To The Mitchell

To Glasgow today, to track down The Mitchell. I have shifted to the other computer tonight because my non-saving blog accident means that I have given myself a two-post day; *phew*. And... I have forgotten to wear my glasses all night when I have been painting/printing, so the eye police will be after me - I can feel a low level headache starting and things.. are.. going.. fuzzy....

This was a bit of a bonus day as I had resigned myself to not submitting to the RGI show for the first time as I hadn't got the day off, the carrier had proved too expensive and I was thinking that I really didn't need the added stress that such things inevitably bring. Finally snapped and admitted that it was important to me, so swapped shifts to allow a trip over to the west. It's pathetic, but you do feel as if it is you being judged as well as your art; and having your art judged in such an impersonal way is bad enough. No feedback will ever be given so you are left to imagine the worst; judging panel left helpless with laughter at artist's feeble attempt at painting.. who knows what goes on behind those hallowed portals? Finding the portals was the first job of the day; having had a shifty online and discovered that The Mitchell was a building of large and stately proportions capped with a generous dome, I was a touch puzzled that I had never noticed it in one of many meanders up and down Sauchiehall Street. All indicators suggested that it would be visible from said thoroughfare and in an area with which I am familiar.

Caught the wonderfully cheap bus from St Andrews and settled down for a good old snooze, slightly hampered by two paintings wedged in front of my knees as I was far too clingy to let them go anywhere else; luckily the bus was quiet and no crazy person tried to join me in my limited space.

To cut a long and somewhat tedious story short; a quick march up Sauchiehall, past some truly excruciating buskers and the dreaded Primark, I found myself on the familiar turf of the M8 over/underpass that divides shops from B&Bs. Lo and behold as I waited for the lights to turn my eyes fell upon a large dome, and under it a sadly located building of some size and presence. The Mitchell. Poor thing to end up overlooking a motorway underpass among a collection of buddlea infested pavements and ramps; not quite what the architects had in their original vision, one imagines. Great interior though, and the checking in process was made more painless than usual by the two exhibitors in the queue being in ownership of some truly appalling paintings. One was a carrier, so at least he had no connection to the creations he carried (and tried to disown by mentioning that he was a carrier some four or five times); please note I am not being snobbish or insensitive here, the work sucked bigtime. I have had my time of being horribly aware that my work stuck out like a sore thumb among professional offerings and so for once I was grateful for the boot to be on the other foot.

Most of the rest of the artworks were stacked face to the wall as if they had been misbehaving, so more relief there, although I did spot a familiar work from a guy who works in Coburg House studios whose name escapes me, and it is just as well because I found him less than congenial when I visited his space at the open day. Nuff said.

Unladen I skipped back to Buchanan bus station and slept like a 'bairn' on the bag of bubblewrap I now carried all the way back to Corstorphine.

Twas then a hop and a skip over to Candlemaker Row to collect the next batch of frames for the two shows and catch up with my harrassed framers, who are just about to go off on holiday and so probably needed my next order of six frames like a proverbial hole in the head. The ones I got back look great though and that was me back to the studio printing on frames, paintings and myself for three hours... A day well spent methinks.

Last night we watched a film Ritchie leant me with my current angel obsession in mind: Luc Besson's 'Angel-A' from 2005. Not a film I had heard of or seen any reviews of, but that was a bitch of a year so maybe no surprise there. Set in Paris (the other reason it was suggested I would like it) and very heavy on the fairytale, it is beautifully shot in black and white and gave me Paris sickness bigtime. Lord knows when I will be back over...

Loved it anyway and had the predictable teary moment; not that this necessarily means that much with me as Stu will testify. There aren't that many films in the collection that don't produce a wee blub at some point; I am just an old sentimental fool, and proud of it:)

Now, two weeks waiting to see if a Nilsson will adorn the walls of the Mitchell this November...

Dancing lights in the rain

Gutted; wrote this whole post before setting out to Glasgow this morning (Thursday, because I forgot to post it yesterday) and then realised when I got back that it was sitting as a draft. Somehow....managed not to save it and posted nothing. Back to the start, although it may be a little briefer this time around, my heart's not in a day old blog post.

