Summer months are often the busiest for artists. I am dedicating these long daylight hours to getting as much actual creating done as possible. But there are also a lot of exhibitions and these require a degree of organisation. The pandemic gave us Zoom which means not every meeting needs to be in person but yesterday despite the heat I was glad to have two meetings in opposite environments, 10 miles apart, in the Tamar Valley. The first one on Dartmoor was at The Garden House. A beautiful garden where I have enjoyed some tranquil drawing days.
No sketching for me, I was there for a scheduling meeting. It was very hot but I was thrilled to find some very wooly sheep hunkered down in the shade of a stone wall, taking life very easy as I left The Garden House ready for meeting number 2 in Plymouth.
In complete contrast to the rural location of the first meeting the second one was in a city with all the additional heat and bustle of a busy urban environment.
Cooling off came with the familiar sound of an ice cream van, parked up and ready to offer chilled relief in the sunshine.
Texture and context in life is everything. Yesterday was a good example of both. And now back to the brushes.
East wind and a high tide can make swimming a little like spending time in a washing machine, at our normal beach. So Today I, once again, chose the secluded steps access to the sea, where there is a little shelter from an easterly wind. This time without interrupting a mourning family. See below ⬇️
Wind was on my mind because, after swimming, I had two consecutive sessions of painting with two different groups. And I needed to finish a painting that features abstract shapes that represent the wind and Smeatons Tower, our local landmark Lighthouse.
To say I have become obsessed with painting the wind since living on a peninsular would be an understatement. I have even thought about getting a home weather station.
Now to excuse myself for a late blog. A timely blog would have happened between the first dog walking image and the second swimming image, but I met three different people I knew on the dog walk and, quite frankly talked too much.
1, Sweet Peas and their placement in a south facing garden with a neighbour.
2, A local anniversary fete with someone I only know by sight.
3, A road accident with a friend I haven’t seen since March.
Blogging time blown out of the water. I had a very quick turnaround to meet my swimming companion. Then we were both off to the same art group where talking and creating is the point of the whole thing. Networking would be the word. Very good for artists who largely work in isolation. We planned our next group exhibition.
Then off to meet the next group, predominantly crafters, at a cafe. It turns out I was at the wrong cafe but I met a friend who I had not seen for a few weeks and we caught up on a project that we had both been working on for a Tennis Club. Half an hour later, no crafters at the cafe and I Whatsapped them to see if the gathering had been cancelled.
I was in the wrong place!
Finally I reached the place where talking was always the plan. For once I was fairly quiet, but I did finish the wind painting.
When I was a small person someone who talked too much was given the derogatory title of a ‘right’or ‘old’ windbag.
On reflection I have definitely been that person today. Caught somewhere between being old, juvenile or pompous.
Or worse!
My father used a much less palatable description of the over-talkative and called chatty people ‘verbally incontinent’. He was himself a skilled listener and rather a wise bean.
How do you use windbag in a sentence?
She was a bit of a windbag, but chatterbox would be a kinder term, she did paint a good wind while she nattered.
Altered photograph of the bar at the VOT where I ended up. Looks a bit windy to me.
Science steps in to gently rub salve into my busy mind.
A visit to Bangkok’s Museum of Modern Art definitely blew my Contemporary art thoughts last month.
I really struggled with my own ignorance of Buddhist and Hindu culture. The first two floors, that I chose to visit, presented art created in the last twenty years but absolutely the subject matter were traditional tales, largely presented in 2d and rendered in styles that are centuries old. I was completely exhausted by hyper-real women with perfectly formed bodies perkily posing, predominantly for the male gaze but pretending to be a classic image telling a traditional story in a contemporary way. In short I was exhausted by perky breasts and buttocks and uncomfortable with images of prepubescent girls depicted with their clothes absentmindedly slipping from their bodies.
My apologies for this being a repeat sentiment of a previous blog. But since the last blog two second-hand books have arrived in my house. Short introductions to Buddhism and Hinduism.
I am making a start with Buddhism.
And in particular with Satan’s Daughters. 10 in number, and the subject of a painting that I really enjoyed trying to understand in Bangkok.
Satan’s Daughter(s)? by Surathin Tatana
Louis Pasteur clarified beautifully the artistic journey that I am on currently. Science is a wonderful thing.
Being surprised by something is the mind’s first step towards discovery. Louis Pasteur
We have lived in this house for nearly two years. In this period of time the studio has been tidied 5 or 6 times. The most recent was yesterday.
Previous tidying was done because.
1- the studio was the packing box storage area.
2- all of the London flat moved into it.
3- we lost our passports in the move.
4 and 5 the studio is used as a dumping area over Christmas.
