Smoke Signals from Tori's Treasure Island

Treasure's Hunt: My quest for a tattoo apprenticeship

2012-01-28T20:05:00.000Z

So I thought it might be a good idea to document my trying to bag a tattoo apprenticeship.

Two reasons really. It seems to me that there's no one way into the world of tattooing. Every forum you'll find or artist you'll ask will offer up their unique account of how they 'made it'. So I'm interested in seeing just how my story will take shape. The way I see it, if I find that kinda thing interesting, then perhaps people in my same boat might do too.

But it's really the second reason for typing that's key here.

I'm a pretty proud kinda girl, so if I say I'm going to do something, it takes a lot for me to back-track. I reckon that if I start the blog ball rolling, I'll have to keep you updated on my progress, therefore I'll have to keep making progress in order to have something to update you with. So you see, it's not wanting to look like an ass that I'll find all motivational.

That's not to say I NEED any motivation other than the dream of being able to call myself 'Tori Treasure the Tattooist' - well it does have a ring to it no? But, truth be told, I have been a bit aprehencive about start walking cold into studios, showing them my work and asking for the opportunity.

It sounds so easy, and I suppose it is. I have a portfolio together, I've had one in order for a while given my fine art background. I've even been adding new work that I thought was a bit more illustrative, and therefore more 'tattooish', rather than just showing a book of my more complex paintings.

Although I have faith in my abilities, I had no idea how my work would be recieved by the 'tattoo comunity'. I started by posting some images on a tattoo artist forum and went to a couple of conventions to collect some feedback and advice. I felt encouraged by the positive response. I also decided to create a few illustrative watercolours/pencil sketches to add to the mix, something that was suggested by a few tattoo artists who believed being able to show a mix of medium would be of benefit.

Then, it was Christmas.

My design day job got frantic so the apprenticeship hunt had to take a back seat. Well, all the forums out there will reccomend you save up the cash before you get started, as apprenticeships can range from being low paid/no pay or charged for! (Although be wary of people that do charge. I would only begin something like that if and only if a clear contract of expectations was drafted and agreed upon to avoid being taken advantge of). But as the new year got started, christ, we're almost all out of 'January', it finally felt like time to get out there and get on with it.

Today I ventured to 3 studios in the Reading and Basingstoke area - the towns most local to me - to ask if they would be able to mentor me. There are a number of tattoo studios in Reading and Basingstoke, but to be honest, they do vary in quality. It's a difficult one, because although it would increase my chances to pay every single studio out there a visit, I think gaining a successful apprenticeship is a two-way street. I need to respect and admire the skill and ability of the artist I'm asking, just as much as they need to see potential in my work and feel they can work with me. I researched every single local studio and set my sights on the favourite few to ask first. I intend to widen my search if nothing comes of it and just keep going until, well, until I run out of island!

The result of today's adventure was as follows:
1 studio really liked my work, but already had an apprentice and no desire for another right now.
1 studio just flatly didn't want an apprentice but suggested I email some images their way in a few months time, I didn't really get a great feeling from the studio space there anyway.
But 1 studio (I am starting to feel a bit 'goldilocks' now) greeted me with a 'No no no', which after I asked to at least show my work to someone for some advice, transformed into a, 'Well.....I might think about it, do you have a card?'

From all the stories I've heard about apprenticeships, luck seems to play a leading role. 'I looked everywhere and no one was looking for an apprentice, until I went into the last studio on the list....' or, 'I was working in a bar and someone asked me about my tattoos, it turned out they worked at a tattoo studio and they invited me to bring my portfolio in...'.

So much of life is about that 'right place right time' moment.

Today was day 1, but just the getting out there and braving it has demystified the whole thing. It is weird just turning up somewhere and trying to strike up a connection with someone whose never clapped eyes on you before. But you just have to suck it up and put yourself out there in a bid to get yourself to where you want to be. No one else can make it happen but you.

But now that I've had that taste, I genuinly feel as if it IS just a matter of time. Next week I'll do it all over again and I'll keep doing it until I get lucky and manage to persuade someone.

Now that I've started, there will be no stopping me!
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New Painting: 'Open'

2012-01-20T18:50:00.000Z

Evenin'.
At long last, after what feels like weeks of work and far too much build-up from previous blog posts, it's time to release this painting into the ether and show you.

Started on December 26th 2011 and worked on(and off) until January 14th 2012, I give you, 'Open'.

'Open' - acrylic on canvas. (Click image for larger view).

I've had a go at explaining myself and this painting in the last few blogs, so feel free to dip into those if you're curious about what the hell is going on here. But in a way, I think this one might just speak for itself.

It feels good to finally have this one 'out there' and done. It's felt like....admitting a secret, or being brutally honest. I always thought that once I'd finished this painting it would hail some kind of a fresh start, new leaf, that kinda thing. But now that I'm here, it doesn't seem so much new as it does revealed. Like that something was always there, lurking in the dark. It was just a case of knowing where to look. I'll admit, I've had some help with that.

I wanted the figure's expression to look calm, rather than pained, or passionate. I had to show that even though shes pulling her chest wide open, there's nothing difficult or painful about it. It's natural, comfortable. Nothing is forced, it's just something that's happening.

Ok so that's your lot, that's all you'll get from me for a second or so. I can think of no better way to celebrate the finishing of this work than a hedonistic weekend in Brighton. So off I go...

But lastly, I did want to sneak in a quote from a book I've read several times before, but dipped into recently once the painting was almost done. These words hit me in a new way, they're so damn perfect it's almost strange. I mean just check this out....

'Healing light will flow into the unknown region of the heart.
It is as though twilight were awakening in the inner night....
In old walls, unexpected doors open and the heart awakens with the desire 'to live everything'.' - 'Divine Beauty' by John O'Donohue

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Getting Tattooed: The Human Canvas

2012-01-18T22:54:00.000Z

It's not everyday an artist can be made to feel like the art, but today I got to experience what the canvas must feel like, as I was given my third tattoo by Jack Applegate, at the 'Nine Tattoo Studio', Brighton.

I had my consultation just under a year ago. It had been a similar story for my previous tattoos, also done by Jack, as it seems all of the artists at Nine are booked well in advance and are in high demand.

A selection of Jack's work.

Whereas my first two inky creations had been of my own design, pretty simple line drawings, this time around I wanted to feel what it was like when the tattoo artist was given freedom to work on something they're into. From my own experience with painting, I know that the best results often come from being able to really loose yourself in what you're doing, and to let your marks be dictated by passion and instinct. I wanted to be the other side of this experience and let someone 'create' on my skin, within reason obviously.....gotta live with it forever, I'm not totally mental....

However, the notion of donating a limb or space of skin to the whim of a tattoo artist is not unheard of. I've heard of artists that prefer to work without any client input, believing the client either likes their style and trusts their work, or they don't book them. Pretty brave on both sides I'd say, but I can certainly see the appeal, it would be like owning the most limited edition print on earth of the artist you adored.

But in my case, I did specify that the design include certain things that have huge meaning for me, as therein lay the whole point of my wanting to get the tattoo in the first place. But, as for the size, composition and general approach to it, I wanted Jack to feel he could 'do his thing'. And I reckon he did :) Actually I know he did, because he did at one point say, 'I am enjoying this,' much in the same way I tell people how much I enjoy painting, just after I've told them what a gut-wrenching, challenging, draining and emotional experience it is. But that's artists for you - if the work isn't so challenging that it feels like a struggle, we're just not having a good time. And boy, was this tattoo a challenge.

Calling my tattoo concept challenging isn't to down play the skills of Jack, I'm kinda quoting the guy as he said more than once during the set-up, 'Ah, now how am I going to do this??' Way to put a girl at ease, but again, I can relate. Half the ideas I have for paintings at first feel like a world of crazy, but you just have to throw yourself into it and make a start. So I wasn't 'too' concerned, I had every faith.

So what exactly was I wanting to have indelibly inked on my skin? I guess you could describe it as a floral half sleeve, without the pretty, predictable and over-styled look that springs to my mind when I picture a floral sleeve.

'Beautiful and interesting,' that was where we tried to pitch it. Together we spent around 3 hours looking up resource material, printing things out and playing with the design. I loved that part. You just can't beat that collaborative feel. It's something I wanna do more of in all creative walks of life. Musing and preparation work over, Jack spent a decent amount of time applying stencils and drawing the rest on freehand.

I loved that part even more. Sounds a bit fetishistic but it is so wonderfully weird to be drawn on in the same way I might sketch something. That whole attentive artist's eye feel, it really makes the experience something altogether otherworldly.

The design was a combination of forget-me-nots, that grew at my grandparents house, a pale pink Dog Rose, that my Dad had given my Mum whilst they were dating and a pale pink Rose, that my Mother had at her wedding and when I was born. I have a huge respect for my parent's relationship that has lasted all these years. I aspire that being able to have a connection like theirs that can weather the kind of storms they have faced. That's good love.

I also wanted to include some gorgeous vintage material that I'd discovered in my Mum's sewing box. I thought this could act as a background that would tie everything together and help create the 'draped on' effect that I personally prefer with tattoos. I'm not so much of a fan of incredibly heavy and thickly lined designs. What resulted was a satisfying mish mash of textures and places that caught the eye. The design felt like it fitted me and only me, there was nothing 'standard' or obvious about it. It was indeed, 'Beautiful and interesting'.

So on to the nitty gritty - did it hurt!? Well this is where things DO get a bit fetishistic when I say I quite like how it feels. Sure it's painful, but it's just like a hot feeling scratch. Besides, I try to absorb myself in the thought of what it means to me, so I like experiencing it, it's productive pain. It's the kind of feeling that I know will result in something lasting and unique. I sit well, so I'm told. :)

I think we spent around 3 hours tattooing the design. Jack had said, 'I don't want to rush this, so I think we'll just stick to the black and grey for today and finish it off, adding the colour, in about a months time.' I'd guessed we wouldn't get the whole thing done and dusted, but this was the nature of the idea in the first place, a lot of it was uncertain and I'd be mad to want to rush it. What started as a few blooms and a bit of background patterning had grown into this sprawling, beautiful beast of a creation that was going to take as long as it wanted to take. Another parallel with the painting world - sometimes the 'idea' takes over and calls or the shots, you just have to follow and see where it takes you.

So, as I type to you now I am uncharacteristically uncoloured, but it still looks rather stunning. I'm looking forward to the next installment, but am already feeling like a work of art.

I'll post an image once it's completed, because like a painting in progress, it's far better to see the finished piece. Speaking of which, I believe I'm going to unleash my latest painting sometime on Friday, after it's had a private view tomorrow. So watch this space, lots of colour on the way.

New work: Green

2012-01-13T20:37:00.001Z

So tomorrow will be the final day of working on my latest painting.

I'm sure it could go on longer, I could eek it out and spend further days on the details that don't really need to be there. But I know that the heart of the piece is done. All that remains now is to dance my way through the final few hours, step back, and have that elusive, 'Yep, I'm finished,' moment.

It varies from painting to painting but this time around I'm not really looking forward to reaching that end point. I know that I've turned this particular piece into something more than just another painting. It's been something I've built up alongside other areas of my life, so I suppose it forces me to question, well, what comes next?

When the paintings done, It'll just be me again. There will be other paintings of course, but I struggle with that in between bit. Is an artist an artist when they're no longer in the middle of something?

Yes, I know that of course artists are artists regardless of whether or not their hands are paint covered. I know I'm being ridiculous, but I'm just trying to explain what it's like, and this time around it feels like something is about to be ripped away from me.

I've spoken in the previous blogs about how this painting has encouraged me to be more open, or else I wouldn't have found the material I needed to create it. I've enjoyed the challenge of having to break outside of my emotional comfort zone and take bigger risks. But now that the need to be this way is coming to an end, I wonder where this will leave me. Will I snap right back and revert to that rather closed individual that I feel might be my default?

Ack I'm being overly critical and bleak about all this. I should stick to the facts and remind myself that it's a good painting that pretty soon I'll have finished and will be able to share with the world. I have hopes that it might be the start of something new, I'd really like to exhibit again and this could be part of that.

So, artistic crisis aside, I actually came here to talk about Green.

If you're a Facebook 'friend' of mine you'll have been privy to my endless updates whilst painting (live micro-blogging performance art you could say?) and there was a lot of talk of Green.

Oh, feel free to befriend me.

You might wonder what the Green is all about, I'm wondering that myself really. But if I were to guess I'd say the Green was the MOST important part. It's the life, the drive, the feeling bit. It's been the most difficult part to pin down because there's been nothing to work from, nothing to look at and replicate, only how I feel it should be. I usually like to include a part of the painting that is 'free', a part where I can just 'make shit up' and run with it. This time around, it's Green.

I think I might have a name for the painting. I don't think titles are incredibly important, but it can be a nice cherry on top, or act as a linguistical 'full stop' for the work. 'There, I'm done, and I dub thee 'Screaming Mice Cakes', or whatever takes your fancy. Sometimes I start with a title and work from that point, but that's rare.

I'll title the next blog with the name I think, because I feel if I revealed it now it might dilute the whole 'unleashing' of the finished article.

I think there's a power in the experience of being the first person to view a finished piece of work. I can't really explain it but I have witnessed it first hand.

Perhaps it's something to do with just feeling privileged. Think about it, how many times during your day do you feel like you're the only person on the entire planet doing that thing you're doing? We're all unique, but I can pretty much guarantee that several people are out there right now laying on their bed typing a blog post. They might even be doing it in Barbie pajamas, not that I am you understand... We rinse and repeat so many experiences that we have, which is why the ones where we can truly KNOW that we're the ONLY being on earth to be experiencing it are pretty impressive. Perhaps similar works of art will exist out there, but I know that no one else will have made the exact same marks on a canvas, I'll get to show someone something totally unique, and that sounds pretty powerful to me.

So there are some good bits to the conclusion of a painting, I just need to give myself a shake and quit worrying. If there's one lesson that I've learnt from painting this, it's that no one else can make you feel a certain way, you have to decide that for yourself. You're free to live your live as you're presently living it, or you could create something else and introduce to the story. Life couldn't be more in your hands if we were all made out of clay, so what do you wait for? Make it.

You probably knew this already, but us artists can be slow on the emotional up-take. We're all just fupped up weirdos with thunderstorms and candyfloss where our brains ought to be.

This post might very well win the award for the most aimless, but know that all will be revealed soon. Next Friday I think, so I'll meet you here again same time next week ok? I'll be ever more the painted lady by that time, my next tattoo is imminent and it's gonna be a big-un ;).

Until then.

New work: Ingredients

2012-01-10T21:59:00.002Z

So this is where the split personality side the artist comes into play when I start by saying I disagree with part of my last post, which serves as a 'Part 1' of the explanation for my latest work.

That's right, I'm disagreeing with myself.

It's the part where I blamed my lack of meaningful relationships on luck, and I quote: 'I've not got any explanation for you other than I consider myself unlucky.'

This isn't strictly true is it? (No, it's not).

If I'm being honest I shouldn't blame lady luck for any 'lack of love' in my life, but rather my attitude. I've a lousy attitude when it comes to being part of a pair. To be perfectly honest I used to view the idea as a bit....weak. Again, I'd like to stress the use of 'USED TO' here, because I'm really painting you a picture of quite the unfeeling stone.*

*Disclaimer: My latest painting is not one of an unfeeling stone.

See I did (do) have to fight a rubbish personality trait of mine of always having to be able to do everything I need, on my own. It's Independence to a stupid degree and I'm not sure when it started. I suppose the most important part of my life is something I do alone, my art. Perhaps it was partly due to this fact that I didn't expect anyone to 'get it', therefore 'get me' so I might as well not bother.

Now this is pretty damn stupid as I have learned this to be total tosh. We might all be unique but we're not THAT different. Someone out there will 'get it', more than one person most likely and, as I've been finding out recently - that person doesn't even need to be an artist.

But I've only been able to realise this because I've been working to change this lousy attitude. I'm not sure I can pinpoint the exact moment when I realised I had to do something. As far as I can recall there wasn't any one event or 'eureeka!' moment, I just felt that something was a bit off-key.

There must be a reason why there are as many songs about love as there are stars in the universe. There is a reason.

And on that musical note I wanted to share a few of the vital pieces of music that have been keeping the energy going during the latest work. Top notch electronic/techno seems to be my default setting for when I need to get my head down and WORK. But there are always some songs in particular that have a special certain lyric, sound or just a feeling that act as a key ingredient for what I'm doing. In many ways, they explain things a hell of a lot more clearly than I do!

Ingredients: In a rough chronological order...

(P.S. Don't think it ends on a low note, it's not over yet...)
(P.P.S. Christ these blog posts are making me cringe just a bit, but I've gotta keep some honesty up for a bit I think. At least until you've seen this bloomin painting!)

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New work: Painting to live

2012-01-08T18:11:00.001Z

I doubt that I'm the only artist living and dead to wonder what it's all for. What the reason is that drives us to keep making something out of nothing and why we feel feel the need, but not always, to share what we've created with other people.

My views on this have been scattered around all over the place. It's been recommended that I should play up to my 'audience' in order to become successful. Success might be measured in the high volume of people who see the work or perhaps the money you make from commissions or sales. I do have that desire of wanting people to view my work and hear their thoughts. I think art should make some connection with whoever sees it and they should be able to take something away from it. But that's more the point of viewing art, not creating it.

I'd say that for me, it's a compulsion. Painting is something I feel I have to do, and whilst doing it, I feel at my total best. So you could call it therapeutic, but recently I've noticed a change in the way I'm working that maybe runs a little deeper than that.

I started the painting around Christmas time. Given the golden opportunity of a nice slice of time to work with, I thought it was time I started something new, large and adventurous. As it stands now, it's very nearly almost done. I'm in the dying moments for the idea and just about ready to take a step back and triumphantly say, 'Damn, I guess I've finished.'

:)

When the time comes that I feel right to stick the end result on this here blog, I'll no doubt offer up some kind of explanation. But this painting has felt different, and I reckon the entry will prove pages long, so think of these words as an introduction.

There was no crystal clear idea, more of a theme I wanted to run with and see what I could make of it. Actually, the theme was probably the same theme I'd been working with for too many paintings now. I seem to keep returning and repeating myself in different disguises with this same theme. There seems to be no denying it, it's a subject I know very little about and this might be the reason why I feel compelled to explore it further. It strikes me that this is my way of inspiring something in my life, instead of the other way around.

The theme is love, and I don't like to admit it.

To say I'm an artist who likes to explore love just makes me sound so...flowers and hearts.
I'm not I'm really not. Not even on the days when I'm wearing my hearts tights and have a billion flowers in my hair am I the 'flowers and hearts' type when it comes to the love stuff. See I'm calling it 'love stuff', which is hardly the stuff of poetry.

I've not got any explanation for you other than I consider myself unlucky. I've not crossed paths before with someone I've been able to experience anything very deep with, so it has eluded me. I reached some kind of 'peak' with this a few months ago when I felt stupidly alone and near enough resigned to the fact that, meh, maybe it just doesn't happen. But, it's not really in my nature to be so defeatist, so I set out to change things, to explore the love stuff in various ways and see if I couldn't learn something more about it.

This recent painting has become such a large part of that.

I know not all artists share thoughts on their work, but I think it can be important. Sure a picture can paint a thousand words, but a few more could help bring out the feeling just a bit more. Besides, the musicians and artists I like aren't afraid to bare their souls for the sake of good work, so that's what I want to do.

I can honestly say that this painting has inspired in me something new. It's as if my compulsion to create it has sparked some kind of change in me, in what's going on around me, in life in general.

This is where I'm back peddling a bit because although there's more I want to talk about, I think that might be best for next time. But it's been an adventure so far and I can't wait to show you.

Something from nothing: The process in paint

2011-12-18T17:52:00.000Z

So recently I've been trying something new: quicker paintings.
It's not as if I usually paint in a slow and delicate manner. You'd probably think I was having a fit if you watched me paint (although I call it dancing). I paint quickly, but it tends to be on a large canvas over days, week, sometimes months. Lately I've been giving smaller works a go and I've been enjoying the more immediate results.

When I dusted off the watercolours and sharpened the B grade pencils I wasn't really sure how good I could make it. I get stupidly frustrated if I can't create in a painting that spark that gives it life, and this usually requires hours and hours with brushes no bigger than a few hairs in order to get the detail just right. But, I'm pretty happy with this more cartoonish/caricaturesque style. I thought I'd share with you the process on something I finished up just a second ago, a painting of my bro....

My brother is 2 and a half and this is my favourite age so far. He's just old enough to be interesting, but still young enough to be this crazy ball of energy, bombing round the house, coming out with funny words and generally being insane. (I'm like this when no one's looking).

He also happens to look pretty cute and while I'm not exclusively in the business of producing 'cute' works of art, I wanted to capture his giant Disney style eyes, you know, before he gets all old and boring looking.

To begin with, I find a suitable pic and resist all urges to sketch the entire thing, sticking to a minimal amount of lines.

I'm sure you'll agree, this look awful, but bare with me.....

I then use various thicknesses of black waterproof liners to trace over the main and most important lines of the sketch - the ones that are essential.

You'll need to be brave for this next bit, as you rub out all your lovely shading and reveal only the pen. Don't fret, everythings gonna be ok really soon.

I use cooler colours when I'm using watercolours, I've got no idea why, use whatever tones you like. I tend to flesh out the skin tones first as this regains your nice shading and gives the flat image form again. (See, I told you it would be alright).

Next, some hair and lips. I leave the eyes last, because they're the best bit. I'm the same with strawberry flavoured chocs in a box, they're just really nice.

After you've agonised over getting the light in the eyes just right, I like to create some kind of environment. You know, bits of clothes, a colour in the background, something to make the subject look less 'floating in space', unless of course that was the look you were after.

Et voila! There you have it, a stripped down speedy way to conjure up something from nothing, which after all, is all us artists do.

Having said all this I'm now craving the old ways again and think the Christmas holidays needs to be in part dedicated to wasting many delirious hours in front of a big canvas whilst playing Justice REALLY LOUDLY. I might dedicate the other part to family things, and chocolate.

May whatever you get up to over the festive season be bright and brilliant. Happy Christmas and a splendid New Year
X

Past - Present - Future

2011-11-20T18:29:00.000Z

So it's been another weekend full of work, busy times and somewhere around the edges, a nice bit of sketching.
I must confess, for an artist, I do a shockingly low amount of actual sketching. I have an impressive pile of sketchbooks laying around the place, all shapes and sizes, but they're more the product of wishful thinking that of actual artistic work. I'll pass one with a cute cover in a shop and think, 'Oh that'll be a nice handy sized book to stick in my bag. I'll sketch people on the train or in my lunchbreak'. This never happens - tell a lie, I might have done it once.

Truth be told I'm an impatient bastard, and I just like to create a piece that will be polished and perfect. I'm not really interested in rough sketches, even from a planning point of view. Why waste time being tentative when you can get stuck in? But, it's become pretty obvious that if I'm to create great tattoos, in future I need to learn to strip things back a bit, simplify, stream-line. So I've been dusting off the sketchbooks and finally filling them with a few quicker works to see what happens.

This is what happened today:

I find it hard to believe we're in November, late November at that. Pretty soon it'll be that Christmas thing, then we'll all be facing the bright and shiny newness of a fresh new year. Just where did 2011 go? I suppose for me it was spent on a whole lot of work, the continuation and sudden ending of a degree, a new tattoo, a total change of life direction and several different hair colours.

It's been....unpredictable, but never boring.

This sketch is of J, who has been a constant throughout the up, downs, left, rights, good, bads and the entire spectrum of hair colours.

I used to think there was such a thing as a stable and secure kind of life and I think I've finally realised that's all smoke and mirrors. Instead of stability these days I shoot for support. It's with support that you'll feel stable in the most unstable of times. Only when you feel supported are you able to take those big leaps in life, that stability would warn against.

Break out of the box: Thomas Hooper

2011-11-11T12:57:00.000Z

'But could any of this be tattooed...??'

Given my desired change in job description, this is the question that bugs me the most when I now critique my art.

Of course, it doesn't help that that's been 99% of the feedback so far from people in the tattooing industry have said: love your stuff, but do more 'tattooish drawings'. Although I don't believe there would be much benefit in trying to make a 'new school' artist out of this figurative fine art girl, I do appreciate that my work could do with some canvas-to-skin translation. After all, last time I looked a canvas was perfectly flat, with sharp defined edges, oh - and it wasn't alive.

It's even one of the fundamental questions in any graphic design work: What is the print spec? Tattooing must be the same deal, you're just swaping print spec for limbs.

And this is where I think my way of working could do with a shake-up, because historically, my art has always filled a space. I go right to the edge, resulting in typical rectangular or square work, with a few circlular pieces here and there. I've noticed that tattoo artits use different techniques to blend their work to fit the body. It's all got me wondering: Maybe I should try something like this.

So, what would I create when the brief states 'edgeless'? Or 'to fit an arm'. Now when I consider a tattoo that I want, I feel that the design should look as if it were created to fit the specific space. I favour designs that flow with the body rather than fight against it. But this is a matter of taste and not everyone will agree with me here. I spoke some tattoo artists at the convention I went to recently who told me they liked the 'old school' look of clearly defined, thickly edged tattoos.

