her son in the same way I have started to use Stu as a bit of a 'muse' or reference figure; I had noticed the same facial characteristics in a whole bunch of her pieces and somehow imagined that a 'real' artist would have some big studio with models on call and studio lighting.. nope, same as the rest of us. Somehow greatly reassuring.

I liked the emphasis on keeping the drawing 'real' as well because thats where it can go wrong so often I think and gets in a nutshell the difference I see in work that 'works' and just doesn't quite get it.

The private view was actually very strange in that it didn't resemble any other I have been to. Usually the set up is just the same; people standing or wandering around holding glasses of wine and talking about painting or other related subjects. This one was a coffee shop full of people who knew each other sitting at tables in deep conversation about not necessarily art related subjects, not looking at paintings and drinking a variey of beverages; at first we thought we had the time wrong and the cafe was still open. Apparently Chum went to a similar thing in Glasgow the other week at a bar and had a strangely similar experience where no-one seemed to be sure who was there for the promotion and who was just a random customer or wanderer from the street. Must be a Glasgow thing, we decided, like the red tenements I noticed just as I had said how odd it was that all the tenements were actually sandy-ochre like the Edinburgh ones.

My only other geek joy of the day was entering the M8 into the fast lane on the weird junction where it does that, which is the only place I have seen it in this country. Hey, small things...