The day was earmarked for taking Stu's mum out for a late birthday outing as our cashflow and lack of days off together had made it impossible on the day over two weeks ago. Naturally the day dawned hidden by a sheet of rain and it continued to chuck it down for most of the rest of the day, but we were undeterred as I am of the humble opinion that the Borders can look just as lovely in the wet, and the Tweed is great when it is really dashing. I managed to work in an artistic endevour so we kicked off with a visit to the Dancing Lights gallery near Lamancha, on the road to Peebles. The gallery is in a new (year old) complex that also houses an organic farm shop and cafe, all of which were very shiny, jolly and friendly; shall definately return for some of their fine looking produce, all the meat and veg being from the farm itself; on a less challenging day we could have wandered the 'duck walk' around the grounds and farmland.

The gallery is owned by Helen Bell, a chartered accountant who has come to curating via appreciation of art and has done a fine job gathering some accessible and attractive work in a very light, airy space. Ludmilla Kosmina's ceramics are in evidence, (she is part of the show with Ritchie and myself in November) alongside fellow potters Mark Haillay, Vanessa Bullick and Alison Ogden. Of the painters I was drawn to Gill Shreeve, whose work I have seen at the SSA show and which fitted perfectly here as her near-abstract forms always speak to me of a very organic, earthy theme. There were more of her pictures in the restaurant, which again suited them beautifully. Stephanie Tristram also had some great work up and a few others who I failed to record; no insult meant, I was in networking mode to a degree and so not concentrating as much as I should. Helen's mum was in gallery sittting and was more than happy to pass on details to her daughter; I must admit I would love to show here as it is much more interesting and directional than many of the Lothian galleries I have bumped into. Fingers crossed.
We continued on to Peebles but I failed in my aim to track down more galleries of interest; it is always hard on a day like that to get enthused about any more than holing up in a good pub for lunch, so we did the decent thing and didn't resist.

Allspicy

The title is because of my state of mind, which is full of eagerness and promise at the idea of two days off and a trip to Glasgow to submit paintings for the RGI show; also because someone asked me what Allspice was and I remembered from some dark corner of my brain and told them. To make it even more remarkable in the world of stored random facts, Stu didn't know. Wowsers. It's weird when that happens; expectations subverted. It's a spice that looks kind of like a peppercorn and is the dried berries of something related to Mulberry and is used in the Jerk seasoning of the Carribean and Middle Eastern cuisine. It is called allspice because in some century the British decided it tasted like a blend of spices that they already knew about; in fact its not a blend at all but just uno spice. Which is what distinguishes it from 'Mixed spice' which is.. mixed spice. Various. Which is what the question was all about in the first place that I miraculously knew the answer to.
Thought of something else miraculous today; following on from how us artists are all sensitive and crazy and self indulgent I realised how amazing it is that Stu, with no former artistic background, puts up with and actively encourages my creativity and introspective behaviour, not to mention talking about figs as if they are creatures or maybe planets. It's really very cool and underlies my whole ability to do everything that I do in the line of painting, writing and general creativity.
So; trip to Glasgow is on now to take pictures to the RGI show. One of the other fascinating discoveries (or observations) of the day is how you don't know how much something means to you until it is about to be taken away; or how what's been making you act cranky until it is removed. So today I discovered that submitting my pictures to the show was a really big deal to me because I almost couldn't do it; so I made it possible by grovelling to fellow cashjobworkers to cover my shift on Thursday. (Thank you Tim; you will be rewarded in art heaven.) Also I realised why I had been feeling so out of sorts. 1) Extreme tiredness, soon to be rectified by two days off instead of one and a return coach journey, sleeping, to Glasgow, 2) Not getting a shot at exhibiting the pictures.
Thinking about torch singers, and the film Priscilla, queen of the desert; both with relation to the pictures that started out as angels and have now morphed into the leaf-bunny ladies. Now morphing further as new ideas and influences either appear or are recognised. For now, however; sleep.
I have two days to get up to artistic mischief.