But personally, I think Brooklyn-based artist Thomas Hooper has tattooing with the body down to an art.

I found Hooper's blog after reading the article, 'Tattoos conquer modern art as needles and ink replace brushes' in the Observer. Hooper was highlighted as a prime example of a tattoo fine-artist, whose signature style blurred the line between fine-art and tattooing. So impressed was I by Hoopers work, as detailed and as fine as lace, I ordered his 'Book of Lines' from his Blurb account. Here is some of his work......

Not only do I feel I need to work on creating art that could be worn, working with line and filigree shapes is also something I think I need to try. I think Hooper's work is a stunning example of what you can do with line alone.

I've been wondering whether or not my getting into tattooing will mean having to rediscover my style of art all over again, because now it has this new purpose. But I don't think I need to be as extreme as that, besides, I just wouldn't want to. It took awhile to find my footing as far as painting goes, and I'm happy with the way I work. So I think we're talking tweaks here and there, a dust-off, a shake-up.

This artist just needs to break out of the box.

I'm starting some new work that experiments with different ways to treat edges and line. Of course you'll be the first to know just how that goes.

Tattooish Images: A Pencil Rose

2011-10-23T19:23:00.000+01:00

When the rest of the world seem to be out buying green wigs, pointy hats and face paint I've been glued to my chair for hours doing this....

(Whilst listening to this, 'Riceboy Sleeps' by Jonsi and Alex. In my opinion, the beautiful echoy sounds of droning instrumental Icelandic music is the only soundtrack to rose pencil sketching).

In an effort to respond to the general feedback from various tattoo artists I am trying to create a few additions for the portfolio that are more tattooish inspired. Although I don't want to copy or emulate existing tattoo artists, because where would the point in that be, I do think it's worth exploring the traditional themes tattoo artists have worked with, well, since it all began. Roses spring to mind as being one of those images that are often tattooed in various styles for various meanings. I love the idea of creating new and distinctive designs, but I also like the idea of being part of a long standing tradition, so I thought I'd take a stab at creating my own rose.

It's all the more appropriate considering my next tattoo, booked in early January next year, also features a rose in it's design.

So here is my effort, first of many I'm sure, and I'm fairly pleased with it. I found sketching a rose to be deceptively tricky. Faces might appear even more difficult, but when you know you're finished when you've captured a look in the eyes - if the eyes look alive you know you've cracked it. But when you're drawing something organic and complex every fold and shadow matter. It's the appearance of believable form that gives an object it's 'life', if your proportions are just a little off, it's obvious.

But I like the concentration needed when you're sketching. It's much more delicate than painting, more precise. But I find it much more time consuming. Sure it's pencil on paper rose, but it's also the best part of a weekend on a page.

Recent Art Work: A Roll Call!

2011-10-11T19:23:00.000+01:00

As I update my portfolio it strikes me that this blog could do with a refresh of my most recent work, all in the same place....so here it is!

The UK's First Annual Female Tattoo Artist Show @ Leamington Spa, The Assembly

2011-10-10T13:23:00.000+01:00

There aren't many places on this earth that I'd be will to go to if I knew it involved an hour on a train, followed by another hour on a completely rammed 'replacement coach service', but yesterday I found myself doing precisely this.

I honestly wasn't sure if I was on the replacement coach service, or if I'd mistakenly become part of one of those, 'how many clowns can you fit in a Mini?' sketches.

But it was all in aid of a very worthy cause: to get myself to the UK's First Annual Female Tattoo Artist Show at The Assembly in Leamington Spa.

Not only that, but it was to be my first ever foray into tattoo convention territory. Exciting stuff! So exciting that the trip warranted these tights:

Which were the perfect choice as they often promoted the question from people: 'Ohhh, is that a tattoo? It must have taken ages!' Truth be told I must have been one of the least tattooed people there, not that I minded. I spied several people at the show with cling-film covered limbs, fresh from the tattoo artist's chair. Of course a convention is a great place to get a tattoo by an artist you might not otherwise be able to visit, whether they be from out of town or usually have a waiting list years long. But I wasn't there to collect, I was there with my portfolio in hand, ready to pounce on all unsuspecting artists to pick up some advice and (hopefully) start to make a few contacts.
The Assembly was a lovely venue, but much smaller than I had expected:

But the hall was deceptive. Four rows of work stations were tightly packed together with a few more tucked away on an upper level, alongside rails of punky clothing and merch. The event was scheduled to run from 10am till 10pm and thanks to my cobbled together journey in I arrived at around 12.
Now to rewind for just a second, a few weeks ago it was the weekend of The International London Tattoo Convention at the Tobacco Dock. I happened to have other plans, but wondered if I, a recent (and hopeful) tattoo artist in the making, ought to move heaven and earth in order to go. It was London's biggest tattoo convention after all, and bigger means better, right? But in reality I found the idea of going a bit.....daunting. Don't get me wrong, I just love fire dancers and sword swallowing performers, but why does tattooing have to co-exist alongside all that is freakish and extreme - set to a heavy metal/rock n' roll soundtrack?

I suppose it's all sparked by the (somewhat dated) reason why perhaps most people get tattoos: because it's baddass. So, if we're still to think getting a tattoo is baddass then I suppose events about tattooing need to seem baddass and provide the perfect playground for everyone of a body piercing, sub-dermal implant, tongue-splitting persuasion.

As much as I enjoy experiencing a bit of full on weird, personally, that's just not my thing and I can't be the only one. I found the alternative angle of an all female tattoo artist show really appealing, as I felt it might delivery a tattoo show experience that was just a bit, different.

Now, I'd like to avoid this blog becoming a feminist rant that tries to discuss topics such as: 'is tattooing a male dominated profession?' Or, 'Would it be 'acceptable' to have an all male tattoo artist show?' Or even, 'Does the sex of the tattoo artist matter?' They are all huge questions and however interesting I don't feel this show set out to provoke some kind of sexism debate. In my opinion it was just a fun theme that made a nice change and was the perfect excuse to swap the sword-swallowers for a troupe of saucy burlesque dancers.

The Assembly was a suitably classy feeling venue but I must admit it was slightly strange to be treated to nipple pasties and barely there thongs in the mid-afternoon. But the girls really gave it their all (well, their all, give or take a few square inches of strategically placed fabric) and Marie the Painted Lady's twisted take on the Little Red Riding Hood story has to be seen to be believed. So here you go:

Kitty Ribbons was more my idea of a stunning burlesque dancer and really impressed with a few more classic examples of the burlesque strip-tease. That girl didn't let her happy pin-up girl facial expression drop once. All of the stage events were presented by the enigmatic Coco Dubois, who later revealed a pretty flawless singing voice.

Miss Kitty Ribbons shortly before she went BANG BANG BANG!...

Coco Dubois rocking a Vivien of Holloway dress there...

But back to the tattoo artists! And more importantly, my shameless showing off of the my portfolio.
I spent 4 hours doing the rounds. First off I checked out each table, flicking through the artist's portfolios, picking out those of which I just had to speak to, then I pounced on them in between their tattooing sessions. I hadn't planned on getting any tattoos myself that day, it was all about the pitch.

I was pleasantly surprised by how friendly most of the artists were and how many of them sat down with me to discuss my work and plans at length. Most notably Pam Green from ABH Tattooing was very helpful and kindly gave me a lot of her time and thoughts on the best way to approach my hope to translate my artistic skill into tattooing. Here is some of Pam's work:

Pam explained how for her, the act of tattooing and the connection she makes with the customer is her driving force. Rather than working in one style or discipline, she prefer to challenge herself by working with a mix of style and subjects. She was really complimentary of my portfolio, but felt it needed a few more pieces that seemed 'tattoo' inspired. Several of the artists there suggested this and I've mixed feelings about creating art that tries to mimic typical tattoo ideas. I know I have a distinct style and I think it's important for me to maintain this, or else my work will lose it's 'life', but I can accept that by applying my style to a rose or a cherry blossom, for example, it could help to better express my knowledge of the world of tattooing and my desire to be a part of that. There's a fine line I wish to tread that lies somewhere in-between genius trail-blazer and accessible tattoo artist.

After all, I'll do myself no favours if I staunchly insist upon only ever tattooing visions I've had in a dream or else dirty my artistic integrity!

Although who knows, maybe that could be my 'thing'. ;)

Wendy at Kustom Kulture was also brilliant to talk to. She recommended that with a portfolio like mine I should only target top-notch artists whose work I really admire when asking after an apprenticeship. (What? I'm not tooting my own horn, she said it ;)) She was good enough to recommend a few names of people I should get in touch with. Which I shall. Here is some of Wendy's work:

Also had a good chat with the very talented painter Lianne Moule of Immortal Ink. Although most of the artists working at the show seemed to thrive on the traditional style, Lianne's work stood out as being much more fine-art based. So, me in a few years with any luck?! Here is some of Lianne's work:

All in all, I felt I'd gained some good pointers of what to do next regarding my hunt for an apprenticeship and the odd contact or two for me to get in touch with.

The deeper I delve into this tattoo world the more it strikes me that it is like any creative pursuit: different things to different people. Just as artists and critics alike have long debated the question, 'But is it art?' Tattoo artists and tattoo fans have their own opinions also about what separates the good from the great tattoos. For some, it's blackwork and tribal, for others it's Japanese or black and grey. Tattoos can be formed of black lines or use no lines at all, they can be realistic or even abstract. The art of tattooing is personal taste and incredibly diverse. Which is why it was great to attend a show that felt different from the others I'd seen advertised. If there's no such thing as a 'one size fits all' style of tattoo, the I don't see why the tattoo conventions should all be cut from the same cloth. I think The UK's First Annual Female Tattoo Artist Show made a decent job of presenting the tattoo convention in a new way and reaching a wider audience. I hope it's the first of many.

So it's onward with the apprenticeship hunt. Time for me to look into those contacts and start looking for those artists I would give my right arm to learn from. My only thought its that they could of course be anywhere so who knows how far I might need to go!

METRONOMY @ The Royal Albert Hall: The English Riviera Tour Review

2011-10-04T07:58:00.008+01:00

If you can't stand up and be counted as one of the thousands of people who last night witnessed Metronomy's biggest show, at The Royal Albert Hall, London, then I don't know what to tell you.

You should have been there.

But, perhaps you wanted to be there but missed out on getting your hands on a ticket for their sell-out performance. The venue was packed with a (mostly hipster) adoring crowd who by the end were screaming for more (me included). Not bad for a band first formed in Totnes, Devon, by front man Joseph Mount.
I should say a few words on the supports, both of which made a valiant effort in trying to make me forget that they just weren't Metronomy. Opening act were Arthur Beatrice, who provided a punchy start and got the energy going. There was a nice serving of smoky vocals by the female singer. After a brief break Django Django unleashed their sound into the echoy round of The Albert Hall. Mainly cricket noises, at least to begin with, followed by much drumming and tribal rhythmical singing.

Here is a youtube vid of one of the tracks they performed. I've been getting into it ever since actually.

But this band had slow-builds, sometimes, too slow, but they reminded me of Animal Collective (ah we're surely in hipster mainland now) which I do love. They strike me as a grower, but I had little time for that last night - my soul craved those four beautiful people with their soul-twanging guitars and heart-beating electronics!

And that time was almost upon us! Just time for four people on various wind instruments to play two tracks to a slightly confused crowd. 'Who the hell are these people and why are they playing wind-instruments?'

Bit strange. Something that felt like a quirky intro of mood-setting music dragged on for a bit and I wasn't quite sure why they were there. But we'll gloss over this bit...

Because then - there they were.

A few of my more passable pics.

The entire hall erupted as Metronomy, now consisting of Joseph Mount (lead guitar, lead singer and a bit of savvy one-handed keyboard playing.), Oscar Cash (Keyboard maestro, backing vocals and king of throwing some sick shapes on the dance floor.), Anna Prior (a green goddess clad in a sequin jumpsuit on drums.), and Olugbenga Adelekan (Mr Cool on the bass guitar, and possibly the only person I've seen who could pull off skin tight red trousers).

I won the bet with my gig buddy because they did indeed open with 'We Broke Free', the opening track to The English Riviera, as I reckoned, it made perfect sense. But, what was surprising was how lavish we were with a cocktail of the old and new. Being the last UK date of The English Riviera tour, I expected mostly tracks from the latest album, perhaps a few of the older singles like 'Heartbreaker' or 'Holiday'. Oh no, we were treated to a nice slice of tracks from the previous album Nights Out, with a few even older tracks that I couldn't place, but sounded supreme and filled the room.

As the performance went on, 4 giant posters were raised towards the back of the stage featuring illustrations of each of the band members. The visuals did not disappoint. Strobe lights went bizerk during a few of my favourites, Corrine, Heart Rate Rapid and, of course, The Bay. Dancing spot lights scanned the Royal Albert Hall, reminding us of the sea of people Metronomy were playing to. Mount was good at talking to the audience between tracks in such a way that you could imagine sharing a drink with him backstage and not have an inflated ego to contend with. In fact all of the band members seemed incredibly into the performance; even bass player Mr Cool didn't seem as cool as he strutted around the stage. But it was Cash who undoubtedly stole the show as far as visuals were concerned, dancing in a way that I can only describe as a robot tied to a washing line during a gale? It was a joy to behold and by the end of it he was drenched in sweat. Cash also controlled Metronomy's pleasing gimmick with his feet, the switch for their light-up shirts that glowed in-sync with Anna's drumming and punchy moments.

I was sat in the front row of the upper circle, flying above the band. The view was pretty spectacular, and even the people around me had abandoned their seats and were grooving in the aisles. Might have done a bit of grooving myself.

After about an hour and a half of pure amazingness Metronomy thanked us, bowed and made their faux exit, leaving us to whoop and stomp up a storm. They gave into our demands, returning to perform 'Everything Goes my Way,' with Anna on lead vocals for the first time during the show. They ended on 'Radio Ladio', which was so good it had me crying out the lyrics like a thing possessed. (Apologies to the couple to my left who probably could have done without my madness, I was lost in the moment).

So it's like I said, if you weren't there, where the hell were you?

You missed it, but I've no doubt these guys(and girl) have more to give. So if you ever get the chance to see these guys (and girl) again, for god’s sake, don’t make the same mistake twice.

The Psychic Questing Weekender 2011 @ Avebury

2011-09-29T18:49:00.001+01:00

Two weeks ago I attended the Psychic Questing Weekender 2011, which this year took place in a village hall, situated in the heart of Avebury. The weekend had been organised by Andrew Collins, a self-described 'psychic quester' and prolific writer of occult books. Collins' work spans a range of subjects including Egyptology, ancient myths, Christianity, and yes, sometimes the odd little green man. Collins advertised the weekend as being a 'Quantum Questing Special' which would feature talks, psychic pursuits, nighttime artifact retrieval, attunements, site visits, free tea and special guests. What follows is my experience.

Now you might wonder how I found myself to be there. After a head-spinning half hour of Collins' explanation of 'Quantum Entanglement' I began to wonder the same thing. But for this, I have my Dad to thank. It was Dad who introduced me to 'Quest Con', a day of talks and presentations that Collins also organises in London. Dad and I don't exactly share many interests, so I decided to accompany him to a few quest cons in an effort to find out more about what interests him.

I think it's important to emphasise that these reasons for being there obviously influenced my experience of the weekend. Whereas the other people who filled the village hall (the weekend was a sell-out) had most likely read everything Collins, not to mention the 5 other guest speakers, had ever written, I had not. So while everyone else may have been up to speed on the latest theory of life's ancient secrets, I'd recently finished Belle de Jour's latest literary offering. I didn't exactly consider myself the target market for a weekend of psychic questing.

However, I do consider myself an open-minded kinda girl. I'm very spiritual, a reincarnationist but not specifically religious. I've been known to drag friends along to workshops on 'Awakening Crystal Consiousness' and 'Shamanism: Locating the Power Animal Within'. Plus, I'm an artist. Weird unexplainable stuff floats my boat. Perhaps I was prime potential psychic quester raw material.

But suffice to say, I felt very much the outsider peaking in.

So what exactly is psychic questing? Well, I would describe it as the discovering of an artifact, as a direct result of remote viewing and some kind of consciousness enhancing game play which contribute to the Indiana Jones style quest. Such a clunky definition would probably have every self-respecting psychic quester reeling, but that's my honest grasp of it. For example, Collins explained his quest for the head of John the Baptist, which sparked the discovery of a number of artifacts found in church yards and holy sites that he believed had a connection. Muffled sound clips, the recordings of one dark night of questing when he and his companions encountered some strange hooded figures outside a church, were played out to the audience. Throughout the quest Collins psychicly communicated with the infamous occultist Aleister Crowley and a local saint called Frideswide, who would guide them along the way. Collins showed us all the artifacts they had found.

Bear with me.

As mentioned, the weekend promised some 'nighttime artifact retrival': a psychic quest experiment of our very own. The task was pretty straight-forward. After a meditation guided by Collins, we were asked to see if we could psychicly pinpoint the location of two artifacts Collins had concealed within the Avebury stone circle a few days prior. A metal dagger and bell were hidden somewhere and it was up to us to try our hand at questing in order to find them, after our evening meal at the local Red Lion pub.

Ah the dinner at the Red Lion. Personally, that was my favourite part of the weekend. I hate to make such a side-note of it really, because I'm trying in this blog to stick to my critique of psychic questing, but Dad and I seldom sit down just the two of us, so it was lovely to have conversations that weren't family divided.

Of course, after dinner it was pitch black outside. It had been raining on and off all day, so armed with our FBI standard flashlights, we ventured into the squelchy stone circle in search of treasures. We had been looking for all of 15 minutes when we were confronted by a mass of bright glowing lights blinking in the darkness!

Eyes, thousands of eyes - we had been surrounded!!
By sheep.

Sheep are pretty damn scary. Well they are at night anyway....

We made our way back to the Red Lion as it had just started to rain again. A few other hopeful questers had also decided to call it a night. One guy who stood outside the pub asked us, 'So do you know if anyone has found them yet?' We told him no, then told him all about our terrifying sheep encounter. 'You didn't have any luck then?' We asked. 'Oh, yes, I found them,' he nonchalantly remarked, patting his coat pocket which made a metallic bell clang for dramatic effect.

Oooookkkk.
So when you asked us if anyone had found them, what you were trying to say was, 'I found them, ner ner na ner nerrrr'?

Apparently this guy, who has a book coming out about ley lines or something, had retrieved the artifacts earlier that day, before any of us had sat down to eat. I found him to be so blasé and pretty arrogant. He said he had such a clear image of which stones they were near, he felt it would be impossible to recognise them in the dark. This wasn't something everyone took too kindly to the following day when Collins announced who had found the dagger and bell. It turned out a few other people had also planned to head to the same spot where they had been found, including guest speaker Caroline Wise (I can't find a Web site link for her), who made no secret of her feeling it was a bit unfair to start hunting before everyone else.

The second day of the Questing Weekender was mainly dedicated to the guest speakers. Now I really enjoyed this, because who doesn't love listening to someone speak on the subject of what really makes them tick? That kind of passion can be infectious. I found Richard Andrews' (no Web site for him either which is a shame as his visuals were great) personal account of how his life had been directed by questing genuinely endearing. I didn't feel everyone was as gifted in the presenting department, and my heart would leap with joy when we hit a break and a lady I dubbed 'The Tea Angel' re-opened her hatch in the wall offering up free teas, coffees and biscuits.

But I suppose when it came to actually digesting the content of the talks, I was often left feeling a bit.....unsatisfied. Ley lines for instance, just couldn't bore me more.... Several times someone would talk about a few locations of significance, then excitedly show us on a map how these sites connected up to form a perfectly straight line, or a star, or a guy on a horse. I fail to see why this matters and ultimatly, what I should take away with me from all this.

And this is where I struggle with it. I can find the questing stories interesting, exciting even, and I don't even have any trouble in believing that all Collins says is true. But it's reconciling psychic questing, along with topics such as ley lines, with relevance to my actual life that I find difficult.

That sounds a bit negative and really I don't mean it to. I want to find the relevance and feel the connection between all this occult exploration and my own life. After all, everyone else there seemed to be so interested and supportive of everything everyone was saying. And as I said, I am spiritual and part of that is knowing that sometimes you have to believe in things you can't explain. But as far as questing for artifacts and magical ley lines go I just don't feel the pull.

Now I like Andrew Collins, he's a very open and approachable guy. We had a friendly conversation about jewelery in the nearby Henge Shop during a break between speakers. I always admire and respect someone who takes the risk of living their life as they want to live it, as opposed to living the kind of life that's more 'normal'. But at the end of the weekend, during the panel debate when Collins asked, 'How can we make this better?' I couldn't think of a way to ask, 'Could you explain why we need psychic questing?' without sounding glib.

Collins suggested that we might all go forth and create psychic questing groups of our own, advertising in the local paper, spreading the message. There was the definite feeling that he hoped his words would encourage other people to do more than just show up and listen.

But for people to act they must surely need to know why it matters to them and to life's bigger picture. This is what remains a bit lost on me.

I've come to the conclusion that psychic questing is probably a vocational thing. It doesn't resonate with me because it's just not my thing, but that's not to say it isn't importaint and worth exploring. I'm first and foremost an artist, which explains why this blog is two weeks after the event. From the moment I got home I had a painting commission I had to finish. That's my life's work and all the talk of artifacts, mysterious conspiracies and ancient civilisations in the world doesn't seem to make me want to do otherwise, I don't even know when I would make time for anything else. But maybe I've got it wrong and all this doesn't need to inspire me because there are those people out there for whom it does.

So what's the point in my even blogging about something I was never really into in the first place? Well, I did leave the weekend feeling moved to write it all up, so who knows, perhaps it was only ever my role to write this and someone else's to read it and get curious. But please don't think me disparaging, I simply thought it might be interesting to present my 'outsider' perspective, after all, everyone's outside before they're in.

I haven't even touched on half of the content that was discussed during the weekend, so I must point you in the direction of Andrew Collins extensive range of online places. His Facebook, Twitter (still trying to find the twitter, he's not making it easy for me....) and Web site.

There shall be another Psychic Questing Weekender next year according to Collins' Facebook page, so I do urge you to check it out. I'll be sure to be there, Dad is bound to want to go.

Commission: Merryn

2011-09-23T20:24:00.000+01:00

With permission from the patron himself, I would like to present to you my latest piece, the painting I had mentioned in the previous blog, I call it 'Merryn'.

I call it 'Merryn' because it is Merryn. I was honoured indeed to paint this beautiful baby girl, the daughter of R, who is the customer in question. I believe this painting is a gift intended for her grandparents, as a thank you for all those hours of babysitting thus far (and for the many more to come I'm sure).

Today was the day of the big reveal. I was booked on a last minute job in town that meant I could deliver the painting by hand. Now although I was happy with the end result, I felt acutely aware that I wasn't the one who needed pleasing. This time, the painting was for someone else, of someone else that means the world to them - no pressure then! But, to my great relief, R loved it and although the money a commission brings is much appreciated, it's that reaction of genuine glee that is pure gold.

Thanks go to R for supporting my work and for allowing me to post a picture of the painting here.

New beginnings, feeling finished and Howling Bells

2011-09-22T20:17:00.000+01:00

It's rare for an artist to feel that 'i'm finished' feeling in a way that's resolute.

Usually, or so I find, a painting doesn't so much have a clear cut end point than it does a fade to black kind of feeling. I consider myself finished when I no longer feel I can add anything to what I'm standing in front of, so I may as well put the brush down and step away from the canvas. But I don't exactly feel a big sense of satisfaction at the end, it's more like a feeling of someone leaving me. Inspiration and I danced a good dance, but now it's over and it's back to reality. It is normally a sad feeling, because like a bright and fiery relationship - it was good while it lasted. Sometimes I'll feel the need to go out running, or dancing, or something energetic in an attempt to avoid answering the question: so, what next? I need a rest really, a good lie down and sleep. But my brain has other ideas, and would rather I deal with a sparky cloud of thoughts about everything from what I'm doing with my life, where I want to be and what matters.

I've just this second finished a painting. Today's method for fighting the post-painting crazy is a combination of Mogwai, blogging and vodka.

When I'm working on a painting I keep it covered between stints. If that sheet wasn't thrown over the work in progress I'd never get anything else done. An unfinished work is a constant visual hook, it forces me to look for the next mark I'd make, which bit needs my attention first. When it is finished, I still feel the need to hide it away out of sight for a while. It's as if there is some invisible lingering connection between me and it, and some time needs to go by before that connection can evaporate like smoke.

But in this case, the painting in question is a portrait commission, which is why I haven't already shown it off here. The patron gets first dibs on the 'big reveal' of course. The fact I've been requested to paint a subject close to someone else's heart has made for a very different connection. In a way, I thought it might be easier, because perhaps logically I'd be less emotionally involved with the subject, so could be more objective. But actually I found the experience just as all consuming and at times pretty intense. Painting to please yourself is one thing, painting to please someone else is another basket of kittens. It took me a while to detach myself from the worry of not being able to create the life in the face of the subject that the patron would be looking for. Eventually I stopped being an idiot and over thinking things, got busy and had that break-through moment where you know it's gonna work out. In the end, I was able to tune in to the character I was painting and capture them.