6. The studio now needs to be a multi function space. A studio, an exercise area and a playroom for small granddaughters.
The studio has never been tidied for art reasons. Although that remains the primary function of the space. Yesterday felt a little bit like an arty clear out but despite the other tidy-up sessions feeling diligent this was the one that located several lost paintings. Paintings that I couldn’t remember selling but also couldn’t find. Some of them have been missing for years. Finding them was such a treat. One especially, of pumpkins, makes me so satisfied to have him back in the portfolio. But just now trying to find the picture for this blog he is once again not to be found.
I am very vexed. In a similar style to my poor care of the studio my Instagram page has suffered from me paying more attention to other Instagram accounts. These pictures are my Instagram grids. Loads of lovely images, interesting subjects but I really need to get paintbrush to paper very soon and get more art on there. But today I am satisfied with a tidy studio, procrastination at its finest.
We were both early to the party and late to the party. We were there as the doors opened on the last day of the exhibition.
I was overwhelmed by the experience. Ordinarily if this exhibition had been in a home city I would have booked at least two further visits to fully absorb the significance and depth of what I was seeing. For this blog I am just going to ponder the large installation that was in the basement of the art gallery.
Her work is immediately joyful. When I walked into the installation I felt like I had symbiotically absorbed more champagne than would be conducive to steady walking. A smile appeared in my soul instantly. I could quite happily have laid in a great big bean bag and stayed there all day. The perfect thing would have been to be dressed all in black laying on a black bean bag watching the instant pleasure playing out on every visitor in the room. I realise, of course, that I would have been a hazard, slips, trips, and falls magnet and completely forbidden by the Health and Safety Axis of power. But a woman can dream.
As you can see in the picture above I was dressed to impress. Largely an accident of very minimal packing and a fortuitous find of earrings in Zara.
Every moment in this installation was a feast for the mind.
This was the moment a door opened.
I may stop wittering at this point and just share some photos. Have a fabulous Saturday.
Nothing is quite as it seems in Bangkok on a Public holiday weekend. With the King himself elsewhere. The city is decorated for a party but there are no additional public celebrations. People do indeed seem to be taking a break and the city seems quieter than we imagined, Businesses and Temples are closing earlier.
The Thai King and Queen are in London this weekend.
Our evening explorations are proving to be unpredictable. Daytime yesterday we achieved what we set out to do and I thought I knew what this blog was going to be about. Based as it is on a daytime event. Our day was planned to be spent at Moca, The Museum of Contemporary Art which it was. And then I was going to write about it. But one of Asias largest collections of Contemporary art blew my mind a bit and I feel lost as to where to start. So much so that we are off to a different art gallery today to try and get a bit of context and maybe distil my thoughts. Even my trusty phone camera was baffled. The top picture is by Yayoi Kusami. Not her traditional Polka dots, this 2021 painting is still part of her Infinity Nets series. The painting is a yellow and black image displayed on a lime green wall. Nothing I did could replicate the acidity of the combination. A fine metaphor for the rest of our visit really. So this blog is not going to be about the art we saw but more about how we felt. I am going to share two proper writers reviews of this collection of contemporary art because my inane witterings will not do it justice.
Please read them, they really will better prepare you for my over-sharing of our responses.
The first one I need to get off my chest, pun intended, is that I was exhausted by perfect perky breasts and smooth, mostly hairless bodies. Traditional and cultural stories, visually explored even in contemporary art seemed very much aimed at the ‘ male gaze’ market.
Goddess of Earth, Chatawan Rodklongtan
Goddesses are perhaps excused perfection but goodness me it got exhausting.
Some images were, to me a little troubling. One, certainly traditional in subject matter, represented young girls, just at pre-, puberty preparing for traditional Thai dancing. What was unsettling to my Western eyes was that so many of them needed to be topless and also, due to the skill of the artist, seem to lock eyes with the viewer.
Much more to my taste was the one below that represented more natural older women.
It is going to take me and google quite some time to research the meaning of this in Buddhism but these are just my early response.
Sundays seem to be the day instagrammers are about. There were several groups of people, one at least with a professional photographer, anxious not to see the art but to ‘be seen’ with the art.
Not that I am immune to the lure of the ‘gram’.
Is this not the most beautiful Lemon Meringue Pie ever?
I have no shame in sharing that it appears on my Instagram grid.
So much more art to discuss, so little time. Arty witterings for many future blogs.
I am a mucky painter. The only time my studio desk is tidy is when I am a procrastinating painter. Yesterday’s victory over the admin for entering an exhibition gave me time to do all sorts of life admin and a spare hour, to start another painting. The chance, I realise to talk about light quality.