More minnows

I love the things you learn just by standing around being alive. Discovered today that you can feed bees fondant icing over the winter; pop a piece in their little food receptacle (what would that look like?) and they will wander over in their winter daze and have a little lick to keep them going. How did someone think of this, what did they do before and has anyone latched onto it as a product? Must check out a beekeeping website and see if there is someone out there marketing funky flavoured icing with a catchy bee-friendly name. And I found this out purely because someone felt the need to tell me. Someone also felt the need to talk to me about figs again but this is no longer a surprise. Good quote from the Saatchi site, if a little long, but as it concerns this 'sensitivity' to things, coincidence, visual cues etc it's worth repeating I think.

' What we all do is art, you know? We are noticers, we are sensitives, we notice the rhythms in certain things and we identify them, and then we coin terms for them, and most of the world is not able to keep up. But some people just have that innate thing that allows them to express themselves in a way the majority can follow.' - Pharell Williams.

Maybe that is what we strive to do ; find a kind of happy medium between expressing ourselves in art that only we can understand, and pleasing the majority too. That has certainly been a dilemma of mine for a long time; to paint what springs forth naturally or to somehow tailor this for a perceived audience? Saying it out loud makes me realise the folly every time as the only 'true' work will be that created with no artifice or intent of pleasing 'them'. By 'true' I mean that which has integrity, good drawing and is made in the right mental state for the right reason. I can tell every time when I am working on something that will end up behind the sofa and when I am doing something I will still want to see in two years' time; the problem is I insist on completing both and then stress about the ones that I shouldn't have finished in the first place. But then there is the dilemma when someone else sees the one behind the sofa and declares it 'your best yet'; hard one to reply to that.

It always bothers me to a degree talking about the sensitivity of artists; how we can see what others can't and are in touch with some force within and without ourselves - it feels arrogant and precious. But it is so true. Now I am nearing the completion of work for the Angel Haven show, which has taken up half a year in which I have been nose to the grind every spare moment, I reach the phase of questioning, doubt, anxiety. The certainty and confidence that exists during the creative process is suddenly stripped away and the creeping worries come to the front of my mind. I have been asked for an image for the publicity material and this is now a major issue for me; should it be one of the less obvious images to intrigue (or repulse) or a more conventional piece? What will best represent what has ended up a fairly cohesive but varied collection of image? Who said artists are too sensitive?...

Reading the blog of a fellow artist and friend and chuckling at how similar our concerns are; finding a niche, looking for the big answers.. where does my work fit into the great scheme of things? Sometimes it seems as if the internet explosion has created a world full of so many million artists, creatives, all of a sudden. I guess we were there all along, and have now just found a voice and a method of distribution that is open to all and allows work to cross the world in an instant. It is both exciting and threatening; it can make you feel like a very small fish in an ocean of competition, or part of a very large shoal. Depends how the mood takes you.

Bunny-leaf ladies

Sundays rule! Stunning sunny day today with a chill, but as previously stated, I am never happier than when swathed in woollies. Spent my first shift at Ritchie's gallery savouring the first time I have been paid to paint (rather than selling a painting), chatting to a selection of customers and meeting a mad local. I was accosted by said local as I was locking up and he gave me a brief synopsis of the local buildings and what had previously occupied their sites; who lived in what building, who they were related to and where they now resided if they were former occupants. This would have been fine if he hadn't, for reasons unknown, decided that I was Ritchie, and called me by his name every other word; truly surreal. For the record, it is probably possible to find two humans less alike than me and Ritchie, but not much given gender and height difference; amazing how context colours opinions.

I'd been doodling some ladies with leaf/bunny-ear hats/hair and decided to go with a few of them on my first ever box canvases (not entirely true, I did one last year for the lovely people who put us up for the first few weeks on Arran), but boy how time flew! I had it in mind to do three wee boxes and then sketch out and even start a bigger board. Managed two boxes and that was pushing over closing time; I didn't have a watch as usual and when I finished the first and checked time on the speaking clock I was amazed that two hours had already elapsed. Not even a cup of tea by that point!