At least I hope so, if I don't write another blog you'll know that they hated it and I killed myself.
*Kidding*.

I started work on the commission just as I felt finished with university life, so it wasn't the calmest of times to introduce a new beginning into the mix. I made the call to student finance the other day, which was the last thing I had to do on the list of 'things to do once you've decided to chuck university in'. As anti-climactic withdrawing from uni had been, the reality of what I was doing had started to sink in. I think it really started to sink in after a recent gig in Camden to see The Howling Bells, with my mate S.

We had booked the tickets ages in advance. The Howling Bells were pretty new to me, much more S's thing, but I like their sound so was willing to give them a go. But when the night of the gig came around, I didn;t exactly feel in the partying mood. How had I earned a night out when I'd just quit a 3 year course of study 1 year in, and had nothing much to show for it? But, I donned my sequins and got my ass out the house, telling myself that some loud sound might be just the jolt my brain needed.

The train into London was crammed, so S and I found ourselves sharing a table for 4 with a suited commuter type. This guy, sadly I didn't get his name, sparked a conversation with us (initiated by my blindingly bright sequin top I might add) that was weirdly the beginning of my feeling just a little bit more like 'Tori the Tattoo Artist'. He asked us what we did for a living, 'I'm working in graphic design right now but I'm looking for an apprenticeship to become a tattoo artist', I announced.

It's my belief that the more people you tell your plans to, the more real they become. An idea kept to yourself could vanish into thin air easily, but share that idea with a million people and some of them are going to ask you how it's going now and then. Stating your intention to other people affirms it to yourself, it makes it just that bit bigger, brighter and stronger.

Ok, I'm starting to sound like a Daft Punk track.

But chatting to this total stranger about my goals and dreams did feel good.

The second big contributing factor to my feeling that bit more like 'Tori the Tattoo Artist' was talking to S about it on the late train home, over our deliciously greasy dinner fit for a Burger King. We both really enjoyed the gig, well I enjoyed it, S was 'blown away', which I was glad to see. (I'll leave S to write the gig review...).

We swapped similar stories of feeling of being a little lost life-wise. Both with ideas for big adventures and new beginings, both trying to get over that intitial starting hump, we seemed to be at a point in our lives where everything was set to change. But just as I've every faith in S's ambitions, he seemed sure that I'd make my inky dreams happen, and offered up some skin for the future, of which I'm greatful.

Telling strangers your dreams can be beneficial, but telling those who know you can really spur you on. If you want to shoot for the moon in this life, you need to keep a firm grip on your self-belief. No one else can do this for you, the buck stops with you, but that being said, having other people believe in you also is like noticing the stars in an otherwise dark sky.

Uneven Surface

2011-09-14T22:07:00.002+01:00

Ain't that the truth.

Well what took a year of reading, writing and revising to create took exactly 2 emails to extinguish, the gist of which went a bit like this:
'Dear whomever it may concern, I would like to withdraw from uni. Thanks.'
'Dear valued student, ah I'm sorry to hear to hear this. Are you sure?'
'Dear you again, yeah I'm sure. Do you need me to sign anything?'
'Dear ex-student, nah we don't need anything else. Goodbye and good luck'.

And that was that.

Anti-climactic doesn't begin to describe how it felt. I mean I'm well aware that it was me and only me who decided to leave, and I've no regrets about it, there's just a funny feeling that comes from suddenly having the past year disappear, as if it never really happened. It feels a little like the realisation that Father Christmas's sack of gifts is actually your parents leaving presents in a brown pillowcase at the foot of your bed. I've just spent the past couple of days frowning into the middle distance and going, 'Huh?'.

But this is typical artistic behaviour of mine. Whereas friends and family have enthused, 'Oh this is amazing! You're really going for it! You must feel great!' I've been the one to be looking insufferably far into the future, feeling a weight of responsibility of making my dreams a reality, because now it's down to me and me alone. There is no institution I can work to impress, there's no mark scheme to follow or even a teacher to sweet talk. All I feel it falls down to now is hard work and luck.
This has freaked me out a little. Especially when you consider the fact that nothing has really changed yet. Up until a few days ago I was just on my 'holiday' off from uni. I was working design jobs, painting and generally living out life stuff to make use of the time before the next term began. Now there is no such thing as a next term, I feel as if my mind is rebelling. Even though I know this is what is best for me, it's as if a part of me is reacting unfavourably. 'FFS, if I'd known you were going to chuck it all in a year down the line I'd never have agreed to all those weekends of nothing but Renaissance and Rococo. This wasn't the arrangement, no, you've lost me now'.

And yes, I do realise how schizophrenic that sounds.

To be perfectly honest, I'm not exactly sure where this tattoo loving, 1950's head scarf wearing, free spirited strange girl sprang from so suddenly. I'm still trying to figure her out. I know I felt defiant of my own self-doubt when I felt that although the idea of becoming a tattoo artist seemed a perfect fit for everything I had been looking for, I didn't think it was very 'me'. 'Why the fuck isn't it 'me'? And if it isn't 'me', what is so 'me' then that it means I'm not the kind who could do this?' It is a trait I get from my mother's side: tell me I can't do something and I'll do everything I can to prove you wrong.

But once again, it's not as if anyone was telling me that to pursue tattooing wasn't something I could do. I just felt it myself. I felt it when I walked into a tattoo studio for the first time. I felt out of place and alien in somewhere like that. But this feeling didn't make me want to turn on my heel to the safety of the nearest 'Tori friendly zone' - wherever the hell that might be. The ghost train ride on Brighton Pier perhaps? 5 times I've enjoyed that ride....

No, the 'out of place' feeling I felt made me want to change in order to fit the place, and not the other way around. Perhaps there is something artistic about believing it's possible to change in a very transformative way. Spiders don't bother me, but feeling as if my life is stuck in a rut or even *shudder* predictable, terrifies me. More so than even the ghost train.

:-O

So I am glad and excited about the journey that has just started, but I am still trying to find a decent 'ending' feeling as far as uni is concerned. I'm thinking that perhaps putting the mass of papers I'd collected and now no longer need through the shredder might help. Then maybe some kind of ritualistic moon dance. Naked, obviously.

And so we come to the end of one of those posts that has no point really, which is very reflective of how things are right now, a little pointless, very open-ended with lots of room for improvement. More for me than for you, I feel I've gotta document some of this crazy, if only to help get my head straight and remember who I am and where I'm going.

Let's end on a track, one so appropriate in a positive life-affirming way, 'I Am Somebody' by Chromeo/DJ Mehdi. At only 34, Mehdi was reported dead yesterday as a result of a fatal accident. It's a strange feeling when someone you have only ever known through their music dies. The French record label of which DJ Mehdi was part of, Ed Banger, is unique in the way it promotes the artists as individual 'characters'. Their work always seems to have a sense of humour, which is shown in this ace video directed by SOME, the designer responsible for the pop-art bright and bold branding. You get the impression that the Ed Banger artists are one big happy electro family, supporting, touring and performing together. Ed Banger music is always a sound I work really well too and I love Mehdi's music. My thoughts go out to his wife and all that really knew him. Now take this moment and remember that you. are. some-bod-y some-bod-yyyy some-bod-yy....!

They call it 'Withdrawal': Why I decided to quit university

2011-09-10T21:24:00.001+01:00

I've decided to quit university.

To be perfectly honest, friends of mine will remember my saying a couple of weeks into the first term, 'If I decide to quit in the next couple of weeks they won't charge me for the year, do you think I should? I'm not sure I can do this'. But back then, I was more doubtful that I could make myself read all the books, attend all the insanely spaced out lectures and write the essays when I just wasn't even slightly interested. I had to keep telling myself: It's a means to an end. You just need a degree and then you can train to be an art teacher, and that's what you want to do next in your working life. So just do it!

That was my motivation for year 1: that I had to get my hands on a degree to get myself to where I wanted to be. It was this thinking that got me through that first year. I also maintained a decent level of freelance design work around my studies and kept up some kind of momentum with my painting, for the sake of my own sanity.

I decided to quit when I realised I didn't want to teach art. For a while I thought a degree in History of Art might be beneficial anyway, but without the need to complete it I couldn't help but think I was misplacing a lot of time, energy and not to mention money. It felt like I could direct all this energy into the right direction, towards this potentially crazy idea of mine of becoming a tattoo artist. It felt like the right time to start doing something I felt passionate about and to make that happen.
What I call 'quitting' the uni calls 'withdrawal'. Although the first year was successful, I can confidently say that I will not experience any feelings of withdrawal once I have withdrawn from Reading uni.

I don't mean to rubbish the place with some kind of 'bad review'. Every student's experience is their own, and given the fact I was a mature student I can't help but think my experience wasn't very 'typical'. But the structure of uni life is so strange. I've felt so 'barely there'. The ratio of time spent at the uni to time spent on 'holiday' is insane. It took me several hours the other day just to log onto my email because I'd forgotten every single detail of mine. My email, password, secret answer to the secret question - and which uni do I go to again?? To me, it just feels like a bizarre way to become qualified in a subject - to hardly be there. And when you are required to be there, it feels so passive and one-sided. Sure, there were some seminars that encouraged group discussion, but the rest of the time you might as well be visiting your local library for none of the cost. However much I respect the knowledge of the lecturers there, several of which I really enjoyed listening to, as far as imparting something onto me, I don't really feel that they did. Any essay I wrote, felt like the product of a succession of book swallowing mixed with a little of my opinion. Was it supposed to feel like that?

But then, perhaps my experience was more to do with the fact I felt like the reluctant student, trying to jump through a degree shaped hoop.

In short (as is so rare for one of my posts) whereas you need a degree to be a teacher, you don't need one to become a tattoo artist. Once I had my eureka moment where I first thought, 'Oh, I think this is something I really want to do' my brain wouldn't let me forget it and I was pretty sure I'd regret it forever if I didn't give this tattooing malarkey a try.

Feeling as if I was now about to try and infiltrate a world I knew next to nothing about, I thought it would be a good start to take along my portfolio of paintings and drawings to show someone in the business of skin. I had a consultation with Jack for my next inky addition at Nine in Brighton, so that seemed a good a time as any to ask for his advice.

The journey into tattooing seems to split into two paths: you find yourself an apprenticeship with another artist or you buy some kit and 'teach yourself'. The latter option is pretty controversial, because it's a method that can produce 'scratchers', a term for people who can have little talent, ability or sense of hygiene, but still call themselves a tattoo artist. From what I had read in various places, the apprenticeship route seemed to be the only way to go. However, there seems to be a sense of 'don't do as I do, do as I say,' as many of the notable and great tattoo artists working today did not have an apprenticeship and did essentially teach themselves. When I spoke to Jack about apprenticeships, he warned me of the risks of being taken advantage by some studios. An apprentice can be another term for dogsbody and depending on the artist, a tattooing hopeful could be stifled creatively by being taught a specific way to work.

Perhaps if someone sticks to working with practise skins, pig skins, or even the odd banana, they could avoid the 'scratcher stigma' and potentially be able to create examples of work that would catch the eye of a studio that could hone those skills. I found the idea of teaching myself exciting as well as totally daunting, which only made it all the more appealing. It was something I had never considered, at this stage I was more concerned about how my art would be received by someone who already tattooed for a living.

Taking a good amount of time looking through my work, Jack concluded that he saw no reason why I couldn't tattoo like this. In fact he said not to let anyone tell me that it wasn't possible to tattoo in such an artistic style, and he noted down a few names of tattoo artists who did just that for me to check out. The encouragement came as a great relief to me, as I felt a little bit closer to somewhere I wanted to be. Oh, and we discussed my thoughts for my latest tattoo creation, which I'm sure will be immensely beautiful and all round epic :)

So, to return to the topic of withdrawn degrees, although I did not base my decision to quit purely on the meeting with the tattoo artist, I could no longer justify to myself why accumulating the 3 years worth of debt to get a degree I didn't need was a good use of my time and energy. I found myself thinking, if I was able to force myself into writing 1st essays and exams through my loathing of the course, what could I achieve if I channelled this in the right direction?

Of course no one likes to feel a quitter. It annoys me that I put so much work into the first year and now it's essentially 'gone'. But, as far as wanting to become a tattoo artist, I know that this isn't some flippant notion of mine. I do have those, I mean I haven't worn those slashed black and white knee high socks that seemed like such a good idea at the time in AGES!

I know that I'm drawn to this more than I am drawn to anything, so I think now is the time to jack in all of the things that won't help me get there, and to focus on living the life I want now. I am currently working on a portrait painting commission, I am working consistently on design projects and I have been putting more time into my art promotion. Beginning the second year of university, when I now have no real justification or reason for it, seems like such a foolish move.

I am still slightly freaked out by the idea of giving my life such a shake up; it's not been an easy decision. But, I know that the decision has been made, so I just have to follow my nose now and see where it leads me.

It's good to share: A work in progress

2011-08-28T21:07:00.000+01:00

So as I've already said, I'm working on something new.

This is not unusual.

But what is unusual is that I'd like to share with you the work in progress, which isn't something I usually do. Making it, unusual....

Sorry - this is the kind of mood you'll find me in when I've just finished 7 hours of painting, mainly standing in a pair of red heals of mine, in a bid not to fuck my feet up because I'm sure I read somewhere it wasn't a great idea to have your feet unsupported for hours on end. Plus I just like the visual.

Anyway, as spacey as I feel I thought I might upload where I'm at with it. This painting feel very unplanned and I'm kind of 'making it up as I go along' perhaps more so than usual. So what I'm trying to say is, this may change, it will change, a lot. It might therefore be interesting to see this change take shape, and to also keep a record of what was created, even if this gets mostly obliterated at a later paint.

If that makes sense. I'm not sure anymore, that boring human feeling is starting to kick in....
I could have summarised all of the above by simply saying, 'It's good to share,' which it is, so I am....

I'm not a sex blogger but...

2011-08-27T17:28:00.000+01:00

...I really rather admire them.
And I've been trying to pin-point why.

It's not the sex stories and salacious content that especially interests me, although there is a definite knack in crafting well written words on such a subject, but I think it's the sense of self-assurance that appeals to me. When a writer is working with a deeply personal subject, perhaps even one that divides the masses in terms of opinion of 'right and wrong', I can't help but admire their unapologetic stance. I suppose this is a trait I try to instill in myself when I've decided today is a 'multi-coloured patterned tights with towering heals and fruit bowl on my head look' kinda day. I'm well aware of the disapproving looks I'm going to get from most people, but if it feels right to me then sod them all. I have found this same disregard for the 'social norm' in sex bloggers, which explains the attraction.

Nothing to do with the sex at all you understand.

As my posts go, this one definitely seems to be very off-topic. But what you've got to understand is that recently everything in my life has revolved around a common theme: the social norm.

Countless times over this past month I have found myself thinking or saying, 'This isn't very normal but....'. Now for an artist to be kicking off about what is and isn't normal is no great surprise. After all, artists have a reputation for being the antithesis of 'normal', they are eccentric beings, existing on another wave-length, finding fascination and inspiration from the most shocking/mundane.

This is true, obviously. But in my experience, even us flaky creatives struggle with the universally acceptable and unacceptable in all areas of our lives. Very recently, for me, life has been all about challenging and changing that: left, right and centre.

This time last week I was packing a bag for my visit to Hove on the Sunday. I had booked myself a place on an all day work shop that aimed to, '...work with our psychic perceptions and channeling abilities to receive healing on a soul and ancestral level. Using sound and vibrational healing techniques, including crystals, we will work on each other, individually and in a group healing setting...'.

It wasn't my usual Sunday activity.

The work shop was led by Kay, a natural healer and tarot reader who I first met at Two Feathers, a spiritual/crystal shop in Brighton. I am simply open minded in my attitude towards a spiritual side to life. I find the fact we're all here at all pretty impressive and I suppose I consider a natural talent in anything as something 'unexplainable', and therefore reason enough to give some thought to life that extends beyond 'you live - you die'.

There were about 8 of us who met in the most gorgeous house in Hove that Kay had organised. You know you're somewhere expensive when there's spot-lighting in the floor. We split our time outside in the lavender filled garden and inside, in the plush white living room strewn with antique looking furniture and mystical art work. Some of the women taking part were actively training to become crystal healers, whilst others had experienced something painful in their life and wanted to find release in something.

I on the other hand, didn't really have a clear 'reason' for being there. The day involved a lot of pair work, and I found myself naturally pairing up with a lovely lady who did desire to heal people as a living. We all had to take it in turns in healing each other in various ways, at times using our hands to guide the energy where it needed to be. Now I do believe in this. I believe we can be great receptors for energy that we can give to other people, but I did hear a little voice in my mind that said, 'You don't know what you're doing and you look like mental'.

That is why I wanted to be there, for me, it was an important exercise in extinguishing that way of thinking and doing something so totally out of my comfort zone. Despite being a believer in the spiritual stuff, I still felt I was held back by some kind of 'social norm' and it made me doubt myself.

The actual experience of healing someone and being healed, once I had squashed that doubt, was incredible. I could feel waves of goosebumps, without my partner touching me at all, and it was quite heady and intense. By the end of the day we all seemed to share of feeling of being so high spirited, drunk or high without the chemical assistance. I think for me personally, there was also something really beneficial about being in a room of accepting strangers. We all felt we understood each other and knew no one would judge. This would become a common theme over the next few days. How often do you find yourself in the close company of strangers and feel totally at ease?

I envy the sex bloggers for their ability to write so openly and honestly about all areas of their lives, but I don't intend on doing that here. There are some areas of my life I feel a need to keep to myself, however much I might enjoy writing about them. But this being said, I am living by their example. You will see it in my new work, I've been painting up a storm, there has been some strange change in me and I'm no longer interested in any aspect of this 'social norm', whatever that is anyway.

Dark and Stormy

2011-08-24T22:59:00.000+01:00

Almost a month and no blog? You can be sure that there are very good reasons for the lull, and you can also be certain of the fact that is is but a brief pause before the big storm. Things have already started to get dark and stormy, as my dirty hands display.

Even I don't know where this is going just yet, I've only just this second stopped and felt the need to write. It was something spontaneous, but to see the size of it you would imagine I had great plans to fill such a space. Perhaps I do, I just don't know them yet myself. But I'll know it when I see it, much in the way of a husband, or the perfect pair of shoes.

Usually for me, a painting is the product of an idea that appears from nothing much at all. Some kind of concept or theme will cross my mind and attract me enough to make me want to paint it, to follow that thought. Usually it feels like that idea was an external spark, one that I managed to see before anyone else.
But sometimes, the art can serve as a kind of therapeutic technique: a method of teasing out what can be found in the depths of you alone. You could argue that the two are one of the same - does something inspire us because it is inspirational or do we bring the quality of being inspirational to it?

See this is the kind of ramblings you get from an artist who has already worked a day, and then worked another day and now has a large amount of paint in her hair to tell the tale.

But I just wanted to mark the beginning of a work that I feel will be different. In this painting, I know I can't complete it until I've lived brighter and bolder in other areas of my life. This time, I'm being artful in life and it's that new creation that is influencing my work. And it feels...well it 'feels' and I am doing just that: feeling my way and following my instinct with every word, brush stroke and movement.

1:18 am

2011-07-31T02:18:00.000+01:00

'Really? You won't get home, have a little sleep then maybe blog tomorrow? You're really gonna blog tonight?'
'Yes!' I insisted to J. I felt fueled enough to word something significant tonight, even though I knew I wouldn't be dragging my sorry self through the front door until gone 1am. It's 1:24 right now...

But I'd had the mind to blog ever since Thursday night, when I had met with S for a drink. I had been waiting until after the meet up, because it was the outcome that would determine the content of the blog, that's to say, it would make or break me, for a good few days at least.

You see S, a friend of J's, had seen some of my art work and as a result, asked me to create a tattoo design. Those words can only skim the surface of how huge that request actually was. Someone wanted me to design them a tattoo. This was without prompt from me, or any prior knowledge of my recent discovery of all things tattoo. I was elated at such a request and after a short meet up to discuss ideas with S, I set to work. It was as if I were able to play at being my future self, where the request of tattoo designs would be commonplace. I hoped.

S was very open minded but of course had some requirements. I had to include some wording, a song lyric that had huge meaning. A few themes were discussed, mainly of the travel variety, in relation to the kind of free spirited bohemian lifestyle us artists dream about. It's fair to say I had a lot of wriggle room to go off and create something beautiful that I believed answered S's brief. This freedom was both brilliant and terrible.

It took me some time to avoid the cliches, to move away from the tired and tested designs that we've all seen a million times before. I kept asking myself, 'But how does this communicate what he's trying to say? How is this a good example of my work? Is this something I can honestly feel proud of?'

Technically the process went smoothly, as I sketched several ideas and fine tuned the one I felt worked best. I knew that S was keen on colour, so I included this, and eventually the design was done, ready to be shown.

So on to the big reveal. We met for drinks and in a humid bar full of old men who were clearly confused by my purple hair. I handed over my creation and awaited the response.....

If you'd have asked me, perhaps even a couple of years ago, whether or not I would ever consider getting tattooed my answer would have certainly been no. I didn't like the idea of something permanent in my skin and didn't understand how anyone could decide on an image to live with. What if you changed your mind? You could hardly change the design. The mass popular tattoo ideas seemed to be butterflies, fairies, flowers and stars. I had no desire to ink any such images onto my skin and thought the whole process a bit common and trashy if I'm honest.

And then I went to Brighton.

It was actually J who helped pave the way, when he revealed that during uni he had acquired a chest tattoo. Although his description of, 'It felt like a bread knife being dragged across my chest,' was hardly encouraging, it was more the marking of meaning he had done that made an impression. Once I had fell in love Brighton, it made sense to me to get a tattoo that marked my vow to one day live there.

But it wasn't as if that first experience in the tattoo artist's chair sparked the idea of wanting to put myself in the drivers seat. This realisation came about when I noticed that there were few jobs on earth that actually praised and admired talented artists - and tattooing was one of them. That's where some of the best artists working today are to be found - in tattoo shops. Combined with my desire to work with people, and step away from the office environment, the attraction of becoming a tattoo artist heightened more and more.

Aside from having an impressive portfolio of art, a tattoo shop would surly be impressed by someone who was actively designing tattoos that people were having applied by another artist. My design for S could potentially help me on the road to being noticed.

'The more I look at it, the more I feel it's totally right,' were S's words after I had described the meaning behind the image I'd placed before him.

Massive relief.

It was first and foremost important to me that S felt the design included all the elements he wanted. What I discovered to be half the fun of trying to create my design, was trying to climb inside the person's, 'client's' mind I suppose and root around. I had been doing work along these line in the graphic design business for years, so it was the same technique, just different out come.

I was elated when S announced how much he loved it. He intended to take it to a few tattoo shops to get feedback, whilst hunting for the ideal artist to carry out the work. I could only thank him for the great exposure and experience I'd also gain from that, not to mention the honour it would be for him to choose to live with a piece of my art.

Although it is sometimes difficult, as much of your future that you're able to drag into the here and now, the better.

'I just want to surround myself in the whole 'everything' about it you know?' I told J earlier tonight. 'I feel like there's this whole other life full of new people who all love this stuff, just waiting for me to arrive'. J nodded in agreement, as he listened to my ranty outpouring as per usual. 'I think I'm gonna get back and blog about all this,' I'd said. 'Really? You won't get home, have a little sleep then maybe blog tomorrow? You're really gonna blog tonight?'

Portrait Painting: Blake 'Cheeeeese!'

2011-07-20T10:58:00.000+01:00

Oh hello there.

Long time no blog, well, by my standards anyway.
For a couple of weeks you've been spared my (delicious) waffle as I've been away on holiday, travelling around to various parts of the south coast here in the UK.
It didn't rain all the time.

I hoped the trip would spark some new artistic ideas and help inspire new work. Which it did.
Yesterday in around 9 hours I painted this, which was inspired by how extremely besotted I am with my baby brother Blake.

The holiday was a family affair and my little brother's first holiday ever. He's just two years old, so I was determined not to miss out on the cute collection of 'firsts' he would discover. His first sand castle, first ice cream on the beach, first paddle in the sea, first horrific 5 hour car journey surrounded by last-minute tesco carrier bags, all crammed with extra things and stuff.

I've never been much of a landscape artist, so although we spend several days on lovely golden sandy beaches the view just didn't make me reach for the watercolours. Portraits are much more my thing, so it came as no surprise that by the end of the holiday my camera had a couple of token scenic shots and about 250 grinning Blakes.

One of the many cheesy Blake pics, this one inspired the painting.

Although it's true that children create a mountain of work when you're trying to go anywhere, from a 2 week holiday to a trip into town, they're also usually the cause of most of the fun. Blake found fun in everything. It was his simple sense of adventure and infectious chuckle that made the holiday in my opinion.