Late afternoon light.
Thankfully this is proper paper so the blotting paper battles of the last couple of days are over. I rarely paint at night but I wanted to get a push on this one. The next picture demonstrates why I need to get a daylight bulb.
Artificial light, no natural light.
My studio faces west but our back yard is painted a brilliant white. So early morning, reflected light extends natural daylight from early spring until October.
Early morning light.
And then finally, although this picture is far from finished the positive impact of a mount.
Sunset Storm WIP
I realise there is not so much pondering here so far,but the blotting paper debacle did, in a crisis, teach me that I can prep paper with Alcohol inks. I gave that a little whirl on this painting which is a doodle really. I over-did it but the marshmallow clouds are exactly what I was aiming for.
Timehop on Facebook is an interesting feature. Just as nature has seasons, so do artists. My time hop over the last few weeks shows photos and comments about me getting ready for exhibitions over many years in March and April. I will happily admit that the exhibition title for the exhibition above was not the jolliest but look at the address! Isn’t Old Paradise Yard the perfect place to address death and transition. It was an exhibition that really made people talk. I showed two paintings, at the time I was working in a world of actual death and transition, a Cardiac Catheter Lab. Thankfully the transitions there are usually in the happiest direction from challenging health predicaments transforming to greater health stability. But sometimes a different direction is taken. Either way there is frantic, sometimes ferocious activity followed by calm and peace.
Both my pictures sold, I have no recollection of one but a small part of the other was on a poster. In my memory the paintings have become secondary to the absolutely great conversations that were had about death and our human relationship with it. Just lovely informal natterings during the Private View and the first early days of the exhibition. People from all over the world and with many different life experiences exchanging thoughts and observations. It was all going rather well until a therapist ( of what variety I have no idea) who was a friend of one of the artists decided this was far too big a subject to be left to amateurs and took it upon herself to be there for the last few days of invigilating, or stewarding the exhibition. I don’t know if her presence ever made a positive impact on the informal discussions on the days I wasn’t there. But on the afternoon I shared with her, the conversation did not take organic twists and turns in the exciting and meaningful way I had experienced earlier in the exhibition.
Her obvious experience and authority on the subject were like someone pouring bleach on the conversations. All the colour and warmth of shared or unique opinions seemed to be lost. I know her offer of being in attendance came from a good place. She was concerned that the conversations could lead to some dark places that she could help and support with, but her presence somehow restricted the flow. Certainly no one got into a dark place but conversely there was no joy in the gallery either and no stimulating conversation to reflect on at the close of the day.
Exercising my colour eye is a pretty good way to spend a day. Currently my studio is in a proper pickle. All my own fault, but there are plans to restore order very soon. Not far from home nature is having its way with vandalism.A quick photo records Sunburst Lichen continuing to flourish on graffiti. While frantically finding work for an exhibition, old exercises have come to the surface.
The one below is a classic mini treated to some mindful colour mixing. I combined a limited colour palate with a stencil. Not remotely exhibition worthy but as an exercise very interesting.
And then another colour exercise. Wisteria at Pentillie Castle. This last one was also an exercise in utilising the unwanted water drops that landed on my paper from the resident labrador who decided to shake himself before admiring my colour sketching.
If you could have something named after you, what would it be?
The simple answer is that I have never given the matter much thought as an individual. Another answer would be that if my surname were to be used there would be no point. There was a minor male saint of the same name who has a church named after him in Cornwall and Greece, and within that Cornish churchyard a rare daffodil has been given the same name.
Then there is an actual ancestor, male, who founded an American University and there are towns of the same name. The female diminutive form of my name, Ju, does not really work and I stopped using that name many years ago when working in a predominantly Jewish area. In the early days of my employment I was asked what I would like to be called, when I offered my abbreviated name I was told.
“If we shout that in a crowded room, everyone will come running”
So I adopted the male diminutive, Jules and we have come full circle. No point naming anything after me. A man got there before me.
I am also rather coy about signing my artwork. Coy is not a word I would use to describe a woman who over shares her mundane life in a daily blog. But I have the core of an introvert who wears the big flamboyant cloak of an extrovert. This week will be all about framing and yes, signing artwork. In teeny tiny writing that can barely be seen. I picked up this seasons basic prints yesterday and got a quote for some Giclee prints.
I made a start on framing and signing too.
There are two more paintings to be finished by the end of the month too.
So in answer to the question above, I need nothing named after me. One day I will slip the extroverts cloak and the introvert core will be no more, the autographs will fade and for a while, I will be a memory until those memories fade too and there will be anonymous space for others to fill in whichever way they choose.
theoldmortuary.design 