Besides being a different way of painting to board it was quite easy to get into the swing of things and I left pleased with what I had accomplished; it would have been a bit mortifying to leave no trace of my artistic endevours for the day and have to mutter excuses! One lady showed interest and asked the price of my first one when it was not fifteen minutes on display so I hope they will go to good homes soon. The box canvases at that size (5x5") are very cute and can just sit on their own as a wee object; I like that, and they look good in little groups. I even managed to get the potato prints in, although it was weirder printing on a moving surface and it made a freaky sucking noise I am not accustomed to working on board...

Now my plans for the next picture at home are in disarray; I was all set to go for 'The Plaza Ballroom', which is a seascape with crinolined lady in a boat, and snowflakes, but now I have bunny-ears on the brain and can't help thinking how cool it would be to merge the two ideas; the angels with painted faces and the kind of 1920s vibe of the bunny ladies. The bunny ears, which are also kind of petals, are inspired by my potato print shape that I call 'bunny flower' (funnily enough) and the very cool rubber swimming hats with 3D flowers that I used to soooo covet as a teenager. Thinking of aqua, orange and pink colour scheme, kind of like a diner/ice cream shop look, or Bakelite; I am mixing my design decades here but who cares!

I am dreaming of how much fun it will be to never get up and go to a cashmoneyjob again... to paint for a living and have only myself and Stu to worry about (and a whole heap of customers, but there's no escaping them...). Insert dreamy Sunday song here.

Return of the woollies

Feels like an awful long time since last I sat at this computer. Twig the monster kit has made it her mission in life to prevent me working on the Mac as we have to keep the keyboard and mouse hidden and a jumper over the screen. Why? 'Cause the little darling can 'type' and wakes me up with the tapping of paws on keys and the sound of the Mac waking time after time at night if preventative measures are not taken. Maybe, just maybe, this is why Mr Jobs invented the tablet computer...

Just talking, or listening, computers with my mother. She is determined to learn to use one, thinks it will be useful, but in a deft doublethink move also considers them to be the enemies of civilisation and destroyers of moral values and human interaction. Okay, she has a point on the last one, but only a minor score. Digital cameras fall into the same (weird) category; she has about five and uses them all the time but despises anyone else who uses one in preference to 'real' film and lord help you if you dare to manipulate an image in the name of creativity... Reminding her that in years gone by she was the master of the 'fiddle' as it was fondly known - splicing pictures together, double exposures, shooting model tabletop sets - is met with distain. This is something entirely different and blatantly evil. I have been trying to get her to update to broadband so she can actually send emails rather than sit looking at messages and egg timers for hours on end, but to no avail. First it was because men would have to come into the house to lay cables, meaning disruption and unwelcome cleaning of the spare room. Next it was rejected on cost basis and complicated installment (wireless); I am ready to throw in the towel.

Last week I tried the new discovery; dongles which plug into your USB port and provide internet access via 'mobile phone' technology. Tonight I was told that this was apparently 'not reliable' and not suitable for her needs anyway; pointing out that the zillion users of iphones, Blackberries, Kindles, et al might have had a few words by now if the devices didn't actually work fell on deaf ears. Unsurprisingly. There is little more annoying than knowing the answer to a problem and being resolutely refused the right to put it into practice.

Did some great painting this morning in my favourite time slot; 6-9am. Stu needed a run in for his ludicrously early start (to finish around 11pm, good old catering) so I returned and whacked straight into the face on my "Haven" picture. I think it is a combination of mind clear from accumulated worries, light fresh and clean, cats sleepy, best cup of tea of the day; I always find it my most productive timeslot by far.