This painting is based on one of the many photographs I took of Blake. Despite only being 2, the little dude sure knows how to pose. So used to having his picture taken he's now known to grin from ear to ear and shout 'Cheeeeese!' I was rather pleased that when I showed him this painting (or as he puts it, 'pent') he said, 'Oh! Black! (Which is about as close as he gets to 'Blake' right now). So if he can see the likeness then my job's been done.

But what might not be instantly obvious is the fact this is a collaborative piece, the other artist being Blake himself.

For ages I'd left this half-started canvas on my easel. I'd gotten so far as to add some colour to the edges, but wasn't sure what to fill the space with. So I left it, and when Blake clearly wanted to 'pint' with his crayons I let him have a go.

Then the idea hit me that it was now the perfect base for a portrait, all the scribbly crayon being very expressive of his energy and spark.
Which is an artsy way of saying I thought it would look freaky to have his manic cheesy smile face emerging from the messy crayon explosion!

So there we have it: 'Cheeeeese!' Acrylic and crayon on canvas by Blake and Tori Treasure.

Sketches on the side: Hummingbird

2011-06-26T21:45:00.000+01:00

So I created this little dude today....

It's acrylic on watercolour card at around A3 in size.

I suppose this, and the few other sketches I've posted here recently, are all part of my hopeful move into tattooing. I feel like I need to flesh out my portfolio (flesh? Geddit....??) with a few smaller designs that display more range in colour, line and subject. That and I'm trying to become a more conscientious artist, currently reading the highly motivational book, 'If You Want to Write' by Brenda Ueland. She talks of dispelling the myth that any creative spark is a fragile and delicate thing, in need of coaxing an persuading into being. Instead, inspiration should be worked on, like any craft, and the more you do work on what you can do, the better you will become. Typing this now, it kind of stands to reason and makes perfect sense. If you want to improve at something, you practise practise practise. But how many times have you said, 'Oh I'm not in the mood right now. I need to be 'in the zone' in order to write, or paint, or create in whatever creative way you do.

I've often said this. But if I waited to be in the right mood to do my morning yoga, I'd never do it. As much as I know I feel all the better for doing it, after I've made myself bend about and do the 'breath of fire', that makes me sounds like a hyperventilating hamster, I never REALLY fancy waking up that precious hour earlier. But just knowing you've put the effort in is an encouraging feeling and it's the same with art. What I also really dig about Brenda's writing is her theory of inspiration needing space.

Ideas need space to manifest and show themselves to you. She suggests sitting in front of an empty page and just scribbling whatever comes to mind as a way of trying to kick start some creative momentum. I'm terrible at this. If I'm not doing 4 things all at once I don't feel like I'm being productive. It feels like hard work to sit in front of my sketch book and just know that the time is for nothing but drawing and I could draw anything and everything. But it does seem to be paying off because this hummingbird was today's outcome.

I highly recommend Brenda's book, and hope that you too make time to face an empty page and like the alchemist turns rocks into gold, may you grab that white space and with it create your own kinda magic.

Smiling Geisha: Goodbyes

2011-06-12T14:34:00.001+01:00

This weekend artistic self has demanded I wallow in a deep pool of Asian culture. I have spent both days sketching geisha girls for no reason other than to improve my sketching skills, but I wasn't able to start until I'd found some music befitting the task. I craved some of that 'plinky' sweet sounding Japanese guitar stuff. Or a 'Koto' as I discovered. After much itunes trawling I found the perfect soundtrack to my project. The first track I found on youtube for your listening pleasure. 'Lotus out of Water'.

It's such a beautiful track, impossible to hear and not feel swept away to some exotic distant land. I'm wondering if that's exactly what my artistic self had in mind. Perhaps this is the perfect time to fly away to somewhere else. It's been a week of change and leaving, and of course with leaving comes the goodbye.

Of course it could also be because a book on the Zen Mind fell off the shelf when I was shifting my desk around so I started to re-read it.

But I do think there's something in the water. Everyone seems to be embarking on a big journey to a place far away right now. I've been watching a few people leave and I've witnessed many goodbyes. I'm not the kind of person who has a big problem with saying goodbye, just so long as the goodbye is only connected to the journey and not the relationship. Certainly distance has its part to play, because once two people are no longer as physically close as they used to be, it will obviously change things. But there are all kinds of words involved here, not just distance alone. Friendship - that's a strong one. Add Friendship to Distance and see what happens. If proximity was a fundamental requirement to forming Friendship I'd be bosom buddies with the same old lady that always serve me at the post office. Most people who work together day in day out, given the choice, would never feel the urge to pick up the phone and party, do lunch or do much of anything. Course I did meet one of my closes friends at work so it's not always the case.

Yes, if someone is near to you, as in, miles, it's easier to be friends with them than say, someone who lives on the other side of the world, or even an hour away on a train. But just to say something is easier isn't to say it's any good, or even real. Friendship can be helped by literal closeness but help is all it is. Friendship is of course built on the friend, that person in particular who you chose to spend your time and experiences with. That person can in theory be anywhere. A good example of this is my friend Lars, who I met on myspace (when it was cool) years ago. Despite him living in Sweden, we've been talking, writing, mailing, emailing, mutually drawing and moaning about the universe for years now, yet we're still yet to sit across a table and have that cup of coffee.

Of course I hope we do, one day.

Friendship isn't fragile, like some delicate flower in need of a gentle touch. That real connection can weather a storm and stand it's ground. It's lasting, like some big old gnarly tree you know will always be rooted to that same spot. I suppose it's this understanding of the invisible friendship link that stops me from fixating on the goodbye. Two people can part ways, but the friendship will still be there to connect them. If something has the capacity to fizzle out, it probably wasn't a raging fire in the first place. Maybe just a spark.

So the next time you find yourself faced with the goodbye, define your terms. Distance is nothing.

We're all howling at the same moon.

Geisha with a straw hat

2011-06-11T18:01:00.000+01:00

Flat battery

2011-06-06T22:52:00.000+01:00

I figured if I felt that good after my final exam of the first year, then completing the entire 3 year degree would feel orgasmic.

At 9am this morning I sat down in room 107 to sit the 2nd of the Art History exams, my 5th and final exam of the year. I'm pleased to say it went pretty well and I was able to write/scribble out 8 pages in response to two questions that I felt the most confident in answering.

Once the hour and a half was done I made a run for the nearest exit. It was with a huge sigh of relief that I sunk into the car seat of the pink mobile, mentally half-way home, carried by thoughts of the next four uni-free months, all paintings, paid work and freedom.

The wheezy gasping sound that came from my car once the key turned in the ignition soon snapped me back to reality like a giant elastic band of shitiness. A flat battery.
Excellent.

I can only blame my exam-filled brain for failing to hear the high pitched squeal a car makes to let you know you've left your damn lights on, which I had done. Apparently an hour and a half of unattended fog lights will kill most batteries, which is something I learned today. And so there was a change of plan. I wasn't about to speed off home and spend the rest of the day rejoicing in my new found freedom. I was going to spend a good two hours calling my insurance company, listening to hold music and then waiting for a man with magic battery charging box to appear 'within the hour'. Just when you thought you could escape the clutches of Pepper Lane...

It was my own stupid fault and it's safe to say I'll be tripple checking my lights before I leave my car in future. I'll also make it a habit of leaving a spare mobile in the car, as the two bars on my phone quickly dropped to one and by the time I'd finally got patched through to the right person it was vibrating in that dangerous 'I'm about to check out of here any second now' way. For a minute or so it looked as if I might find myself stuck on Pepper Lane, the tiny stretch of road just outside of Reading University where us non permit holders fight to park.

Stranded at uni, what could be worse?

I'd been looking forward to, well, dreaming of the second my final exam was done. For the past few months I had sold my soul to the God of revision, the months before that felt like an exercise in how quickly essays could be churned out. For so long I had been my own life coach, convincing myself of how well spent the hours of work were. Far better to dedicate all my time to study and university stuff rather than pick up a paint brush. I had to prioritise. There's an order to things.

When I eventually got home I collapsed in front of my laptop to soothe my brain in a wash of chewing gum telly. An email informed me that the options for next years History of Art and Philosophy modules were available, which students could now apply for. I'm not sure if it was the deathly dull sounding subject titles or the mere mention of anything to do with another year of uni life that caused my mind to go into meltdown.

'Whyyyyy oh whyyy are you doing this? One year was bad enough - but another, then another. Just give me one solid reason why this is such a good idea, and I'll leave you alone. Why do you need this degree?'

And I don't know.

I started this degree with the intention of becoming an art teacher, so I needed it in order to train, because I hadn't needed a degree before and had been working perfectly well as a graphic designer without one. But now the plan had changed, I suppose I had been regarding a degree as the cherry on top of my Plan B. If the goal to get into tattooing didn't work out, I would have another string to my bow with which to hunt down a good alternative job.

See it makes perfect sense when I put it that way, it sounds like the right and sane thing to do. This might however be exactly why I feel so unsettled. Why am I investing so much time, effort and money in a Plan B I never hope to use? I think I have the skills to be a good tattoo artist in the making, I just need the chance and experience. The only thing that will get me this is by asking, persisting and putting the effort in. If this is indeed the dream, then what does it really matter what else I do if things don't go my way. I'll find some other kind of work in the meantime, perhaps something in design again, whilst I keep on trying.

What I don't understand is why I'm not trying NOW.

You see I've done this before, followed the right path because I knew it looked better and made sense. But just how many years do you invest in the 'what if' scenarios before they start to rule your life? I feel like the only thing preventing me now from trying to get to where I really want to be is degree shaped, and it's a shape of my own making. Am I wasting my time on something that is nothing more than an obstacle in the way, or will it be valuable? I'm not sure anymore.

I've lost the wheel, it's someone else in the driving seat and all I'm doing is listening to hold music. I'm not sure when this happened.

But I know I'm bound to feel this dramatic and confused on the final day of exams. It's about time I just stopped typing and slept on all these thoughts. I am going to give this lots more thought, because perhaps it is time to start doing now what I had planned to do later. Perhaps 'later' is the kind of destination the sat nav struggles to find. You might need to go off road to find it, to some uncharted place.

So, about wanting to become a tattoo artist...

2011-06-04T11:06:00.000+01:00

And so with the final exam just 2 days away, my first year of university study will come to an end.

When exactly was it during this year that I decided to scrap the idea of becoming an art teacher, and decide to become a tattoo artist instead?

I thought this as I zoomed home in the pink mobile yesterday, following what was an utterly disgusting 2 hours of Critical Thinking exam. I didn’t seem to be the only one who found it incredibly difficult, not to answer, but to answer in the time. ‘I decided to leave question 2 and come back to it but then there was no time to come back to, so I missed it!’ and such similar stories were told once we were told the time was up. I did manage to answer all the questions, but in the manner of a mad serial killer, frantically taking messy stabs at questions, as opposed to some cool and calculated criminal master mind who has it all under control.

I think it’s been around a month since the idea of being a tattoo artist crept into my mind, although perhaps the idea was first planted a year ago when I got my first tattoo. Back then, I decided to get a tattoo as a reminder of what would be waiting for me at the end of my 3 years of study, which I wasn’t exactly enthralled about doing. I had hoped I’d dodged the university thing after a few successful years of graphic designing based on experience and not a degree. But the decision to pursue a more artistic career seemed to point to teaching art, which in turn demanded a degree before I could teacher train.

My goal was to teach art in Brighton, where I would move to for the teacher training course after my degree at Reading University. That was the plan. It was love at first visit to Brighton and I couldn’t see myself happy living anywhere else. The idea to get some Brighton ink in my skin to be with me throughout my studies felt like a great way of keeping the faith that the rest of me would make it to Brighton eventually. I designed a small walking bear, a symbol of spiritual guidance, based on a pendant I’d bought from Brighton, and got it inked on the back of my wrist.

And that was that for a while. I’d heard it said that few people get just the one tattoo, and sure enough I had started mentally planning the next one. But this time I vowed to get it done once I’d actually moved there, to really mark that occasion. After a few weeks of completing the design I’d arranged a booking and got my second tattoo a year after the first, it would have been sooner if it wasn’t for the studio’s long waiting list. What can I say? I just couldn’t wait.

Between the time of getting the second tattoo and nipping back to the studio a few weeks later to get a tiny touch-up, I knew that I had made an important discovery that had changed my life.

I had discovered where the real artists are: they’re working in tattoo parlours.

Tattoo artists are exactly that: artists. Art teaching had felt like a career choice much more complimentary to my artistic side, whilst enabling me to create my own work in my spare time. But now I felt presented with a career that didn’t just tick that box but several more boxes besides. I wanted work that was people-focused, not desk-focused, and you can’t get much more people-focused than creating something on their skin that will follow them through life. Of course the fact that all tattoo artists have their own style and can be sought after because of their talent is a huge box ticked. It occurred to me that in the world of tattooing, you will never find an untalented artist, or at least one that gets much work. The more I researched into the requirements of being a tattoo artist, the more I discovered that natural talent in art was essential. Perhaps it sounds strange but this hadn’t occurred to me. I think I always used to regard tattoo artists as people who simply traced designs, from the stacks of ‘clip-art’ in books or on the wall. (Apparently that’s called flash.) While this is true for some parlours, it is actually the case that tattoo artists need to be able to draw if a client comes in wanting something in particular. I know, I must have been the only person on the planet who hadn’t watched LA Ink, so was totally clueless as to the ‘I’ll have that drawn up for you in a few minutes’ way of doing things. I discovered a number of tattoo websites with forums full of people submitting drawings for critique, in the hope of fine-tuning a portfolio of work. Judging by people’s comments, if your work with line, form, shading, colour and placement is off – you simply won’t make the cut.

The kind of job that regards art talent and skill as essential assets: where has this been all my life?!

You won’t even find this attitude in the ‘art world’, which instead chooses to include everyone from the real and talented to those special few jerk off onto a canvas and cover it with glitter, under the title of ‘artist’.

I felt like in the job description of tattoo artist I had found my perfect place. In fact it didn’t feel like some kind of cosmic career advice as much as it did life advice. If I could make it as a tattoo artist it wouldn’t be a job that was a bit more artsy that enabled me to create my art in my spare time, it would be a job and my art. Of course I knew from my own experience that often as a tattoo artist you will be asked to create work that perhaps you’re not 100% into, especially at the start of your career. There will always be some downsides to all kinds of work, I understand that.

But.

Depending on just how successful you become, a tattoo artist can have the freedom to eventually only commit to work they want to create. Christ, some artists are so sought after that the client often trusts them to create anything they want, done freehand, right onto their skin! But then I suppose that’s much like saying, ‘Well Michelangelo, I liked that stuff you did on the Sistine Chapel, so who am I to direct you? Just do your thing!’

My mind was spiraling with the idea that I could do this, that tattooing could become what my life is all about.

But (yes, another but).

At the time of thinking all this I needed a lot of convincing. It was as if I’d heard the penny drop, but part of me was trying my best to ignore it. A voice in my head said, ‘What, really? You? Doing that? That’s not really the plan is it? What about teaching? Plus, you’re probably too old to start something like that. Don’t all tattoo artists start learning that stuff in their teens, besides, you probably need to have been hanging out with the kind of crowd all your life – which you certainly haven’t done! Not many tattoo places in your sleepy part of Hampshire now is there? Nah stick to the teaching idea, that’s much more achievable and safe. You know it makes sense....’

If you find yourself on the receiving end of a voice like that then this might come as helpful advice. Agree with it. Just go, ‘Ok, you’re right. Why bother trying when it’ll probably be really difficult and take a lot of time, energy, and dedication? Let’s just go for the easy feeling option’. And if you’re anything like me you won’t be able to accept that. The moment I felt that I might be passing something so brilliant by, just because it wouldn’t be easy, I felt all the more certain I had to go for it. My giving into the doubts made another voice say this: ‘So, you’re happy to never try something just because it might be a bit hard? You do know you’ll be dead one day, yes?? If you love the idea so much then make it what your life’s about! Start believing in it now and just doooo ittttt!’

So I am. Well, I’m starting to.

I had to get my first year exams done and dusted first. It’s ironic perhaps that if I hadn’t started a degree I might not have felt the need to get a tattoo in the first place, considering the fact I don’t actually need a degree to become a tattoo artist. Hopefuls need to first apprentice and learn by watching and doing. From what I’ve read you need a strong portfolio, money to support yourself and a studio willing to take you on. I’ll admit most tattoo artists seem to start their training much younger than I’ll be able to, but it’s not a deal-breaker and I have found some examples of artists who start a little later in life. I’m hardly drawing my pension just yet.

For now at least, I intend on working on my portfolio, beefing it up with more focus on line and form, whilst I finish my degree. I have considered ditching it and I think I would if I didn’t feel I was getting something valuable out of the History of Art part.

So that’s where I’m at right now. Well actually where I’m at is yet another paper on Visual Culture, as I squeeze in a bit more revision this weekend before Monday’s final exam. From that moment on it’ll be about creating new work, so watch this space. I’ve a good few months before I need to do anything studentish again, so I can’t wait to get back into my art mind-set.

In a strange way I feel like I’m ‘outing’ myself, which is what it felt like when I told a few friends of mine. Perhaps it seems so out of character for me, to do something that feels more of a stretch. It’s risky, it might not work out. But just like that other voice said, ‘Would you rather go through your whole life without taking those risks?’ If you have an idea, go for it. I know it sounds a little morbid, but I think it puts everything in perspective when you consider the possibility of taking to the grave those seeds of ideas that you never tried to grow.

Fatter brain, firmer thighs

2011-05-29T20:20:00.000+01:00

Two exams under my belt and I'm in danger of becoming cocky.
Last Friday at 9am I was making myself comfortable at desk 236, which was about to bare witness to the swiftest hour and a half in history, art history to be exact, with each and every second stuffed with the frantic scribbling of my question answering. It was my first ever History of Art exam and I'm happy to report it went pretty damn well.

In fact, it went well the moment I turned the paper over to reveal the 10 questions of which I had to choose 2. Question 1 was an absolute gift: 'Explain why the Pantheon is entered into the art-historical canon.'

Thank you God. I knew the Pantheon inside and out, literally. I knew all about the external specifics, where it is, the architectural terminology to use, the date it was built, who built it, where the stone came from, the materials used in the construction of the dome and most importantly, what makes it so damn canonical. It was one of those beautiful smug moments where I could just watch my hand do all the writing while my brain soothed and reassured me, as if to say, 'See? Wasn't it worth it living the life of a History of Art hermit and having next to no social life?'.

And for that moment anyway, it was.

Question 2 was pretty damn good also. I leapt on the one all about Pre-Raphealites, a subject I had extensively covered in my revision plan.

I came close to re-discovering fire as I furiously scrawled my pen across the paper for the entire hour and a half and it took some time for the feeling to come back into my hand once the final full stop hit home. 7 pages I think in all, 3 and a bit for each question.

BUT, as great as that moment was, I tend to forget the small detail that I've 3 more of the bastard exams left before I can really feel free. I'm pretty sure I need to pass all the modules with 40% to make it through the year, so I can't afford to get complacent, by my god it's difficult to keep motivated. There's just a huge part of me that's already kicking back and going, 'Yeah? So? You've got 3 exams left, it'll be a one-way ticket to easy street, given the last 2. No worries.'

And it doesn't help that I HATE the process of revision. Having to sit still for long periods of time just reading or writing, it just doesn't feel natural to me. I know that logically, this is what uni is supposed to be all about - study and learning. But I'm not sure my brain has bought into the idea yet, because it still feels like a waste of time. Study for the sake of it feels unproductive and irrelevant. I can never relate to my full-time working friends who tell me, 'Oh I envy being able to just read and study, you enjoy it while it lasts!'

But for me, uni is a means to an end. I don't mean that to sound negative, I'm just approaching it as work, a challenge I'm taking on that has to take it's place as part of my life, instead of becoming all my life's about.

I am glad of all I'm learning. I do feel like I'm learning a lot and that the fact I am gaining something and adding to my life is good. But it needs to flow alongside other energies I'm working with and become part of me, as opposed to me become it. I think it's easy to let what you do define you and become how you identify yourself, rather than allowing that project or mission become a way of uncovering more of who you are.

Even if whatever you're doing right now feels as if it's devouring your life, try not to loose sight of the bigger picture, and the real you. Because that bigger picture should be the reason why you're doing what you're doing, because it's helping shape your life. Be the creator, not the follower.

Oh this blog post went a bit awry. And to think, I only really wanted to enthuse about the benefits of doubling up revision with other activities, like walking or bike riding. I've just spent the past hour KILLING IT on the exercise bike whilst reading all about deontological pluralism and virtue ethics for Tuesdays exam. If, like me, study sounds like a nice idea but can feel a bit empty, why not work that body. Get a fatter brain and firmer thighs, well that can't hurt can it??

15 days: So I did my first exam...

2011-05-22T21:53:00.000+01:00

I think it's a good indication you're working too hard when the act of listening to music through proper headphones whilst doing nothing else, feels like a treat.

A lot of people say, 'I love music', or they list it as one of their hobbies and interests when asked, but I really really love music. I love the kind of music that will fill a room, the kind that needs space and air to breathe. I love it when I can get the place to myself, and flick through my cd collection, musing over the selection like a box of Milk Tray. Just me and the music, audible chocolate.

Then there are the thrashy dirty fucked up tracks that plunge deep into your chest and beat your heart at a pace you never knew it could go. The tracks that thunder beneath your feet with beats to make your bones shake. Shattering neon shards of piercing techno that cut through any idea of tomorrow. You just dance dance dance now now now because now is all there really is.

Wowsers I'm in great need of some escapism. Just 15 more days of it Tori, then you're free. Although in what state your life will be after 15 more days of this solitary revision confinement I'm not sure. Life feels so caged and dull I'm in big need of some extra-extraordinary.

As soon as is possible I'm going to grab myself a big bag of nonsense, because the dish of the day right now always seems to be great helpings of sense and good reason. I'm a little sick of it.

I'm straining to remember exactly what day last week was the day of my first exam. That's how stuffed my brain is of useless information, there's no room for anything real. One of my many notes of super organisation on the notice board before me tells me it was Thursday last week, at 2pm, when I sat down to take my 2 hour exam in Human Nature - the first of 3 of my Philosophy exams. I have a further 2 in Art History to take also.

So, how did it go? Pretty well I think. Well I wrote a lot, 8 pages of a lot, and I think most of it was applicable to the subject. I do pity the poor soul who has to read it.

Although, the spelling errors alone will have them laughing. I really missed the copy and paste function. That, and not having a bionic hand. The old school 'hand writing' technique should be reserved for writing out birthday cards and signing cheques only. By the end of it, my hand was killing me.

I wasn't exactly nervous about the exam, I just wanted to get it done. I'd done the proper thing and had actually revised, there was nothing more to do but sit in the room and write down some stuff in response to a couple of questions about a thing. When I thought the outcome of a test would determine the course of my life, I used to get extremely nervous. Now that I'm older, wiser and much more cynical, the threat of tests has been deflated. The world would make more sense if success was served to those of us who manage to grasp the top marks. But so much of life is luck. Hard work sure, but more the work of persistence and relentlessness.

But I'd say it's more luck. Crossing paths with the right people at the right time, saying the right words that are received in the right way. And happiness. Academic life never seems to stress the importance of living a happy and fulfilled life, which I'm told you don't actually need a degree in order to attain.

This all being said, anyone who knows me won't buy that I'm this cool about the outcome of exams. Despite knowing there's much more to life, deep down I'm gunning for the glory of a first. Will a 'pass' really suffice when 'flying colours' are also there for the taking? Of course it won't, which is why I bought that purple petticoat when in reality the dress looks hot enough on it's own. I'm a cherry on top kind of girl.

1 down - 4 to go. So for now it's back to the revision, filling my brain with the meaning of Mannerism, the difference between early and high Renaissance, Giotto's influence, Filippo Brunelleschi, Cimabue, Medici, Humanism, Doric, Ionic, Corinthian and antiquity.

15 days and counting.

University Exams: How do we learn?

2011-05-18T20:41:00.001+01:00

I've well and truly hit my limit.

Tomorrow, at 2pm, I shall be kicking off a cool 2 solid hours of bone-breaking furious writing, while my hand tries to make a supreme and meaningful connection with all that is Philosophy within my buzzing brain. My exam tomorrow is on Human Nature, philosophical anthropology, and it's the first of 5 I need to do.

I knew taking on a joint in History of Art and Philosophy would be fairly involved to say the least. I suppose the clue is in the name, 'History' of Art. Do you know how much history is out there to know about?? A lot. To make matters worse, it's forever expanding. Keeping up with an ever expanding subject as well as committing to memory the concept and ideals of a group of philosophers is quite a task.

My strategy to combat the deluge of work last term? Just don't read half of it, mainly, the Philosophy half. That worked quite well for a bit and it sure helped me get my art essays in on time. The required reading for Philosophy felt ridiculous given the limitless number of books I had to read to write each assignment. I attended to lectures, made my notes and resolved to pick up the pace come revision time.

Fast forward to the end of term and revision had to begin.

Considering the fact I no longer desire to become a teacher at the end of my degree I feel safe enough to admit the following: the teaching system of universities SUCK.

I can only speak from my experience at Reading University of course, and that's not to say that I've found all lecturers to be uninspiring, bland and totally pointless. Sometimes, I have actually enjoyed a lecture and I've walked away with a fresh interest in something I didn't have any knowledge about. But 9/10 times I have found lectures to be a live-action version of the experience we all get after reading a dry passage in a book. 'Nope, that's the third time I've tried to read those words and I still don't know what I've read'. The point of university must be to quire knowledge, to learn things. The last in the holy trinity of academia: school, college and university. We are asked to write essays and sit exams, so it must follow that we should be absorbing our chosen subjects sufficiently enough in order to grapple and argue within that subject. In short, we need to know our stuff.

So why the hell is it still the case that a group of people are herded into a dimly lit room, where someone of questionable personality is allowed to talk at them for an hour at a time for a few hours a week? By the end of the term, based on my lectures alone, I felt I knew next to nothing about the History of Art and even less about Philosophy.

University is self-led - I know this is the case. You get out of it what you put in. Put in the extra effort, read the extra books that are recommended, go that extra mile and you'll be the proud owner of first grade papers. This is true, but it's also true that I could teach myself about Philosophy as I smoke rolled up notes, around £3200 worth, which has been this years approximate course fee. If I'm feeling like the only way I'm acquiring any knowledge about anything that actually sticks on my own, what exactly am I paying for?

I'm paying for the degree, the literal piece of paper at the end of it that I can wave under the nose of employers interested in this kind of thing as an indication of my skill, ability and sheer staying power. I suppose I am paying for the extensive library Reading does have. I'm paying for the few lecturers who actually do deliver a rousing lecture that leaves you feeling inspired. I'm paying for someone to read and critique my essays, but all this accepted, I do feel like we should be getting more academic bang for our buck.

We live in a world where a 'Wedding Planner' is a recognised profession. A friend of mine who is getting married was met with looks of horror when asked, 'Who is planning your wedding?' and she replied, 'I am!' Damn straight - why would you pay someone to do what is essentially fun stuff? This slight deviation is to illustrate the point that there seems to be a job for everything these days, yet I don't feel as if anyone is working on the question, 'How do we learn things well and retain information?' Creating a university structure that actually complimented the lifestyles of the students paying attend: now that would be money well spent.

Itunes U, Podcasts, YouTube, reading and writing. These have been the tools I've used, in this order more or less, during the past couple of months in a bid to revise for my exams.

I hate the idea of having to read hours of material, or re-write notes in order to revise, all the time sat on your ass, occasionally moving to pee, or make another damn green tea. I may as well be a brain in a vat, what's the difference? We're supposed to move, it's good for us, which is why I love the idea of learning on the move - get energetic AND brainy. Itunes U is a great solution to this and it's something universities the world over need to wake up to and sign up.

I'd been an itunes addict for years and became hooked on comedy podcasts that were effective in killing hours of bore-filled time at work. I knew people were out there talking and putting online free for download, so perhaps they were talking about art and philosophy.

Turns out they are.

Not only are there podcasts dedicated to discussing everything you'd like to know about most subjects, there are even some universities, mostly American ones, putting up their hour long lectures for free. Choose from video or audio in most cases, and choose when, where and how you want to attend lectures. I've been walking miles in lovely weather, breathing the fresh fresh air whilst listening to lectures on Aristotle, Plato and Nietzsche. There are excellent History of Art podcasts belonging to world famous galleries featuring guest speakers, experts in their field.

It's simple. Fire up itunes, go to the store, and enter the subject of your choice into the search box. There might be a band or album out there titled, 'Renaissance' (there is), so scroll below this and you'll soon see a section titled 'Itunes U', with a list of lectures for your downloading pleasure.

For all philosophers out there I feel I should give a well deserved plug to a regularly updated podcast called, 'The Partially Examined Life'. It's brilliant.

3 guys who once considered doing philosophy as a career but then decided against it (I'm paraphrasing here) talk about various texts and leading philosophers in such a way that you can't help but retain information. They deconstruct dense subjects into a relevant form, attempting to apply philosopher's theory to questions that actually matter to us. 'What is knowledge?' 'What can we know?' This podcast has been a huge help to me in the mission of trying to understand philosophy and generally just getting my brain immersed in the subject. They have a great blog also.

YouTube has been another resource I've found perfect. Break up the reading and writing with something more visual. I'm sure I could spout something along the lines of, 'Studies show that 52% of people studying an art-based degree retain 80% of the information when it is visually communicated'. Sounds fair doesn't it?

This guy, Jim Janossy, a professor from DePaul University presents a great mini series of videos that walks you through Ernst Gombrich's 'The Story of Art'. Of course I would say you should treat all videos as supplementing reading the actual texts, but fact remains I was able to have that penny drop moment when watching these videos, 'Ohhh so THAT'S how art history could fit together....'.

There's a great broken down 8 part documentary on the nude in art presented by Tim Marlow that I've found useful also. I'm sure there's lots more besides.

This post is I'm sure long and ranty enough, but I just felt I should share a few revision techniques I've found useful, whilst trying to communicate that universities would benefit from embracing different methods to reach students. I'm sure we are but a few decades away from universities increasing the amount of material they share online, if not to meet the increasing demand from tech savvy students, then perhaps for financial reasons. Who needs a big expensive building filled with expensive staff when you could record a bunch of lectures and host your university virtually. Maybe universities could charge per lecture? Only pay for what you learn...

But whatever is in store for the future of universities, there is already much to be gained from logging on and mixing up your revision and learning techniques. Good luck to everyone who is taking there exams right now! I'm feeling your pain.

Like Buses

2011-05-04T21:54:00.000+01:00

University essay papers are just likes buses. You wait and wait and wait for a 1st grade, then 3 show up at once!

Yep - today was the day I walked back into uni after the Easter break and picked up 3 marked essay papers and each and every one was a 1st. You might have to endure my smug face for a few paragraphs yet, as I can't quite believe it. Not that anyone else seems to have that problem, as the 3 people I decided to txt the news to ALL replied with words to the effect of, 'Well done! But I can't say I'm surprised....'. I suppose it's testimony to the morgue that has been my social life over the past few months, while I got deep into the books, that I've got these grades. It's a relief to me at least to know that SOMETHING is going into my brain, being processed and coming out in the shape of something sensible academic.

Of course I'm trying to keep hold of the thought that I don't actually care too much about this, because although my getting a degree depends on my getting the good grades, I'm well aware there's more to life. I don't want to become one of those lost souls craving the approval from any being who wields the almighty red Biro of judgement.

But still, it's nice to know the works paid off. Doubly nice to know that additional working while working hasn't hindered the hard work. The Easter break was a busy time stacked with freelance design bookings to keep me busy, you know, during the times when I wasn't cooling my heals on planet revision.

I really don't like feeling idle or unproductive.

But an unproductive Easter break it hasn't been. In fact, when I parked up at Pepper Lane this morning for a day of revision sessions at Reading uni I felt a little....baffled at just how much had changed with me since I was there. It feels a world away, but it was just over a month ago since us first year students broke up for the holidays.

Sure, since that day I had been drawing up multiple revision plans full of great intentions, re-writing the plan once design work picked up and I found myself so busy. Ah, then there was Uffie.

Uffie, how I had looked forward to seeing you at Brighton's Concorde on March 22nd. I was counting down the days, beading an endless number of neon bracelets and constructing an outfit worthy of the techno queen. Of course, she ends up wearing head to toe black! Oh Uffie, how could you? It was a sexy look I can't deny, but I feel if anyone can carry the colour to extreme look, it's the Uff.

But what she lacked in colour she made up for in 'dopeness'. The sweetly smallish venue seemed to inspire in her some audience participation, as half-way through her set she says, 'I'm not doing any more until you come up and join me, come on, I'm serious, get on the stage!'. Already being at the front (where else is there to be exactly??) me and J clambered onto the stage along with the rest of the mob who could make it and we popped the glock with the one they call Uff.

Er - me looking pretty jolly and not in the slightest bit cool about being so near to the techno queen...

Uffie opts for all black, but a whole lotta leg. Phworrrr...

Made my month.

But could someone please tell me why the fun moments in life fly by, when the snoring boring times drag? I could hardly believe it as we hauled our weary asses onto the 5:20am train home that the day was truly done. That the big event we'd been looking forward to was a new thing of the past. Time can be pretty unfair.

But it's not just a new Uffie experience that I gained in the Easter holidays, I of course already wrote about my latest inky addition, tattoo number 2 from Nine. I've heard some people say they eventually more or less forget they have their tattoo. I can't really see me doing that.. It's been a year since my first one, and there isn't a day that sneaks by where I don't still look at it and remember exactly why I felt the need to make that mark.

So gigs and ink, anything else? Well yes actually, quite a lot else.

I've decided I don't want to be an art teacher.

Yes, I know. 'But isn't that the point of the degree?! Isn't that what you've been aiming for all along?!' Anyone who knows anything about my blog will know that I have been talking of precious little else besides my goal of becoming an art teacher, so it sounds more than slightly crazy for me to now be rethinking this.

But it's not as if I ever expected to be returning to uni after the Easter holiday with this new head on my shoulders. Out of all my nearest and dearest right now I seemed to be the most uneventful, living in that 'consistent' style of life where everything seemed to fall into the 'inbetweeny' category. This, I suppose, is exactly the kind of time when something big sneaks up on you and decides to change your landscape of life completely. No, I don't want to become an art teacher now because I've realised it's not something I've been aspiring to be, but rather something that just made sense. I realised this since I fell in love with another career, and once the idea found it's way into my brain I couldn't see myself doing anything else and knew I had to give it a try.

It seems a huge challenge but possibly achievable, which the thought of is enough to give me such a rush. If something is worth it, it's got to be challenging. We don't have long in this life, just this window of time. So if you happen upon an idea that feels so right, no matter how crazy it might sound, or 'unlike you' or 'far-fetched' if it makes something inside you feel wide awake and alive, you have to try it.

So that's what I'm doing. I'm gonna try it. Thing is, I'm reluctant in admitting exactly what this mystery new career change is on my blog, because I'm loathed to make it into this big thing I announce then don't follow through. It's going to take work and dedication and effort, so I'm going to do just that. If I can pull it off you'll be the first to know, but talk can be cheap (so says she, queen of the ramble) and actions speak louder than words.

But right now the only action I'm interested in is of the sleep variety. It's been a long long day, but a good day, full of reward and change. I know change gets a bad rep, people don't tend to like it because of how unsettling it can be. But don't underestimate how change can be for the better. I'm all for change. Change is there to remind you that your heart is still beating.

A penchant for parrots

2011-05-03T19:46:00.001+01:00

So this is today's speedy sketch.

I'm trying to do some quicker work and develop my line control. Well that's the official story, but really I'm trying to break up the utter boredom that is History of Art and Philosophy exam revision! Here be my colour pencil parrot. Yarrr! I've a penchant for parrots perhaps.

Discovery

2011-05-01T15:47:00.000+01:00

I did this today.
Times, they are a-changing. Unfolding? Yeah, for all of us that's for sure.
There are sweets parts and rotten parts as far as change is concerned. I, for one, am going to concentrate on the colour - and the fine lines - of everything from now on.
No one seems to like change very much, so let's call it discovery instead. Things aren't changing, you're just discovering the next chapter. Same book, different pages. That's all.

Do you believe in destiny?

2011-04-24T18:41:00.000+01:00

I'm a firm believer in life being only so good as you make it. If you want to be somewhere, if you want to be someone, you've got to make it happen. After all, once you realise that everything can be broken down to steps, a process, a list of things to do to get to where you want to be, what is there to stop you?

But when it comes to thinking about destiny and all that's 'meant to be' I wonder just how in control we are of the lives we live. I know a lot of people who don't think destiny exists, they'd rather call it luck. It's much more understandable to attribute that unexpected conversation with a stranger that happened to change your entire outlook on life to dumb luck. It's easier to believe you were just in the right place at the right time. But others would call it fate, a conversation destined to happen, that was always going to happen and alter the direction of your life.

And the belief in destiny has it's advantages. It can be nice to trust in this invisible undercurrent to our lives, which can make us feel as if there is no such thing as putting a foot wrong or fu*king up. Even the mishaps have their place, they're all just part of the bigger picture.

I'm not exactly sure what I think about this. The spiritual side of me knows that life is navigated in some way, as I refuse to accept that there isn't more to our decisions than meets the eye. I believe that our souls, predetermine some parts of this life we're living, in order to set up the kind of situations that will provide us with the lessons needed to be learnt this time around. I'm a reincarnationist, I don't believe we have just one life, but as many as we need before our soul is satisfied.

However, I've always liked the feeling of being able to recognise an achievement as being born out of the effort, dedication and good old hard work I put in. I like being able to say, 'I did that, I made that happen,' it is satisfying to know that anything can be accomplished if you really want it.

But as far as actually making a decision goes, this is where I feel there is some evidence for my thinking that destiny plays a part. Life can seem to coast along for quite some time, then suddenly something happens that alters your landscape, making your own comfortable life appear almost unrecognisable. I have heard of some people who describe falling out of love in this way. Apparently one day you can be staring into the eyes of your love, totally sure of the relationship, then suddenly, things don't quite feel the same. For no apparent reason the foundations have vanished, leaving precious little to support what felt so solid yesterday. So it doesn't have to be a big event that unexpectedly befalls us, sometimes it can feel as if a shift has happened on the inside and the motivations and dreams that we once housed have subsided, revealing something different entirely.

But even if there is this streak of the unpredictable ingrained in our human nature, our iinstincts are not always so well equipped in handling it. Even though we know that something has to change, sometimes the initial reaction proves to be plain old denial. Just ignore it and carry on with what was usual. Even rotten fruit can still look ok from the outside for a few days yet. But if you're the kind of person who prides themselves as being very in tune with who you really are and where you're heading, you'll know that once that change has occurred there's really no ignoring it. Pretty soon a niggling feeling turns into an itch, and that itch grows into a great burning desire that demands your attention. I think these unexpected changes of heart can be attributed to destiny.

Of course, we're within our rights to make changes in our lives without needing to justify it. But what about those ideas that on paper sound so incredibly nuts but you just feel they might be right. Perhaps life is going smoothly. All your needs are catered for and you really have no cause to complain. But based on no more than a hunch, do you risk it all and rock the boat? Is it right to change course for uncharted waters, unsure of the outcome, just because you feel a pull?

I've got this little mental dance going on right now you see. Very much a heart over head thing, and it's got me wondering why such things happen. Why we can feel so surely headed in one direction, then spun around to face another entirely. Is it just me, feeling bored, tired and in need of 'spice in my life', or is it something a bit more prominent and worth listening to. Maybe some changes do need to be made, however big and different they might seem. Reincarnationist or not - I know we live this life in the now and we have to be aware that choices made do matter.

I think we all make sense of our lives in two main ways: in the steps forward we actively decide to make happen and in the reactions we have to things that happen to us. This is what shapes it all. I'm still working on the second one right now. This is easier said than done.

Sometimes blogs, they just happen...

2011-04-12T19:33:00.000+01:00

Dear Readers – life is nice.

It just goes to show just how much I hated studying art at college when i feel surprised at my genuine interest in the subject i'm studying. And I have been, genuinely interested, which is fortunate, considering the fact I’m currently living tandem lives – graphic designer extraordinaire by day, revision wonder cat by night.

Meow.

Music tip on the side: Have you caught a beat of Metronomy’s latest offering ‘The English Riviera’ yet? I’m being non-committal so far and going only so far as to Spotify it’s brains out, but I can see it becoming a permanent fixture of the virtual CD tower before the month is out. It’s audio sun beams of a laid back electro ice lolly. Yum.

Listening to it as I blog....

So today I was a design minion for the agency, but feeling rather fortunate. I’m booked for the week on a Coca Cola pitch, tasked with the job of applying Coca Cola Olympics 2012 branding onto various objects that wouldn’t look out of place on the ‘Generation Game’ conveyer belt. Fun times.

In between Coca Cola inflatable chairs and bowler hats, I’ve been doing my reading up on the world of Visual Culture, which will be something on the ever nearer History of Art exam at Reading Uni in May. But May is a whole other month from April, and with a free horizon next week on the calendar, I’m sure it’s all gonna fall into place. It’s the works of another 4 philosophers I have to commit to memory that gives me slight cause for concern.

It’ll be fine.

I’ve been pleasantly surprised (again) at the pretty progressive feel to Reading uni’s subject material. I’ve written before on the Performance Art and Outsider Art themes that I found really absorbing, but what’s really gotten under my skin is tattoo art. (See what I did there? Pun about skin totally intended...).

It’s only really a small part of the overall course, but I’m seriously considering using tattoo art as a basis for my thesis, that my 2 years into the future self will have to pen. I’ve not been posting much of my own art here recently, partly due to the fact that there’s only one of me, and partly because times they have been a-changing. I’ve become a little hooked on the artist behind the tattoo artist and have been reading anything I can get my hands on, which started with ‘Art by Tattooists: Beyond Flash’ by Jo Waterhouse. It’s a great little book that features the art of tattoo artists from all over the world. A brief interview with the artist reveals the varied journey each artist took when working towards their craft. The variety is refreshingly extreme. Some artists were first inked at the (illegal) age of 14 and from that moment on knew the life of a tattoo artist was for them, whilst others studied towards different careers. One artist spent 7 years training to be an architect before deciding to apprentice as a tattoo artist.

I’ve started to let my own work become influenced my interest in this, the results of which I’ll share when I’ve some concrete to show off. For now it’s all Coca Cola and stolen seconds in which to dash off blogs, or melt my evening into a sunset of Metronomy. Mmmm there are worse ways to spend an evening.

But what currently floats my boat – hell – rocks my whole damn ocean – is the fact I’m seeing UFFIE at Brighton’s Concorde on April 22nd. U-F-F-I-E people. I couldn’t be more excited. I’ve been making my neon bracelets for months now, I’m afraid it’s going to be an absolute disaster in neons.

Are you ready to Uff......??

Tattooing as collaborative art: @ Nine Tattoo Studio, Brighton

2011-03-30T19:20:00.001+01:00

Roughly a year ago I had my first tattoo experience at Nine, a bespoke tattoo studio in Boyces Street, Brighton. It was a small line drawing on the back of my wrist that took around 40 mins. You can read about that one here....

I'd been told that your first tattoo is never the last, and it was within a few months after the first one that I started to have ideas of getting something else. So yesterday at 12pm I got that something else, in the form of a seagull flying an arc of yellow and pink paint on my left shoulder/chest. It's a similar style to the one on my wrist, the line and colour took around an hour to complete.

Given my positive experience last time at Nine I knew I would book with them again. I also requested the same artist create the tattoo as I felt I could be certain of his style and quality of work. Nine have four main artists on their books, Ade, Nigel, James and Jack. They also seem to regularly include guest tattoo artists, which they post details of on their website and blog. My artist of choice was Jack (you can view his portfolio here).

A couple of examples of new work by Jack from his portfolio.

You can be sure it's a good sign when clients are willing to go that extra mile to ensure they get their tattoo done by a specific artist. When I arrived and waited whilst Jack set up, I overheard that a client overseas was keen to set up a consultation and booking with an artist, I think it was James. Intent on having him work on them, the client was willing to book a holiday to Brighton based around the booking. If that doesn't make you feel warm and fuzzy about your work I don't know what will!

Suffice to say I was a bag of excitable nerves. That's the only thing about a long wait, the tension is allowed to build. But I had been planning it for ages, right down to what I would wear on the day.

I wore my tattoo tights in honour!

I knew that I was totally happy with my design and where I wanted it, there were no doubts or hesitations. For the past few weeks my bedroom had been invaded by a flock of paper seagulls. I had printed out different versions in slightly different sizes, taping them to my chest and making sure I could live with it.

The reasons why people choose to get ink permanently applied to their skin in a design of their choice is wildly varied and that fascinates me. When I was researching chest pieces to see whereabouts would suit, google images brought up a world of fun from the stunning to frankly insane. But, then I think tattooing is like any other form of art: totally subjective and the likes/dislikes can only be defined by your personal taste.

Like the girl for decided to get a massive pair of eyes on her chest. This, I struggle to understand.

I suppose it follows that I look for the deep and meaningful behind tattoos, because that is also what I look for in the art I admire. It's my belief that there should be meaning behind any image, it's a way of communicating something without words. Meaning is an important factor to me, but it's not everyone's number 1. For some, tattoos are all about 'living in the moment' and simply enjoying themselves and their body as art.
And where better than Brighton to hold true to the mantra: each to their own.

But even if you believe a tattoo doesn't necessarily have to hold huge meaning, I do think there is a clear difference between good and bad tattoo art. Now this I find really interesting, because this must mean that tattoo art must have some kind of 'standard' it upholds that is not as prominent in other styles of art. Of course tattooing can only ever be mark making, so it can't really escape the fundamentals of good form, line, colour. I think it is much more difficult to define what is bad and good art in the realms of the more recognisable forms of art, i.e. painting and sculpture, than it is with tattooing.

Christ, put like that, I'm in the wrong line of work! I should get into tattooing - a craft where the art of mark making isn't in need of wild contextualisation or justification. Maybe call it my plan B...?

I was worried the artist might find it tricky to reach the area I wished to have tattooed without exposing me to whoever might be around, so I picked up a top tip online of hacking a space out of an old tee to save your blushes. Whilst keeping you nice n warm. I should point out you can request a private room beforehand at Nine if you wish, but I didn't want to seem like a diva and preferred to be more in the main room thick of it.

Now, I was concerned about how painful it would be.

A wrist is one thing, but your chest? Hmmm. That felt a bit....closer, as if the nearer they get to your head the worse the pain might be. Seeing as though Jack was now sporting an actual head tattoo, I asked him how that felt. 'Not being able to see what was going on was a bit strange, but it wasn't the worst. That was probably my stomach'.

But do you know what? I kinda liked it. That says a lot about me... I would say it hurt much less than the wrist tattoo, which Jack kindly retouched free of charge. I was pretty pleased with myself and how calm I was able to stay. He told me some clients can't stop from fidgeting, which only make their job more difficult. Sure it felt unusual, like a pulling on my skin, but not uncomfortable or sharp.

I think one of the biggest reasons why I felt so at ease was due to the professional attitude of the tattoo artist. See I like to think I'm pretty opinionated and never afraid to voice my concerns, but I can see how this sort of environment might be intimidating. You're in a vulnerable position, sometimes quite literally, and it is strange to have a relative stranger be so 'up close and personal'. But I didn't once feel uncomfortable, and Jack always asked my opinion on everything from the colours he suggested to use to the size and placement. This might sound obvious, but I bet there are some people who can find it difficult to speak up for fear of seeing silly or picky. I hugely appreciated the friendly but professional approach, that's the kind of thing that can make or break it I reckon.
It occurred to me that for about an hour, I was feeling how it felt to be the art.

Getting a tattoo on the left of my chest gave me a different view of things. I was able to see the concentration on Jack's face, which reminded me of exactly how I feel when I paint, and you start to instinctively move from one area to the next without any obvious forethought. The tattoo design included some colour, a swish of paint in an arc that I'd asked he create how he thought it should look. In the small space I allowed for it, he created a beautiful subtly textured paint mark and it was lovely to watch him create it. I think I finally understood why some people do trust the artist to come up with the design and have more or less free reign in the execution of it. If you know you're in the hands of an artist then you know you're in safe hands.

I realised how collaborative the experience of getting a tattoo really is. Sure it was my design, but Jack knew where to place it, what angle would suit it most, in the context of the body as a whole. The tools, the mark making, obviously again all down to him. When I thanked him and we shook hands at the end of it I felt like there really was something unique about one artist working on another artist of a different sort. To me, the entire experience from my starting to design the piece to his creation of it, right up to the end result living with me, is one big art piece.

Dead chuffed to now be a girl with a gull, I spent the rest of the day strutting around Brighton feeling like one of the flock. I didn't stay late enough to take any sunset pictures this time, just a few of some theme appropriate squawking seagulls.

I urge you yet again, if you're on the hunt of a studio to bring your skin to life, do it in Brighton and do it at Nine.

I'VE BEEN F*CKING WELL PAINTING...OK?!

2011-03-27T21:13:00.000+01:00

I thought I should comment on such a momentous occasion such as this, for what have I been doing today? No not essay writing! I've been painting, for the first time in what must be a few months.

The reason for suggested expletives in this blog's subject line is due to the foul mood it's put me in. I've got the art anger, which is insane because it's been going amazingly well.

But sometimes that seems to be the end result. It can turn me into some euphoric loon all brimming with sunshine style smiles, or it can put me on the war path, as it has tonight. You have been warned, Tori's out for blood.

Perhaps a chamomile tea instead then, or some hard bastard liquor. Right now I'm trying to sedate the monster with cracked black pepper ryvitas - which I can tell you, just isn't cutting it.

But fact is it has been going well. I don't know why it's put me in such a mood, I think it's slowly leaving me. The mood that is. But maybe it's because it's just been too long since I last picked up a paint brush, or maybe it's because I'd really like to carry on but my aching feet have other plans. I wanna go for a run to work out this extra energy, but I know that really I feel more like collapsing.