Went for my second haircut of the year after that; I love the fact that my hairdresser, if left unchecked, always cuts just a little too short. This means of course that the haircut lasts just a little longer before I begin to look like the Wild Woman of Wongo; a photo from last week was the trigger for the operation as I could barely see my face for the frizz. Potentially not a bad thing, but drying time in the morning was also reaching unacceptable lengths, which is not very me. Blast hair, slap on slap, out door is more my style. Speaking of which I have realised that one of the reasons I enjoy the onset of autumn is the excuse to return to my natural uniform of jumpers, jeans and scarves. Poetically, I can claim that this is my Scandinavian heritage showing itself and that my apalling dress sense in summer is a byproduct of this fact. Less poetically it is easier, removes the need for constant waxing and means that ironing is no longer a daily occupation. Weirdly I have far less clothes for the winter months, which may also play a part; take away the element of choice and the whole shebang is far less stressful and time consuming. No real point in trying out new combinations of jeans, jumpers and scarves before going out; the most adventurous I need to be is perhaps a woolly hat to finish the look. On Arran last year I bought a fine woolly helmet in April when it was still chilly and commented to the shop lady that it was probably a bit late in the season to be making such a purchase. She just looked at me funny and laughed in a way that was to become all too familiar in the following months. Lets just say the words "Twin Peaks" and leave it at that.

It did give me a few monumental fashion moments over the summer as I experimented liberally with the idea of dresses, leggings and woolly hats, safe in the knowledge that everyone else on the island was on holiday and couldn't have given two hoots or were not on holiday, therefore resident, therefore... I'll say no more.

Determined to leave the heating alone until absolutely necessary this year, so scarf in the house is the way to go for now, and - soon - retire to bed early with a good book and a pile of cats.

Colour swatches

Bought a fig.

The fig sits plainly

Suggestive of inner life.

I ask it questions

Thinking a lot about colours today; maybe it is still the fig thing. I am also determined to get a picture over to Glasgow for the RGI show; I am unable to get there on the submission days but have emailed the carrier service. I just have a good vibe about the work I have done this summer and hope I might get accepted. Maybe I won't tell Stu I'm submitting though as he knows how it wears me down. It's like being rejected from colleges or failing exams; you come out with all kinds of excuses why it won't matter if you don't get in (talking to yourself of course) and everyone else looks at you in that way they all have of knowing that you are gutted. I've submitted to two SSA shows over the last few years to no avail and it always comes back to soul searching and 'oh no I'm just rubbish and no-one's had the heart to tell me yet...'

Anyway; think I'll do it anyway if I can sneak it past Stu and then he won't be trying to protect me from my own paranoia and anxiety. Problem is that where Stu is concerned I am the worst ever keeper of secrets; blogging about it isn't a great start exactly but I don't think he reads my words of wisdom too often. Sure way to find out!

Colours I am thinking of are those indefinable and wonderful combinations that you just see and are amazed that someone - or nature - have come up with such an audacious pairing. Tonight the sky was that amazing winter blue, with an apricotty bottom and these huge lowering clouds in slate blue. It was the slate blue that was the genius - really dark and opaque against the luminous sky. The fig is of course another thing; from the outside it is dark and brooding in purples and bruise colours but then there is that fantastic lime (? not really) green piercing through the cloudiness. And I haven't even opened the fruit yet; still more excitement to come.

Chartreuse is another that can take your breath away when it is next to certain things; I guess it would be lost in a mass of cream and white but put it side by side with a deep purpley navy or even a really rich moley grey and the effect is electric. I've also been messing with burnt sienna, which I have always kind of sidelined as something you might use in a muddy bit of watercolour depicting autumn foliage, but it can also act like a great grey; as a foil for other more vibrant, obvious colours. The picture I am just doing is the third or fourth in a row where I have offset the sienna against, in this case, turquoise and formerly, orange. Really liking how it looks and it is taking me further away from my 'old' palette, which had become a bit of a comfort zone.

The night is really autumnal, cold and flat tonight; clear sky after that great sundown and the draughts around my windows are reappearing for the winter. Time for a hasty retreat to the studio on the 'warm' side of the house. Playing with box canvasses for Ritchie's gallery which have always been a problem for me as I don't usually work on canvas and it throws me a bit. Works quite differently, and in this case they are also very small so I am trying to create shorthand versions of some things and subjects that I love. We shall see.