This new work is exciting. It's the first in a long line of collaborative pieces, part of a project I started with a photographer/illustrator a few months ago in Brighton. But I've been keeping it under my hat, and might still do, I'll talk it over with my fellow collaborator and check I can prattle about it here.

So you'll be hearing from me.
Ah such a pointless post. I just wanted to shoot something out there that said, 'I'M DOING IT!'

Which I have.

Performance Art: I might kind of like it...

2011-03-18T20:39:00.000Z

I don't like performance art.

In fact, I don't like anything that could fall under the title of 'modern art'. Most of modern art, isn't art. Not in my eyes. Real art is the product of real talent and you can't tell me any talent is involved in this kind of 'art'. The so called art is produced by so called artists who sometimes proclaim rubbish as art, or themselves as living rubbish, or perhaps to an audience they will wear rubbish, whilst jumping up and down on a space hopper, as the first 10 seconds of a Nico and the Velvet Underground track play out endlessly on a loop.

This was my firm and fiery opinion before my History of Art degree at Reading uni began. It was still my thinking more or less this same time last week. But the past few days have shed new light on my artistic state of mind, and as I drove home this evening I knew a blog was brewing.

See I feel fortunate to be able to announce myself as being an artist. I am an artist. It's my 'thing'. I see it as who I am because my work is as unique as my finger print. Whatever I produce is totally new in the world and I feel like that's a rare and precious thing. Art is a form of alchemy and the fact I am able to do something that not everyone else can feel magic. So when I first learnt of these people calling themselves artists who exhibited what seemed to me like scribble drawings, I detested it. When I read that artists, even canonical ones, took it upon themselves to proclaim that even everyday objects, right down to a urinal from the nearest gents, could also be art, I felt incensed.

Marcel Duchamp, Fountain, 1917

I couldn't understand it. Everyone has something they're good at. I don't hammer down on a piano and call it music. I know I don't have a musical bone in my body, I am therefore not a musician. So why are people dirtying the practise of art with these insulting claims about what is and isn't art.

As if it wasn't bad enough these kinds of artists existed, I was made to learn about them at college. At a time when I wanted to explore my painting skills, I was given a magazine and some glue and asked to 'give collage a go!' Not since I was 6 had I felt the urge to mess about with scissors and glue, stop wasting my time! The older the got the more angry I became. Whilst I was at college trying to do a Fine Art A-level I would get into civil arguments with my tutors as I tried to reason with them. But what is the point of talent if you don't need talent to be an artist? I still didn't understand it. If anything, I seemed at a distinct disadvantage because I could paint something that would actually resemble the thing I was painting. My desire to give realism a go seemed to the teachers a backward step. I got so furious (slightly more so than your average teen?) I dropped out of college and joined another one, choosing the study graphic design because at least that made sense. I continued to paint in my own time and got a good job in design.

When I decided to make the career switch into art teaching, the reason I'm doing this degree at all, I toyed with the idea of doing my degree in Fine Art. Surely by now, my anger days behind me, I might fit in with my fellow artists. Perhaps at uni I might find the people/painters on my wave length. So I applied and attended an interview for the Fine Art degree.

I think it was the screwed up face and furrowed brow followed by, 'But do you think figurative painting is very relevant anymore? I mean, it's been done before hasn't it?' that kicked me straight onto the History of Art course. I wasn't about to endure 3 years of justifying and contextualising my wanting to paint. But that was fodder for a different blog besides....

BUT. The reason I write this, is to speak about a few of the enlightening experiences I have had recently in the second term of my first year at Reading. This is interesting for one big reason: I think I might like more 'modern' types of art.

...........................

I'll let that confession sink in for just a second. Anyone who knows me will flat out refuse to accompany me on a vist to somewhere like the Tate Modern. 10 minutes in and I'm spitting bullets, 'For **** sake how the **** is this considered art?! It's a ****ing joke. Gahhhhhhhhh....!' But I was taking it personally when it was never intended that way, but for this I blame the art teachers who were more intent on force feeding me the prescribed curriculum rather than recognising what the young artist in me needed - some recognition and nurturing.

Do you know how many artists struggle to find their 'voice' when they're starting out? Discovering you're artistic is similar to being handed a loaded gun, you need some calm and sensible guidance on how to hold that thing, or else someones going to die. Bit dramatic? Ah I can do that, it's my blog....

But anyway, much to my surprise, some recent lectures have switched me on to framing this 'modern art hatred' in a new way. I think the penny has finally dropped that there does exist such a broad range of different kinds of art, from what we would consider to be conventional mark-making, right up to the more unconventional, which I would consider to be filmed undergoing multiple cosmetic surgeries in a gallery to look like various women in famous works of art. But we'll get on to Orlan in a moment.

For the past few months lectures on the History of Art course have focused on canonical works of art, that is, works of art most people are familiar with, the kinds that make it into those big thick books of Art History. We had been encouraged to think that canonical set-up might benefit from being challenged and questioned, whilst rather ironically being taught most of the canon's key pieces. Lectures that focused on Italian Renaissance architecture were pretty much the kinds of teachings I expected from a History of Art course, and I felt as if I were going through the motions.

Absorb quite dull lectures, take dull notes, read books (also dull), try my best to regurgitate newly acquired dull knowledge into a fresh seeming essay.

Then we wandered into Dada territory and things got shaken. I had a vague understanding of the Dada lot. They're the ones who did that performance art stuff, whilst wearing weird outfits and making strange sounds yeah? I was on the right track anyway, as a lecture given by Dr. Dominic Williams informed us of the Dadaists in greater depth. Now all lecturers have their own style and some are great at making you feel invested in the subject, but I don't think any of us expected to witness that. We were introduced to a Dada artist called Hugo Ball, pictured alongside a weird looking poem.

Hugo Ball (The Magic Bishop)

Told that the point of the jumbled up words would lie in the performance of them, and how that performance made the artist and audience feel suddenly the lecturer boomed out a dramatic reconstruction:

TTTTTTTTTTRESSLI BESSLI NEBOGEG LEILA!!!
*flushhh ka-ta*
BALLUbasch
zaxk hitti zopp...! ............

Annnnd you get the picture. As strange as all this looks and sounds I felt I understood it. Ok, so seeing your lecturer suddenly go completely dada on you is surprising, but the 'performance', which it totally was, had some kind of effect. You couldn't escape from feeling something, some kind of reaction - which must have been what the Dadas were getting at.

I could see their reasoning and I didn't hate it.

Then just as I was going to put it down to a moment of madness, because I surely can't really start to like or appreciate any of this stuff, cue a lecture on Outsider art, which I had never ever heard of. I actually ended up forking out some of my hard earned cash money on a subscription to Juxtapoz after that lecture! Juxtapoz is a magazine that describes itself as the leading monthly contemporary and underground art bible. It was being discussed by another surprising lecturer, Dr. Matt Lodder, as the place to find all that's going on in the crazy Outsider Art universe. I urge you to check it out for yourself, then you'll get bitten by the bug also I'm sure.

A painting by past Juxtapoz featured artist Walton Ford.

Oh and why is this guy a 'surprising' lecturer? I'm so glad you asked. Well I had a very stereotypical view of what a university lecturer of the History of Art would be like and it's since been proven very wrong. Dr. Lodder wrote his thesis on 'Body Art: Body Modification as Artistic Practice' and describes himself as, '...a heavily tattooed academic art historian'. I suppose I am pleasantly surprised and a bit impressed that Reading University is taking the initiative and actually presenting us with such a mixture of subject matter. In a way it loops back on the idea of what is and isn't considered canonical. The more universities start to branch out and include a variety of art in their programme, the more interesting the degree will be, and the more I feel we will all come to accept that there are very different kinds of art.

It;s not often that I've gone home after a day of uni and wanted to google search all the artists that had been discussed. But I found myself doing just that last Thursday, and they were all performance artists. I wanted to see the full video of Yoko Ono and her 'Cut Piece', where she sat on a stage with a pair of scissors, inviting the members of the audience to cut pieces of her clothes off. I found it fascinating to watch, both her subtle reactions and the people of the audience's.

YOKO ONO CUT PIECE by TECHNOLOGOS

Then there was the frankly bonkers French artist Orlan that I earlier mentioned. She once submitted herself to her art, allowing people to manipulate her body with the aid of various objects all designed to give pleasure or pain for a long 6 hours. The objects people could make use of included things like feathers, knives, roses, a gun and a single bullet. Someone actually loaded the gun, put it in Orlan's hand and aimed it at her to see if she would resist it.

Ok, I still think THAT'S crazy, but the point is I had to know more about it. It interested me, it didn't make my blood boil. Here is a good interview with the artist herself.

So who knows, I doubt this will hail the start of my 'performance art phase', I still adore my paints and no one will change that. But I also don't think that's the point. There are many many Outsider artists who use very traditional methods in their work - figurative painting is VERY relevant thanks very much. Juxtapoz even did a video on Walton Ford, who creates these brilliant animal paintings. Yes, PAINTINGS. There is still a place for us hard-core traditionalists!

But there is room for all of us, it's all just different sides of some weird freaky metaphorical performed sound poem of a coin.

And on that sickeningly sweet note I'll leave it there. I will say this though, despite the fact the essay obligations are robbing me of artistic time at the moment, I feel like I might leave this degree being a better artist than I am now.

Magic Chairs

2011-03-15T11:36:00.000Z

I have had enough.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEnough!

Gone are the calm and measured thoughts of how this is all such a good idea and it's all in aid of the bigger picture. Because as I sit in this damn library, again, watching the men in their fluro builder's jackets on the roof of the dated and ugly Arts and Humanities block, I just want to leap out of the widow to the right of me. But looking at it, I find it's one of those giant aluminium framed windows that slide, and I don't think it's done much sliding this side of the year 2000. I'm not sure I'd get the thing open. Plus I'd only get the worst of both worlds. My being on the third floor would only break something - as opposed to freeing myself in an albeit crazy way (could just use the door) or ending it all. I'd really need to be higher for that.

Argh I just want to use up this lovely day light we've got on a painting session. I want to get my hands on a copy of Magic Windows by Effterklang and let those emotionful outdoor anthems ring out around the room! Music like this shouldn't be confined to a frankly shockingly low volume in my in-ear phones that this library will allow.

Do not be fooled oh fellow library visitors. This geeky looking (all clad in yellow today) girl sat among you is not the vision of calm study you think she is. She is a caged animal with a need to feed on acrylic. My hands have been far too clean for far too long. But what's a girl to do? I had yet another weekend of essay writing hell, even if it was all about Rossetti, who is a 19th century guy I'd quite like to have a green tea with sometime.

It's unnatural, all this reading and writing, all this cramming and learning, or trying to. I've gone off kilter, lost my balance, and it's all Reading Uni's fault. I've noticed myself get some sick twist of pleasure out of a well graded essay - christ - this stuff isn't important! But I've not had any time to get to the arty heart of the matter, but in just one week this ends.

I've bashed out 5 of the bastard essays. Just 1 remains, 1 essay that stands between me and the first painting of many. Ahhh I can't wait to sink my teeth into it. There are a few fun things planned on the horizon that I can't wait to blog about and get out there.

Least of all tattoo number 2. Oh it'll be around this time in just 2 short weeks when a nice guy in Brighton will be changing me for the better. Honestly, it'll be nice to sit down for a couple of hours and let someone else do the work!

I've not felt like myself but I can see no other way around it. I of course keep forgetting the fact that a degree is usually something to 'be getting on with' and is supposed to take up your time. It's 'full time' right? So why does it feel like my being here isn't really....oh I don't know.

Do yourself a favour, watch/listen this:

The Art of Essay Writing

2011-03-12T20:48:00.000Z

Well that's me done for the day I think. The weekend is still young.
Another weekend another essay - that's been the routine I've had to adopt for the past few weeks to ensure I'm up to date with uni work and all set for the final deadline on the 22nd - a frightening 10 days from now.

10 days left and 2 essays to whip into shape, plus a little polishing on a couple of others but I'm not so worried about them.

Actually I wouldn't say I'm worried about any of them, because I've been tending to them like some loving mother, pouring time and effort in all directions in the hope of raising some damn good papers that'll make me proud. Lo and behold one had already cause me to feel mighty chuffed, as just yesterday I opened the big brown envelope to find my most recent essay marked with a big fat first. YES! I don't wanna brag, mainly because I've already done so on Facebook and Twitter, but damn it felt good.

One of my main concerns when I decided to start a degree as a mature student who hadn't written anything academic in many a year was essay writing. Would I be able to write an essay? I enjoyed writing, but something someone would actually read and mark? Hmm...

After a couple of months I began to realise essays aren't all that dissimilar from some kind of wordy logic puzzle. I realised there was a formula I was unconsiously starting to follow with each new essay question, a method and system I was beginning to adopt that made the whole process feel much less.....mysterious.

Books.
In short, books are where it's at really. Whatever the question, however badly worded - and believe me, some are VERY badly worded - you first need to look up whatever the hell it is the question is based on. Dialectical materialism, rule-consequentialism, Rossetti and the Pre-Raphaelites and the architecture of Borominni. All of these subjects at first felt very confusing and made me feel like the chances of my being able to write something original about things I frankly knew sod all about were very slim.

But you've gotta start somewhere, and books are a good place to start. Besides, you have to include a bibliography, you get marks for that shit, so you might as well start compiling it now. The first thing I do is google the question, discover the main themes and high tail it to the library where I pride myself on being the bastard who nabbed all the good books first.

Arguing.
Love a good argument me. I've noticed some parallel with the way I feel when I'm getting stuck into a good painting and the feeling I get when I know I've pinned down a good argument to discuss. It's satisfying stuff. The mark scheme pinned to the noticeboard in front of me says thus: 1st (85-100) very well argued & evidence of originality. Despite there being a vague question set by the lecturers, they expect you to present some kind of an argument around the question and let's face it, if you don't you're just going to be writing the same old predictable shit everyone else is churning out. Have a point of view, be opinionated, pretend what you're writing has the potential to shake up the art history world! That's what I try to do in my work. Personally, the argument is key. It's the foundation to the whole essay. An engaging argument will give you your entire essay structure, because from the moment you introduce your argument in the introduction (Well, it makes sense to do it there eh?) you have to provide evidence to support your view, and perhaps you fancy exploring objections. Sure, objecting to yourself out loud and in public, say, on the bus, might seem a little crazy, but do so in an essay and you'll be praised for considering the bigger picture.

Finding the argument however has been my biggest love/hate relationship.

Aware of the deadline looming, I just want to type the bloody thing and be done with it. But I know that once I have my argument firmly fixed, the entire 1,500 words will take literally hours to write. The writing is never the hard part, it's knowing your subject.

Desperatly seeking arguments.
As we discovered when considering books, books are useful in explaining the main ideas. Deeper reading can also spark off a great angle of which to base your essay. The uni distributes course packs that outline the dangers of plagiarism, because you can't quite simply rip off someone else, no matter how killer their argument is. Use your brain, don't just try to say what you think people expect to hear, have a real thought. Ask yourself, what does interest you? What do you want to explore further? I try to zero in on a detail that genuinely interests me because I know by doing this my writing style is going to flow and make for a much easier read than some dry and dull piece that strings long words together in an attempt to sound clever. There's no quick route to finding THE argument for you, or not one that I've found. It's usually only when I feel I've got my head deeply embedded in the subject so I find myself thinking, 'Huh, see I think it would be a good idea to address the obvious lack of art constructed entirely of toast.'

(I've never actually written an essay about the lack of art constructed entirely of toast, I'm just a bit hungry).

A Structure of Sorts
With your argument established you should be able to roughly scribble down some kind of a structure. Consider your word count. If it's only something like 1,500 words, as most of my essays have been recently, then note down a few points you want to make allocating a couple of paragraphs to each. I like to write my work whilst imagining I'm some kind of hard-hitting journalist type who is daring to lift the lid on and it's going to change the world as we know it!

Look whatever gets me through it ok?

By actually caring about the style of your writing this will make you want to make links, in the way a TV show segways from one item to the next. Don't just jump wildly from one thing to the next, in a kind of juvenile monotonous, 'and then, and then, and then...' way. Flow. You need flow. Serve up to your reader a nice smooth bowl of ice-cream, not some kind of tough and dry branflake creation.

(Still hungry....)

Conclude with passion
The last 1,500 mattered, ok? They were profound, deep, meaningful. The reader is not the same reader than they were 1,500 words ago. This is the impression your conclusion should make. It makes sense doesn't it, if it sounds like you've just written something fresh and life changing (too much?) then whoever is marking can't help but give you credit for, well, changing their life. So long as you've changed it for the better, as opposed to refuting the relevance of the entire art world and in turn their purpose of making art lecturing their profession. They might not like that much.

You only get one chance to make a first impression.
Few things I learnt recently but didn't realise about essay writing...

Always

Double

Space

Your

Work. They need sufficient space to write critique apparently.

Make sure you put surnames first on a bibliography, said Treasure, Tori. I don't really know why you ought to do this. But then I don't really know why I'm having to do an art history degree before I can train to be an art teacher despite having worked as an artist for 5 years now, so I don't think you can explain EVERYTHING.

Do I really need to include the fact you should put your name and student number on it somewhere? Yeah I think I do, because I'm reminded of when me and Dad went to the Uni on an open day and over heard a student who was handing in work ask, 'Should I write my name on it and staple it together?'

I mean maybe his mum just died or something, like a big and significant shock might result in saying and doing something so incredibly stupid that would otherwise be beyond belief. Maybe.

So there you have it. Tori's brief few notes on essay writing, which is as much for my benefit as it is yours. I just had to plug my brain into some other task for a bit after the hours I've had of reading and writing. But if you'll excuse me I'm off to track down something tasty....

Under the Influence: Strand of Oaks

2011-03-07T19:17:00.000Z

It's been a while since I felt moved to write a 'UtI' blog post here. Influence is everywhere, but every once in a while an atmosphere, person or sound will come along that will have such a profound effect on you that you recognise the change. That change might manifest itself in the work you produce as a result or just a general change in you. Strand of Oaks is such a atmosphere, person and sound that is the creative venture of Timothy Showalter.

Strand of Oaks Links
Website Twitter Facebook Myspace

Strand of Oaks is listed as an 'Alumni' on the American record label La Soc, who I've previously mentioned. Must admit I'm not sure what the exact difference is between an Alumni and just represented by the label. You can by SoO's music there, via a digital download of acquire a nice physical CD copy, which is what I did. But the man himself might prefer you to frequent his Website's shop perhaps. But La Soc is where I first stumbled upon Leave Ruin, SoO's full album release. I remember reading in an interview somewhere online that the album almost accidentally dealt with guilt, as several of the songs feature mentions of guilt. I think the story on SoO's Facebook, which is also a snippet from an interview with Emusic, lends a pretty good explanation of the down-beat soft sound that seems to thread through all the tracks:

In 2003, Tim Showalter’s house burned down, his fiancée broke up with him, and he resorted to writing songs on an acoustic guitar while living on park benches in suburban Philadelphia. Those events informed the entirety of his arresting debut, Leave Ruin , an album about loss and brokenness and lack of faith. But as affecting as it was, Showalter is leery of being stuck in the past. After all, the first word of that record’s title is “leave,” and one of the first thing he asks when contacted for this interview is, “Can we kind of re-do my bio? I don’t want to keep being the sad sack whose house burned down.” - J. Keyes, Emusic 2010

Personally I had to buy it because to me the album had the kind of sad sound that calms me. I usually need something like that after a long stint of painting when you're energy is so over-wound you're cheek is pressed up against the ceiling with the special kind of crazy of it all. Some good quality sombre can help bring you back down to earth and plant your feet back on the floor.

Showalter writes in a sincere and open way that ensures you really listen to the story of the song, you won't be able to help yourself. A stand out track for me was Do you like to read? which to me sounded like the best kind of love song, simple and stripped back. The words seemed to describe the little things so essential in making a meaningful connection with a lover. 'Do you like to read? Cause I like to read. Do you like to look at me? Cause I like to look at you...' There is a subtle and gentle approach to crafting tracks to be found here, it's song writing as an art form.

And then I found Pope Killdragon, SoO's latest album release.

The album sounds like a selection of stories told in a folksy feeling vibe. Strange and bizarre lyrics hint at characters and plots you might find in a fairy tale, or urban myths and legend. 'Alex Kona was twelve feet tall, his mother was killed by a bowling ball...' Pope Killdragon feels distinctly different to Leave Ruin in the level of detail. If you held an album in each hand Pope Killdragon would have the weight. That's not to say it's better than Leave Ruin, just a different cup of tea. The tracks have more rise and fall, more twists and turns. Bonfire, for example has a stunning build-up that is so satisfying to arrive at a few minutes in. Sterling is a firm fave of mine, and Giant's Despire, which is a lyricless track of gutsy drums and guitar growling.

You can listen to Pope Killdragon for free online here, with a digital download right there also when you decide it's something your ears need a piece of. Oh and vinyl enthusiasts will be pleased to know the album is also available on vinyl here.

The vinyl pressing is due to Showalter's setting up of a Kickstarter project, which I'd never heard of. The clever website helps independent musicians fund their future projects, such as Pope Killdragon's vinyl pressing, by appealing for donations for a certain amount (in the case of SoO it was $1,500) by a certain time, a month say. The 'all-or-nothing' set up means that if a band only makes a certain number of donations the project doesn't go ahead and no money changes hands, but anyone donating money is encouraged to share the link and get the word out to help make the project happen and perhaps received a little something from the artist if the target is met, thus turning your donators into your own personal advertising army. Clever eh?

Within 9 hours of setting up the project SoO had far surpassed the goal and eventually raised $4,278 by 110 backers! That's gotta feel good. This level of support and encouragement shows an already loyal fan base. This could be due to Showalter's highly approachable nature, based on what I feel you can glean from the guy's own personable writings on various web spaces, you just want his work to succeed. He's got the whole genuine down-to-earth kinda vibe going on.

SoO are currently on tour, see the website for details, but the tour is currently only going on in America, so us Brits might have to hold on for a few UK dates. Alternatively all of us this side of the pond could just email the man himself, I'm pretty sure he'd like like to hear from you.

Greener grass

2011-03-03T09:45:00.000Z

'I wish I'd done this earlier'.
'I'm going to be so old by the time I get my next real job'.
'All the important big life stuff, these are the things I'm missing out on'.

These are the thoughts that have been spinning around my head recently.
I know we tend to say, 'There's no such thing as normal', but I think there probably is. Maybe it's not a 'normal' per say, maybe it's more like a 'usual' or 'expected'. For instance, it's much more usual to go to uni and get a degree when you're 18, and you don't especially know what you want to do with your life. I'd say it's fairly expected that you start working when you're 20-something. And I think we've often heard it said that most couples meet at work. Us humans have expectations of the time we spend and a fair idea of where we want to be at what time. Biology plays a part in putting to bed thoughts of children if you happen to leave that too late, and maybe to some degree finding a partner, as your looks start to diminish with age.

Woah this is a pretty bleak blog and we're only at paragraph 2. I suppose lately the whole time and age thing has been on my mind. I realise it's perhaps a little crazy to worry about getting old, at the age of 25, but I've always been one to hold firmly in mind a picture of where I want to be. Put frankly, I didn't think I'd be here in my mid-20's and I'm still getting used to it. 'Here' as in doing what I'm doing, but 'here' as in the Reading University library. If you'd have told me just a few years ago that I'd go to university I would never have believed you. I thought I was winner at life to have snared myself a good job in graphic design without a pointless debt magnet degree. I liked being that living example of how you don't always need to blindly run with the pack.

Then lo and behold, I need a degree. I suppose it's some encouragement to know that our teachers in the UK need degrees before they're let loose on the minds of children eh.

Just doesn't do me any favours, it all feels like such a backward step.

But I know it's not and I also know that however usual it may be for your staple teen to go to uni fresh from college, it's also known for oldies to ago also, for several reasons. But however much I rationalise the situation the two main things that spur me on: family and work.

The fact I can study whilst continue to freelance design and earn some decent cash is something I'm extremely grateful for. Justification for those years of design experience, when I'm sat behind a giant Mac screen at the agency, discussing design briefs and mocking up concepts, I feel at ease. I still self-identify with the design world than I think I ever will with student life, but that's ok. Some of the guys at work tell me their jealous of my study time, which I find so bizarre. I am the jealous one. Jealous of your set-up, the fact you're married, have children, have built your own world and filled it with so much life and newness. I know I'm too linier when I say that life usually follows an order. You usually go out to work, meet someone, settle down, and start a family. Because of this I see myself holding back the story.

But if all this shows me anything then it's that the grass always seems greener.

All it really boils down to it this: I'm working at a change of career. That's it, there's not 'other way' all this could have panned out, if I hadn't done all the things that have contributed to the kind of Tori I am today, I probably wouldn't be here doing this at all.

If I had lived the London dream and continued to work there I'd have also missed out on reconnecting with my family as I have been doing. I'd have missing out watching my younger brother grow up and change so much each day. He's got so much character and spark. I'd have missed out on so many episodes of Postman Pat and Bananas in Pyjamas.

Me and J were out one night, I forget when, and we were talking about everyone's life purpose, we've all got one you see. You'll know it because it's the thing that keeps cropping up. Maybe it's a reaction you always have or a certain way of thinking. He was sure that his was fine tuning the decision making process, decisiveness just isn't his bag. What's your purpose do you think? I think mine is being able to realise the journey, to know when to stop fixating on how to get from A to B and just damn well enjoy A for a bit. To feel the grass at my feet, which is a good shade of green I think.

Work: Uni, New and Sold!

2011-02-06T09:32:00.000Z

I had to pin a bright blue post-it to my noticeboard in the end to reassure me. In big curly script I wrote: You don't have any time for painting till April. Instead, get uni work done and do nice stuff. I had a bad case of the art guilts, uni was eating into so much of time time it was at the detriment of my art-self. And that bugged me. But you can't be all people to all things can you, and as much as it still didn't feel real, fact is, I am a student at university.

You might think me slow on the up-take, but it really is only now starting to feel like the truth. I had been fighting it for a good few months. In my mind, I didn't want to identify myself with being a student, not out of any snobbish view of not wanting to be seen as that scrounger student stereotype (well maybe just a bit) but more so because I identify myself as an artist, that's my thing.

How do you identify yourself, do you ever ask?

My mum, being the wonderful stay at home mum that she is, used to say she loathed attending Dad's work dos, where she would have to endure the, 'So what do you do?' question. I'm not about to launch into an impassioned view on the wrongful disregard for non-working mothers, but it is interesting that people seem to jump to the conclusion that talking about your job is a good place to start, as if finding out what you do could tell them a lot about you. In some cases maybe. But it's just one way people identify themselves. I view myself as 'Tori the artist' because that feels like my natural ability, therefore it must be very unique to 'me'.

The danger with having a sound-bite definition of yourself is that you start to rely on it. Once the uni hours encroached in the artist life of Tori, Tori started to freak out. If I can't logistically be an artist, even if it's just for a couple of weeks, where does that leave me?

Hence the post-it notes, a gentle reminder not to, 'lose my shit and do a mental'.

Self-identity is vital, to know yourself, to feel comfortable in your own skin, but I'm not sure that it can be summed up in a 'what you do', it's even more unique than that. For me, I know I can turn down the art volume for a couple of weeks, months even, while there are essays to write and books to read. It'll still be there, I'll just summon it up later. I can do that, I'm an artist, uni student, closet hair-colourist, blog-fanatic.

It just all depends: what side of yourself do you need to be today?

Overall and simply put - I'm a Tori. Just like you're a you and that guy over there with the rather impressive Mohawk is a him.

Besides, I think the types of person people are are subject to change over time. Just the other day I was looking back at some old school photos, and aside from cringing at my shockingly bad hair style risks, it struck me how different I was then. Younger sure, but just my general view of life, the things I thought I'd do, particular views and certainly my way of looking at the world.

Speaking of photos and looking at the world, yesterday a rather talented photographer and I invaded the drizzly streets of Brighton. We embarked on the first stage of a collaborative art project that I'm just a bit very excited about. I'll stick more details up here when we have them. I'm very grateful to the lovely people of Brighton who didn't mind being bothered on a very grey Saturday by a couple of windswept lunatics. Such a flurry of photography, art, randomness and of course Red Veg was the burst of fun we both needed.

Some very cool graffiti art that jumped out at us on The Lanes. 'Jumped' geddit?!

An amazing stained glass 'Green Man'.

Ahh Red Veg. How can you be vegan and taste this amazing??

The stormy Brighton Sea, disrespect her at your peril! She bites...

Oh oh oh and when I did get in a stupid o'clock last night I heard from the (just as lovely I reckon) people from a charity mail art event I donated work to in New York. My contribution was sold! I'm rather chuffed. More information about the event, 'Postcards From the Edge', and it's organisers can be found here.

Well I'm off to get back to it. 'It' today is largely preparing for a couple of presentations I have to give next week in Philosophy. I find in most situations, if you sound like you know what you're talking about, you'll have most of them convinced.

Friday night passions

2011-01-28T20:56:00.001Z

I feel like I've been really mute recently. I've just not felt like posting, but I have been writing, but it's been more diary style stuff. You might ask what's the difference, this blog became a diary of sorts long ago, but the online world doesn't deserve all my thoughts in their minutia, no one wants to read that!

Obvious reasons for my muteness would be put down to hard-core university study. Today is the end of week 2, and already I feel that burn out feeling that comes with having to accustom yourself to listening to other people and ensuring your brain retains it, thus learning something. It's true, I'm really very busy. I have several essays due at the end of February and March, a couple of oral presentations to give and weekly assignments in Philosophy. That and some of the other students make me feel guilty. Some of them are so clearly passionate about what they're doing, that it shows on their faces. I can hear it shine through when they speak, during the seminars I have to attend. I wish I had some of that passion about the subjects I'm learning. I an interested in art history and philosophy, but not in that same way, in the way that makes you eat, breath and sleep it. I wonder if this passion might get quashed once their lives are unleashed into the world of work. On occasion I burst the study bubble and feel like I'm looking back on myself, sat at a desk among the rows of other students, watching myself furiously take notes. I know I'm doing the right thing, but at the same time I feel like none of it's real, like really, I'm just playing some game of 'make believe degree'.

Being able to label myself as a student makes me feel very split, as if there were part of myself that is away completing her studies, whilst the other part waits for the real party to get started. I have a great deal of time off at the end of March. I'm telling this other side of me to be patient, to let this student get her essays done, then once all work is handed in, then we'll raise some hell together.

Other reasons for my muteness. I've been doing a lot of thinking. I'm not sure how happy I am about the direction I've been taking my artistic work. Recent work had been indulging my desire to portrait paint, to capture glassy eyes and expression. As much as someone I show my work to usually goes, 'Ohh that's good!' this kind of portrait painting elicits the same response from me, as if I feel self-impressed by my ability to paint hands or faces. But I think I'm lacking depth, there's some point I'm just not getting. I think it's going to be important for me to start making comment with my work, to try and say something, or ask something of my paints and brushes. Perhaps if I could show you, the viewer, something more provoking, then my work might reach new heights. Or depths. A deep height? Yeah that sounds about right! Nice and confusing....

I went on a blind date recently, of sorts. It was during a visit to London to visit my good friend B that I was introduced to a friend of hers, by way of, 'let's just have coffee, no one's calling it a date' kinda deal. It's funny how uncomfortable London can make me feel sometimes. I used to think it was an artist's promise-land, over flowing with creativity and spark. These days I'm of the opinion that London is the home to some top-quality people, and my memories of gigs there can be challenged by none, but it lacks soul. I go there and I feel that there are gems to be found, but they're few and far between. I see polished people and I wonder what they're world revolves around. I hope that it's the love of someone else, or a belief in something, or hope. It's difficult to tell. The (it's not but it kinda sorta is)date was fun but I thought it obvious that we didn't click. Urgh, isn't click such a dud term? But how else can I word it. Perhaps gel, fir or work?

It all sounds pretty rubbish. It's funny. I don't think my idea of dating has changed since I was 5. I've got this hazy memory of infant school. At break time I wouldn't want to play games with boys, because I simply though of myself as far too young to get married, and wasn't that the point of going out with anyone? Ever since I can remember I used to think dates followed a neat and tidy system. A guy asks out a girl, he picks her up at 8pm and they go out for dinner, or a movie, or something. If all is good they meet again, and again and again. If enough time passes, and they can't picture a time when they don't want to meet, they agree to promise to always meet up. Then there's a big party with cake.

I suppose in the same way I'd quite fancy a slice of that passion I see on the student's face towards a subject they love. I know I'm going to need that same passion when it comes to looking at that person I want to meet up with. It's either there or it's not in that kind of situation, there's no Mr Wrong or Right, but the both of you, the complete package.

I like what we're currently studying in Philosophy. It's about why people do what they do. Do people do what they do for their instant gratification, their benefit over a period of time, or for the good of everyone? If you satisfy the passions and desires you have right now, you might make yourself feel good, but what about tomorrow, and what about everyone else? The question of figuring out where our motivations lie is a tricky one.

Do you know why you're doing what you're doing?

It doesn't feel all that exciting right now, but I feel that what I'm doing is investing in the big dream. Living in anticipation of that spark, that next step into some great unknown.

I would like to leave you with an album I haven recently been flooding my mind with. I like to listen to it while I sit in the musky smelling 3rd floor of the university library, or during times when I'm alone, and in need of a large sound to fill the echoing space. I introduce you to 'Nightbook', by Ludovico Einaudi.

Open your new door. (Spotify link.)

Unenjoyment Happens

2011-01-19T22:10:00.000Z

It felt like a shaky start back to uni after the Christmas time off, that's to say, I didn't like it. I didn't like the horrible early morning drive through manic traffic. I didn't like being met with good old 'Pepper Lane' and having to park so damn early to ensure my space. I didn't like having to go through the dance of attending a lecture, finding various things to do to fill the good 5 or 6 hours that sat in between another lecture at the end of the day. I suppose the bit of university that is traditionally annoying is the doing work bit, but this I don't mind so much. I started the day by swinging by the student pigeon holes for art and philosophy to see if any marks had been given for a presentation I gave on female artists and a huge assignment I completed as part of the philosophy half of me. Both had been given pretty good marks, so I had my little 'Oh I'm doing alright then' smug moment.

Getting back into the swing of it was however a bit painful. I'm pretty sure that by the end of the 3 years, if I haven't made peace with my attitude towards university in general I'm going to have transformed into a classic case of split personality. I find myself feeling glad at my progress one minute, whilst quickly reminding myself that I don't buy into any of this shit and that really it's just a hoop to jump through. University is so overrated and fails to prepare you for 'life on the outside' and isn't essential in getting a job. I used to enjoy a huge smug moment when a graduate in graphic design would join the agency I worked for on a 'work experience' basis and didn't know how to prepare a file for print. 'Don't they teach you anything???'

I'm making an effort to fight the smug-monster because it's really no good. Things are not that black and white, as it happens I do need a degree and I do enjoy the work I get to do and what I'm learning. It's just the....well, the mass of little things, that dirty the scene and tick me off.

But the way I see it you either give up and give in, or you shut up and work at it. No, I don't hugely enjoy every waking second of this, like I feel people expect when they ask me hows it going. Fact is not all of life is about enjoyment. Sometimes you need to recognise the work required to get something or somewhere and if you want something bad enough you'll put up with a slice of unenjoyment. All the time I have the same conversation but with different people. I get asked, 'How is university going?' To which I usually reply, 'Yeah it's great, I'm really enjoying it.' Then comes the, 'Oh I wish I'd done it when I was a bit older, I would have got so much out of it. I just spent most of my time drinking/partying/doing the wrong subject'. Nods of agreement from both sides. Truth is, I don't think there's ANY ideal time to go to uni. Here I am, some days wishing I'd done it when I was younger, because then I would have felt more able to include myself in all aspects of getting pissed/high/other and get the full experience, when really I know the younger me was actually a lot more reserved than I am now. Chances are I would have probably knuckled down in my room in Hall of Residence and just studied, wishing maybe that I was older and didn't feel I needed to try and fit in.

You can't win. Any experience is what you make of it at any time of your life. I think the pros and cons associated with going to university at any given age are as individual as the person. You need to know what you want to get out of it and work to make that a reality. And that's it.

I'm still working on how I make my time there work for me, but just so long as I get the degree at the end of the tunnel, it's all cool by me.

That and my days need to be delightfully punctuated by wedding plans (not my own I hasten to add), films and nibbles with J and the occasional 9-3am night of heart-beatingly brilliant French electro...

Such a thing as too clean

2011-01-15T01:05:00.000Z

A friend of mine read the previous blog post and concluded, 'I prefer your rants', and I think I agree. Who wants to read some fairly upbeat reflective shit of someone feeling all appreciative and positive - that there is the stuff of moral messaged Channel 5 movies. See I think I'm actually quite the whingy bastard with a permanent rain cloud hidden in (albeit rather amazing) hair. And actually, I think the irritants are pretty damn important. If nothing pissed us off, we would float through life just accepting everything that was dished up to us. Life shouldn't be a case of 'a la carte'.

The things, people and places that seriously tick you off are doing you the greatest service. I'm in danger of seeing the silver lining here, but fact is, you've got to realise that the bad bits are your flashing neon signs: 'CHANGE THIS', they tell you, 'THIS ISN'T YOU SO GO FIND WHAT IS'.

If you're always happy - you're doing something wrong, or else you're asleep, or watching a Robert Downey Jr. film....come on, who isn't happy when they're doing that?

So good people, I find myself gladly feeling annoyed at this art frustration and vagueness. It means there is something more I'm looking for in my work, clearly I've not found it quite yet, otherwise you'd be reading something full of smiley emoticons and metaphors about sunbeams and flowers.

Watch this space, because I'm going to keep on trying to figure it out. Took a load of shots tonight in fact, I think they're are a few gems in between the stacks of utter rubbish. I'm also doing this thing for a friend, I'm branching out, looking for a few new faces cause right now I'm sick of mine! Might extend my work to more of a selection of models. Hmm.

Anyway, I just came here to remind you that if you're currently in a place, and it doesn't have to be an arty place, but if you're in a place where you're asking yourself, 'What the frig am I doing right now? This isn't going well, but I've not got a frekin clue what I need to do...' know that it's just part of it. Like a puzzle piece. It's a boring one maybe, a big chunk of blue, part of the sea or the sky, but it is still a part of the picture overall. So keep going, cause I am too, and I think eventually things start taking shape. That's what I've been told anyway, by a few choice wise ones. Ah the wise ones, you've probably got a few. Now go have a good weekend, call up Frank, rent a shit film, get yourself a spirit in a bottle and start your own nights ranting. I always preferred the rants.

Car Therapy

2011-01-12T23:32:00.000Z

I actually had a pretty great day today. It was the kind of day that felt full of appreciation, optimism, peace and hope. Who wouldn’t love a day like that? It was day two of my booked week at the design agency. I suppose there is a certain comfort that comes with knowing where you’re expected to be for a chunk of few days in a row. That’s the feeling I crave, of one day having that different career that is a day job, a job I do daily. I like a degree of predictability, it gives the rest of your life scaffolding on which to build round. Now I hate office jobs but I can’t argue with the money this one brings. I know I am very fortunate to be in the position of full time student/freelance graphic designer. I can earn in a week what most people working on the shop floor on weekends get in a month. Lucky sure, but I feel I earned the opportunity, once upon a time graphic designing was the career plan for me and I invested 5 years into it, starting when I was just 19.

I do some of my best thinking whilst I’m driving. Every morning I have just enough time to do the school run, dropping my sister off to the local secondary school, sometimes my Dad to his place of work as it’s in the same direction. Then, on my way into Basingstoke I chatter away to myself, asking me how I’m feeling and what I really want to do. This mornings conversation was pretty useful, we talked about art.

I’m an artist through and through you see, but a lot of the time, most of the time, I feel this inner dialogue taking place as I tick myself off for not putting enough time and effort into my art. Sometimes I’ll be angry because it’s been too long since I last produced a painting, the instant I finish any new work I’ll be giving myself a lecture on how important it is to always be self-promoting. How do I expect anything to happen if I don’t put the work in?

But I don’t just sit there and take this, I’ve an answer for it all. Usually I reply that I have other work on, whether that be university studies, graphic design paid work, stuff around the house or other draws on my time. Sometimes I don’t feel I can start something new because I know I like to spend large chunks of uninterrupted time and finding these windows can be difficult. Besides, I just end up feeling guilty, like my time should be better spent on something else. Or there is the argument that I’m too busy and stressed, so unable to get into that artistic head-space. You need to be in the mood in order to create great work. I’m ill, sometimes, well I was over Christmas, I was one of the unlucky ones who caught the flu. Give yourself some time, I tell myself, recover, take care of yourself, stop being so hard on yourself.

Oh for goodness sake you’re in your 20’s – shake a leg girl! Get on it now while you’re young, now is the time to push yourself, to stay up all night and work, to keep going, running on passion and coffee. If you had more passion I wouldn’t need to tell you this, you’re not trying hard enough.

You say that you’re an artist, but you do little to show it.

Ah, I’d crossed a line there. I wasn’t going to take that kind of talk because it was then that I felt I needed to remind myself of something. ‘Everything I do IS for my art. I work to fund the art, and I study to get a degree, which will enable me to get into a career that is not only more artistic and creative, but it will provide me with a stable salary, in turn becoming the key to my future art studio, my future flat, my own space. This space will be my environment free of any other obligation or responsibility. I am working to find the freedom I know my work needs. Of course I can produce work and promote myself in the meantime, but let myself remember that everything I am doing is contributing towards my future as an artist how I feel it will work best. It’s all for that dream.’

I’m still in the process of tweaking this different routine, or lack there of, I now have. I don’t naturally welcome this whole situation of being student/freelancer/artist/functioning tori. I don’t like the feeling of being so fragmented, maybe it suits some people, unfortunately I’m not one of those people. This is taking me some time to find my feet.

But I will do. I think it starts with breaking down this want to do ‘something’ with my art, and create some actual intentions. Just like a degree is a step towards teaching, what steps can I do towards, well, whatever I want to do with my art. I need to break it down, to get some goals in place, otherwise I’m just beating myself about with a big stick of vagueness. What does my art want to do?

That’s a question for another day though, as I’m cream crackered today. It was a busy day of good work. Although I won’t miss it, the odd day of designing, when it’s going good, gives me a buzz. The feeling of pulling that perfect idea from the depths of your brain, inspired by just a few words on a design brief, is satisfying. More tomorrow, and another therapy car journey into town no doubt.

Art is the Drug

2011-01-09T20:40:00.000Z

There is no such thing as an art teacher.

I realised this at some point into the second hour of my first burst of painting that was a long time coming. I had hoped to get around to painting something much sooner than this, but a damn cold over Christmas had zapped me of my arty energy. Only now was I able to sink my teeth into the idea that had been brewing and oh. my. god. It was feeling amazing.

No, you can't teach this kind of weird freaky madness. All you can do is recognise it and encourage it, it's ultimately up to the artist to develop what they've got, to hone their skills and really make something of it. You can't teach it but you can be vital in guiding someone in the right direction - and that is what I hope to achieve when I eventually graduate and start my new career. (Ok I'll still be an art 'teacher' on paper, unless I can find some ultra progressive school that's willing to call me an 'art guru' or something like that.)

I couldn't help but tumble the whole art teaching subject around my mind as I started to feel myself becoming totally immersed in my work. Sometimes the act of painting brings up events from the past, not sure why this is exactly. Maybe the painting inspiration part of the brain sparks off near and around the memory bit, but for whatever reason I often find myself re-living conversations between me and an ex-boyfriend, or something from my school days. This time it was the phrase, 'Do you really think it's relevant anymore?' That question was put to me during my admissions interview at Reading University, in their Fine Art department. I had lined up my portfolio alongside the many other applicants, plus a selection of my most recent paintings to show them. When I revealed my work the interviewer, a member of staff at the uni, they briefly cast their eye over my work and in a dismissive tone asked me, 'Do you really think figurative work is relevant anymore?' At the time I felt stunned. What the hell does that mean?? She continued, 'I mean, is there anything new we can really get out of this kind of painting anymore?'

Now I realise it could all have been a style of interviewing, the questions could have been asked in order to provoke a reaction, but I felt she totally believed in what she was saying. She didn't think my work was relevant. She was looking at my art work and giving it the title, 'Irrelevant'. I got very defencive and argumentative. I left the interview feeling like I'd just been in a fight. I felt I had to bite my tongue, I wanted to attend Reading University but I also wanted to...how could I put it? 'Rip this bitch a new one'. Long story short I was offered a place, which I had no hesitation in turning down, which is why I am happily involved with a degree in Art History and not Fine Art.

But this was ages ago. The reason why I'm bringing this back up now is because when I stood in front of my easel feeling the most alive I'd felt in a long time, I felt angry at this woman's suggestion that my work, or indeed any one's work, could be judged by someone else as being irrelevant. How incredibly irresponsible of her to say something like that to an artist. Heaven forbid someone to actually look upon her as some kind of authority in the world of art, and take her comments to heart.

I'm in danger of sounding like a ranting moron, so I'll leave it there. But point is none of us can really explain the talents people have and why they have them, and we all do. Mine is the art thing. I can stand in front of a blank space for hours on end and fill it with something. I'm still working on the content thing, the why and the 'how can I use this then'? Bit. But the feeling I get from creating the work gets more pronounced with each new idea. I feel grateful and a bit weired that I can get so much gratification and energy from just me and the paint. It really does make me feel alive like nothing else. It's a real physical thing, it takes over my entire body until I'm twitching like some of insane idiot, kinda dancing, more like fitting, in some frantic bid to get the painting actions out, as my hands seem to move faster than I can. I have to try and keep up with what my eyes are desperate to see, it's like every cell screams, 'Hurry the fuck up what's taking so long just doooo iittttt already!' It's a drug, it's a compulsion, it's electric.

And this, is irrelevant? I don't know how to explain the reasons why I do what I do. I don't know why you should be interested particularly and perhaps I don't really need you to be. If you like what I do, that's great. I suppose what I'm saying is that no artist needs to prove themselves relevant - it's a lot deeper than that. An artist answers a call. I'm just trying to keep on going forward with my work and follow what feels good.

Here is a pic of my latest piece, and the early beginnings of another. More to follow, it's all kicking off.

Didn't want to leave it like this: The Mural and the Mint

2010-12-31T21:17:00.000Z

Well I'm off out. A late night and an alcohol dowsing probably isn't what the doctor ordered, but in my defence it's a local friends party, if things get bad I can crawl home in around 10 minutes give or take. Today is the first day in a while that I've felt half way decent. Still barking like a dog, but not whining like a bitch.

I felt like the previous post could have been perceived as quite a melancholic and sad moment.
Good. Because that's how I wrote it. With that out of the way, I thought I might point you in the direction of some rather marvelous music. Perhaps you're on the look out for that certain sound to help wrap up 2010. It could be this. But maybe this music would serve you best as the anthem for 2011 Day 1. The tunes to set you up for some fun filled days. Hear the sunny skies before you see them, make your ears skip and your heart dance whilst you frolic in a hazy field making daisy chains of hope.

Introducing The Mural and the Mint. Their latest offering is free to download. After you of course fall into deep audio love you will click the donate button and send them magic numbers of gold.

Happy New Year, however you're celebrating it or not. I might not be mad crazy into the whole 'it's the end of the year - let's party!' thing, I do like the feeling of the end of another year and the fresh start of another. I like to at least look at the chunk of time that has been, and realise just what that all contained, who was introduced to me, what mattered and what made a difference to me. I like to see a difference in me, to know that I'm that bit nearer to understanding where I'm heading and what it's going to take to get there. I'm grateful for the space cadets I've met along the way. I'm looking forward to another year of space exploration, it's a big ol universe out there. I'll see you on the other side of it.

Bad Grief

2010-12-30T22:46:00.000Z

As much as I would love to tell you that my recent silence was due to the busy festive period, all bright and shiny days stuffed with Christmas cheer and inspired artistic activity - I can't.

The only thing I've been stuffed with is high doses of amoxicillin. So that's me and the rest of the UK population.

My Christmas went a bit like this: A splendid run-up to it, including some pretty mega Christmas Eve good times. Christmas day itself did not disappoint. In fact I did get up to some rather brilliant artistic activity, in the form of a series - that's right - a SERIES of sketches for future paintings to be getting stuck into during my time off. Then like an evil panto villain, illness creeps in stage left.

*Boooooo! Hissssss!*

Ever since I've been using any shreds of energy to berate myself for what a total waste of time being ill actually is. Not one morsel of paint has been so much as tickled by a paintbrush yet. Pathetic.

I've been forced to succumb to the most heinous of crimes: I've watched hours and hours of television. During a dark moment I even resorted to watching one of those 'top 100 somethings' clip shows to elevate my boredom. I know I know.....

See I would have been here much earlier, boring you all with a blog post, but I didn't even have the energy for that! Something I hate admitting. I like to think I'm pretty invincible.

So now that I am here, all set to flow forth with the typing, I'm wondering where to start. It's the perfect time of year to give myself a bit of a self-review, to hold the mirror up to the year 2010 and see what stares back at me, creative, professional or otherwise. But there are other more immediate things on my mind. (My incredibly stabbing 'brain in a vice' kinda mind). And its all about grief.

Perhaps you understand why I'd like to get this post out of the way BEFORE the new year. 'Happy New Year everyone! Now, the thing about grief....'.

You hear it all the time that to grieve is natural, and the form it takes is different for everyone. We're told that it's healthy to grieve, to 'let it all out', suggesting that to grieve is to facilitate an emotional release that would otherwise build up and cause a problem. Far better to feel and experience your emotions because that is part of the process. We call it, 'the grieving process'. We tend to accept the fact that when faced with a sad event, our entire body and self needs to enter into a process of dealing with it. Sometimes we cry, we feel a lump build up in our throats.

Why is this part of our reaction to sadness? Perhaps the feeling of sadness is so strong that it can't be contained and seeks escape. I see grief much like love, it's something that manifests itself in a way that's unique to the person. You often can't explain it, it can be just as unexpected, and hold just as an important place in your heart. It can be as strong as it is debilitating.

I used to paint a fair few images of sadness. I liked working with it as a tool. Sadness is pretty close to calm when you think about it. There's a nice stillness to it. Plus it coincided with my early Sigur Ros obsession, which is pretty damn sombre.

My most recent ideas have been to grasp the more energetic and buoyant feelings however. Positive stuff, life and colour. Grief and illness haven't really made for a soft and fluffy bed for such intentions. But as we've already established, it's a process right? It's as if grief suddenly introduces a detour when you thought you knew exactly where you were on the map.

There's a great writer/poet/speaker/ex man of the catholic persuasion that I've mentioned on this blog before. John O'Donohue. He makes a beautiful connection between the passing of time and the difficulty sometimes found in creating new work, which in his case was poetry writing. He spoke of the frustration of wasting weeks of uninspired days with nothing new to show for it, only to finally write an entire poem in the space of half an hour. He said that during the time that felt so fruitless, your mind was hard at work and needed that time to produce the end result. Although we sometimes fail to see it, it can be the time in between the things we do, that feeds the end result.

Now I realise it's a tidy way of the age old, 'everything happens for a reason' saying. But I like to think that all the feelings I have and the things that happen to me ultimately nourish future work. Beliefs such as that mean the feeling of being weighted down to the earth by the big bad sad count for something. It's all part of a process, and with each process there's an outcome.

Hmm I feel like my writing this is petering off some how. I don't even have such a great 'moral of the story' to leave you with. I can't even hand on heart say, 'You might feel bad now, but it's all in aid of something'. I can only say that I think so, and really hope that it does.

NEW TORI

2010-12-18T21:16:00.000Z

HI,

Ok, so I've had a shitty day. First time off from uni and I don't know what to do with myself. I thought I'd relax, cool my heals, relax. Should have know I was incapable of this.

Should of known that it would have been better to get on with it, to get on with work. It's taken me all day to realise this. When will I learn....

Anyway. I knew there had to be a blog post about this, so it might as well be now. After all, what am I waiting for? If there is to be a new years resolution, not that I make those, it's to just jump to the point, to cut to the quick, to act. NOW. Hesitation, its the game of the devil I tells ya.

So in the spirit of getting on, I give you my great idea. It's all about reaching out. For too long I've been feeding this.....persona, of the lone artist. My work, as much as I've loved it, has been an escapism. But an escapism from reality and everyone that comes with it. I want this to change, I need it to change. I need my work to become something that introduces me to new people, not something that keeps me from them. I find huge comfort in getting lost in my work. I've needed that over the years. But what I also need is freedom from the comfort zone. I'm 25, now is not the time to be comfortable. I want to blow the world wide open, to take great leaps of faith, to challenge myself, to scare myself, the really FEEL.

So here goes. I am from this moment on, until whenever I decide, refusing to work alone. I refuse to bury myself in my work, from this moment on it's all about making connection, about meeting new people, meeting you. Because tell me, what the hell is the point of any of this stuff if you're in it alone? I can't see it myself.

I introduce to you, my collaboration stage.

You see what I intend to do, is produce a number of works that are joint efforts. Every painting, every work of art that I create, I want it to be a shared experience. Whether that experience be with people I know well, know faintly, or not at all. The point here is I use my art as a vehicle to meet people, to make new connections. Maybe this doesn't sound all that fantastic to you, but to me, this is huge.

I had this idea to use a few randomly snagged sentences from my blog as inspiration. But really I'm open to anything anyone wants to throw my way.

So if you're someone who reads this, and you want to join forces. Email me, art@toritreasure.co.uk Or comment here, send a pigeon, I really don't mind. Know that I want to work with you. Either way, I'm gonna get started, because I've got this idea brewing.

Join me. Let's unleash something new into the world.

A clear path

2010-12-14T21:16:00.002Z

Well that's it then. Second essay all written and placed in the IN tray. Just one more assignment remains, an oral presentation that I have to give this Thursday, on some artist chick whose name I'm still struggling to pronounce. But then, as of this Friday, I'll be free of all uni commitments and I can almost pretend it doesn't exist, until January 17th.

I think now that I've got the lion's share of work behind me for the term, I can finally let Christmas come into focus, not to mention the end of another year. I'm starting to fill with that finality feeling knowing that wherever the heck I'm headed, that's another year I've stored in my mind.

So what have been the big things that have made up your year? What are the parts that stood out, among the normal usual kinda glue?

I told you didn't I. I'm in that kind of strange reflective state of mind. I've got high hopes for that though, that minds got work to do. Over the next couple of weeks I am kicking off a new body of work, an idea that's been brewing for some time. (Much like one of my green teas I forget about that end up staining my mugs brown...).

The obscure pics of the previous post are linked to it, among other things.
I love that expression, 'body of work', as if I've got the opportunity to rebuild myself, take myself apart and reassemble a better fitting me. A body work, like a shiny new suit of armour. I'm looking forward to it, it's gonna be an adventure.

A good friend of mine gave me such a great piece of advice the other day, that I felt I just had to share it with you, because it's been on my mind days after we spoke. We were talking about whether or not you can ever know what you're doing is right or wrong. Are the choices you're making the ones that take you to the places you need to go? (We're both artists ok? I know this all sounds like the plot line of a bad indie film but stick with me).

My friend did say....

"Where you walk often, there will form a path, you will not make this path, it will just get more and more clear, and one day you'll notice it."
- Lars Bylund, poet. 2010.

Nice visual that. *Sip of green tea*.
2010, and ok, there's a little bit left of it. But really it feels like the year that so many huge events happened to my nearest and dearest. One of them fell in love, one got engaged, the other married. One's moving away, one's moving in (but somewhere else entirely) and one's become two! I've felt lucky and fortunate indeed to be involved with so much and included in even more. There's been a lot of newness. New starts, new goals, new people, a new tattoo. New hair colours but blimey when isn't it??

And a definite shift in my work. It's been quiet for some time, because other areas needed care and attention. That and I needed to go through some experiences to get to where I'm standing, and that's the kind of thing that breaths new life into any artist's work.

'You write about everything in your blog,' J said to me, during one of our night walks around the town we've grown up. 'Not everything,' I say. 'Most things I guess. I do use it like a diary sometimes. I started off using if for arty news, but I like how I can mix my life up into it too. I like to rant away, but no ones ever going to be able to read my whole brain online'.

Victoria can't sleep.

2010-12-11T22:55:00.000Z

Essay 1: The results are in!

2010-12-10T10:46:00.000Z

It's Friday and we all know what this means.
It's a no uni day! The weekend starts here.

Only of course it doesn't, as I'm all set to dive right back in to my 1500 words essay, 1 of 2 assignments I have left this term. But I just wanted to tie up a few blog style loose ends first. Yesterday I got my first essay back, all marked and commented upon. Now I was feeling more than slightly apprehensive about opening that big brown envelope. I tried not to feel as if the contents would determine whether or not I would actually manage to get this degree, but knowing that in a way, it kinda did. What's that, an artist blowing something totally out of all proportion? Wow, how unusual.

:P

For a couple of months I'd had the University of Reading assignment marking scheme engraved to the note board, the far left column of what's required to get a 1st all highlighted in a positive, life affirming neon green. I don't like that feeling of such an important part of your life being in someone else's hands. I realise that if I put the work in, chances are, I'll do alright. But it still needs to be marked by someone, who had to recognise my work as being native to that 1st qualifying column. Someone has to read it, mark it and decide. That's far too much human involvement for my liking. It unsettles the control freak inside. I like to feel that whether I've done well or whether I've managed to crash and burn, it's all my own doing, because that I can work on. Other people, now they're much harder to work with.

Of course you'll be hard pushed to find anything that doesn't involve someone else you need to rely on and in most cases, that's all part of the fun. But rather than let this blog disintegrate into the depths of a 'lone ranger' artist mind set, without further ado, let me present to you my first ever essay grade.....

*A drum roll maybe? Drurururururururrrr!*

A 2:1 - just a couple of marks off a 1st!
Not too shabby eh? I was particularly pleased with the comment: 'A very effective essay, nicely written and with a clear awareness of Baxandall's thinking...' (Baxandall - that's the daddy of the 'Period Art' art theory to you).

Especially chuffed about the nicely written bit, because although I find it piss easy to dash off a couple of thousand words in a blog post when I'm feeling fired up about something or other, constructing meaningful sentences of an intelligent nature is much trickier! Plus I can't *stand* the writing style of most art history books I've been reading recently. They're so god damned dry and wooden. Do you want me to absorb your ever so interesting point of view on the origins of the art historical canon or not? Because your words read like a box of bran flakes to the face.

Or something like that.

Oh - and - I got a big ol tick in the 1st column for being 'very well argued' and as anyone who knows me will testify, this girl argues to win.

So, melodramatic panic over. I feel like this, in the words of Sigur Ros, is an alright start. I feel all set for a nice weekend of festive Christmas shopping and merry making. Ah and I do have another burning topic I need to share with you, but it'll have to wait. This writer needs to crack on and 'nicely write' essay 2.

And to end on a light note of no relevance whatsoever: I've dyed my hair red. So all people who had money on the blond not lasting till Christmas, you were right.

So I sent a painting to New York...

2010-12-06T12:48:00.001Z

This morning I entered a postcard sized painting into this:

Postcards From the Edge is a Visual AIDS benefit show and sale of original, postcard-sized works on paper by established and emerging artists. All works are sold on a first-come, first-served basis. The works are signed on the back and exhibited so the artists' signatures cannot be seen. While buyers receive a list of all participating artists, they don't know who created which piece until purchased. All proceeds support the programs of Visual AIDS.

So I filled out the entry form...

...and packaged it up.

I braved the harsh weather conditions. Literally millimeters of snow today! :-O

Kinda pretty....

Damn long queue......

I was too slow to snap a picture but whilst waiting in a line an old lady passed me wearing a bright red beanie with 'NEW YORK' emblazoned on the front in white letters. A sign?! I think so...

An artist's pilgrimage to The Mehodist Church, Hampshire

2010-12-05T23:52:00.000Z

Against the strong insistence of the snow panicked media I've just been out for a 3 mile jog on frosty grass - even though it wasn't ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY.
Then again maybe it was. I had to do something to help use up this massive amount of stupid energy I have after today's surreal yet ever so productive day of happenings.

As a previous blog post explains, a few days ago I hopped a train to London to visit the Temple Church, a church built and consecrated by the Knights Templar's in the twelfth century, as research for my latest art history essay. The essay question asks for a comparison to be made between a building deemed to be 'canonical' (worthy of study and investigation, i.e, 'well impressive') and a building that is not (i.e, 'generally considered a bit naff').

The Temple Church was my shining example of a build very much worthy of study. I mean come on, it was in that Da Vinci film. Here's a nice brief video on youtube of the church interior.

Next came the task of finding a building to act as my non-canonical comparison. Or as my Dad eloquently put it, 'The awful looking 'before' shot of someone on a fad diet'. Sure. "Great results in just 800 years of history and restoration: the canonical diet."

It's perhaps a bit harsh to single out the Methodist Church in Hampshire as not being regarded worthy of study, but for the purpose of my essay, I'm calling a spade a spade. It just ain't all that pretty. It's actually the church were I was christened and has remained my 'local'. Not that I've been in um....25 years or so. Oh tell a lie, I apparently did go to Sunday school in order to give my poor parents the odd reprieve, but, 'didn't like it'. So there you go.

In order to get a real feel for the buildings, as us art historian types are supposed to, I made a point of attending some kind of service. At the Temple Church I listened to an organ recital, at the Methodist Church I decided to go along to a Sunday service, seeing as it was Sunday n'all.

Most freakishly uncomfortable/friendly/surreal/just plain weird experience EVER.
Possibly ever...

Whereas at the Temple Church I felt a degree of bookish coolness, strutting around with my note pad and pen, sketching parts of the church, grilling the verger and feeling every inch some kind of art history style investigative journalist, at the Methodist Church I just felt very very silly. Maybe silly isn't the word - awkward?

Extremely awkward.

And I can't honestly say why. It's not like there was anyone there I recognised from school or something. Perhaps it was something to do with being so close to home, there was no pretence of being there to admire the excellent architecture (the building was built in the 50's largely from house brick) it was like....sitting in someones front room. Someone who just happened to have a load of folding chairs, a stage with an alter and someone playing a piano in the corner. Oh yes and dozens of hymn books.

Oh. my. god. I forgot people sing at these things.

When I'd walked in and was handed a big blue book I blurted out, 'I've never been to one of these and I'm here for research purposes!' I was reassured that it was ok, I could observe, take photos, take part as much as I wanted to. This didn't exactly put me at ease.

As I was met with a room full of the more mature and wise of person I was thankful that currently I'm not sporting the multi-coloured hair look. In fact I looked pretty normal, in my most dull and boring grey knit dress usually reserved for office work. I didn't think the hello kitty and raver neons would go down too well. The interior was as I expected. The only real features that remind you you're in a church is the wooden back-lit cross attached to the far wall, the alter as mentioned, and a few plain flat panels of coloured glass in the windows.

The service was....better than expected I guess? It's not the message or intention of a church service that I have a problem with, but rather the insistence of one particular way. The bible is taken as, well, the Gospel truth. I don't the the rigidity of that. The theme of the service was all about not giving up, persistence, which is a good quality for anyone to have. I enjoy hearing people speak about something they are passionate about, and the Reverend was clearly a great public speaker.

To show willing I mewed out a few hymns, the tune of which I had no clue. I never did relax though the entire time I was there. Once the service was finished everyone pounced on tea and coffee. I took the opportunity to quiz a few of the long time congregation on their knowledge of the building.

'Oh you need to speak to R!' Enthused one lady, who led me over to R, who had apparently been in attendance for going on 40 years now. I asked him a few questions about the architecture. It had been difficult finding any information out about the church, but I thought I could scrape a few paragraphs for the essay.

But then, I struck gold.

R told me, 'Oh it's funny you ask as the other day the old parishioner gave me the architects original design plans and blue prints, you can borrow them if you like'

Saywhatnow....?

Living a stones throw from me, minutes later I found myself sat in R's living room chatting to his wife as he went in search for the papers. Not only do I now have enough material for a few great paragraphs, I can quote from the actual architect and use images of his sketches and ideas - perfect!

So I don't know - praying works? Ask and ye shall find. Something like that. It's extremely geeky of me but I've got a third of the essay done and now my brain won't stop whirring. But it must, cause I need sleep and you're bored of this post by now surely. So I'll bid ye a goodnight. I like using the word 'ye', let's bring it back.

This isn't a blog post

2010-12-03T16:25:00.002Z

I should be working. I'm sat at my desk, surrounded by hopeful looking open text books. It looks like I'm working. And I am, sort of. Would you know what I mean if I said, 'We each have our own version of 'last minute' when we have a deadline looming'? Take this essay for instance, it's due in December 17th, I technically know I have a couple of weeks and a bit, and up until this point I have been doing the background work. You know, the reading, researching, just wrapping my head around the subject.

Now that it comes to writing the thing, knocking it into serious shape, I don't have much taste for it yet. Where's the motivation? To me, this is still pretty far in advance and I know that it doesn't take me very long to actually get the words down, they flow fast when I'm in the right frame of mind.

Which this isn't.

I'm in the arty frame of mind, or rather, I wish I was. I haven't actually done much of anything art recently. I know that lately I've had a tendency to whinge on this blog about my artists block, for lack of a better term. Right now I've got the 'want' but not the inspiration. This is why you'll see my recent posts have been about music, or uni work, or speed dating. I suppose I've been on the look out for something of note to happen to spark the lightening bolts in my brain. It just hasn't been coming.

Reasons for recent artists block: I'm a student. Priority 1 has to be 'work towards the degree' if not for the reason of my desired career change then for the reason I'm spending 3k a year for the privilege. Personal things and stuff. We all have this going on I grant you, but some times are more busy than others right? It's been such a time. Jealous. I've been a green eyed monster for a number of reasons, see post on catastrophic speed dating event... Good old lack of ideas. I've never really had a method of sussing out what the next painting idea will be. It just pops up in mind. Ka-blam!

*fizzle.......*

I'm looking forward to December 17th. Not only is this the date all my uni commitments are due, it's the last day of term, with a whole month off to follow. A whole month of removing one 'thing' out of the equation. Time to paint I'm hoping. All I want for Christmas is a good idea. Oh and a new camera. But I might ask santa to wait for the January sales to get more bang for his buck.

*EDIT* I realised that this post was one of my most read, but why? I think it's because people, or perhaps my readers in particular, don't like being told what to think. So it stands to reason, that when faced with the title 'This isn't a blog post' they think to themselves: 'I'll be the judge of that!'

Do let me know if I'm right....

Also, if people do tend to read this post more often than not, then it is here I shall add a quick appeal.

I am now on the market for a tattoo apprenticeship, interested in learning from a top notch tattoo artist somewhere in the South. If you, or someone you know, might like the hearty yet satisfying challenge of helping me translate my painty creations into ink, then please get in touch. art@toritreasure.co.uk

Thank you.

An artist's pilgrimage to The Temple Church, London

2010-12-02T15:48:00.001Z

As I look out of my bedroom window it's hard to believe that my journey to London was only yesterday. Yesterday the roads were clear. I got my usual bus into town and caught the 10:40 train that hurtled to London Waterloo. The underground ran smoothly and it was a quick and painless walk to my destination.
Today the snow engulfs us. ALL - you heard me - ALL Southwest trains were reported cancelled earlier. That's assuming you can find any way of getting to the station, short of walking (read: skating).
Lucky indeed was I to be able to get to London and home totally unsnowed, for I had an important mission. A pilgrimage if you will, towards spiritual enlightenment - that and some art history essay research.

The final essay I have to tackle before the term is up is on the subject is canonical buildings. We have been asked to write about a building in London or Oxford of our choosing that forms part of the art 'canon', a term used to refer to the collection of historically significant art and architecture deemed worthy to study and investigate. What strikes you as one of the most impressive buildings in London (easier to get to than Oxford) that you know will have several books and source material out there to consult? (better to pick a building that I'd actually be able to gather information on).

St Pauls. That was my first choice. I figured it was huge, well known, obviously worthy of study and investigation - it's a hot tourist attraction these days, obviously it's the 'right' kind of building to go for.

So I planned a trip to go see it. Despite being a hot spot for tourists, I'd never been. Their website is extensive. They have a stuffed diary of events going on so much so it almost makes you forget it's a cathedral, y'know, somewhere religious. I'm sure their gift shop is excellent.

I was already bored. Already I had visions of the swathes of tourist types, like cattle, trampling around and chattering. I didn't wanna go, I wasn't even there yet and the whole thing felt like a headache. To make matters worse when I tried to check out St Pauls related books from the library they were all out. This was fine, I could wait a few days, but point being someone else would be writing a similar essay. I'd be boring the lecturer, dooming them to read yet another essay about such an obvious building, nah, it was all getting a bit too mainstream....

I'm not a mainstream kinda girl.

Then I heard it, the voice of God. 'Oi, Tori. Do you remember that unusual round church from that movie with Tom Hanks and Amelie? Your Dad mentioned it didn't he....' He did indeed, but I'd initially dismissed it as too unknown and niche. Then, whilst staring at the rows of old books in the uni library I noticed an entire book dedicated to this usual little church - a sign!

I ran it past my lecturer who gave me the green light and my mission was clear: The building I was going to write about would be The Temple Church.

The Temple Church is located in the heart of legal London, surrounded by barristers chambers and the visually impressive Royal Courts of Justice. It was first built in 1185 by the Knights Templars as their English headquarters. The church consists of two parts, the circular nave section, called The Round Church and the Chancel, a rectangular adjoining area built half a century later. It's the circular section that makes this church so unusual. The construction for this was based on the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, the Templars most holy site.

Now there's a lot to read and understand about The Templars that extends beyond anything Dan Brown's written about, so I'm still in the process of getting up to speed. But being an art history degree, the essay didn't need a history lesson but rather a first-hand study of the building itself. I emailed the verger, Oliver Petter, keen to make sure someone who worked there would be available to answer a few questions, and set up a visit. I planned to attend one of their organ recitals, in order to get a full experience of the building's multiple functions.

Sounding like a true art historian.

But more importantly, I just wanted to see how it felt to be there. Would the building be able to inspire in me words worth reading?

The first thing that struck me was how much of an oasis the church was in among the sea of imposing legal buildings. I instantly loved it. It isn't the worlds most decorated church. The external appearance is modest and minimal. The walls don't feature sculptures, but the rounded section of the building is, to me, aesthetically beautiful. Some of the original detailing around the door remains where you can make out interesting faces and figures. I snapped away with my camera.

I used to be very anti-religion when I was younger. It didn't sit well with me that there could be a set of 'one size fits all' rules to live your life by, with the threat of an afterlife in somewhere hot and flamey as a means to keep people on the straight and narrow. But not coming from a very religious family it wasn't really an issue. As I got older I found I enjoyed visiting churches, on the rare times we would as part of some family holiday sight-seeing. They are places of calm. How often do you seek out somewhere for the peace? Not enough enough I'm willing to bet. We work hard and play hard right? If we're not rushing to and fro wherever it's ultra important we get to, we're filling the rest of our time with activity and past-times. Well instead of always being active and keen to past the time, why not try stopping still. I don't consider myself a Christian and I don't think you need a 'title' but I do have my beliefs. I've gone from thinking it's crazy to entertain the thought of something more to life to feeling like you'd have to be insane not to at least think it possible. The very fact that we exist at all is pretty damn strange. Where did it start? Why? And I suppose I do find huge comfort in thinking there is a lot more to life than sleeping, eating, drinking, earning money, even creating art. Having some mind for the spiritual stuff gives you a reassuring perspective. Everything that happens is much less important than you make it out to be. Have a little faith.

Ahem - anyway - I digress. By the time the organ recital came around there were about 10 of us waiting in the biting cold for someone to open up. If you're planning to make a visit to The Temple Church do visit their website first, as opening times vary.

I recognised the verger, Oliver, from his online bio and he welcomed everyone inside. I said hello, took my copy of the organ programme and looked up. Instantly I was hit by the striking interior that I can still clearly remember. The vaulted ceiling is a mass of arches supported by several dark stone pillars. The round section to the left is the first part to invites you in. Just visible are 8 of the carved stone effigies of unidentified knights, lain on the floor in two groups of 4 at the centre of the round. We know these figures from the movies, if you've ever seen 'The Da Vinci Code' that is.

I won't describe the entire interior in minutia, I'll save that for the essay... But what was interesting was the strange feeling I felt whilst quietly moving around the church. It was a feeling of excitement and awe. It felt like something interesting was going on. I wanted to know more, to learn about the place, and not just because I'm a massive bookish swot, but because I wanted to. The whole place was very welcoming, friendly. Sure it was clam and peaceful, but in a positive and optimistic way. A feeling of hope I think.

I did my 'art history student' thang and took yet more photos (Anyone can it's allowed, but I did end up buying a book there with a good general overview of the history and great pics). I really enjoyed the organ recital. I love hearing all kinds of live music, that being said I think the last gig I went to was La Roux, which wasn't nearly as churchy... I stole a few moments of Oliver's time and he kindly answers my questions. He told me that the main function of the church was a to serve as a centre of community and to maintain a degree of tradition - after the subject of Jesus of course. Churches should be used for prayer, he said. I wonder how many people do pray now, aside from the times of immense anguish. 'Please God let me get a first in this essay!' But I think it's incredibly beneficial to take stock and realise what you're thankful for, and to have clear intentions of what you want from your life. I left The Temple Church with a renewed interest in the spiritual stuff. I think a life that's void of any concept of God or faith is a life less....rounded.

I had worried that by the time I left London great mountains of snow would leave me stranded, but there was not a flake to be seen. So I ended my mission like any good knight would do, with a feast at Wagamamas in the company of my lovely friend B.

The chocolate frozen yogurt comes highly recommended from both of us.

Right, should get on with structuring this essay bad boy.

http://www.templechurch.com/

MISSING

2010-11-23T20:52:00.003Z

What is the life of an artist like and where can I find one?
Artists. I imagine them an intriguing sort. Mysterious and fascinating.
Powered by battery-like desires to create, make a mark, a difference, or maybe merely react and ignite new reactions.
They probably congregate in groups, each of them united in their complete difference and, as of yet, their unaccepted great idea. Their visions.
Oh god I hate my life so very much.

Where are they?? There are a billion art projects out there happening right now and they're all going just fine without me. There are art studios in beautiful places full of people creating. Places like Paris and Brooklyn. Right now. People are experimenting, trying new things, failing, making mistakes, making a mess. Doesn't it sound great?

I'm an artist part of nothing. I'm a a few months strong into a degree in Art History and it feels like my theme song already.

I've read about artists like that. The crazy kooky kids who dance around in paint pots in the light of a full moon and film the whole thing for some abstract interpretive symbolic piece on the colour of happiness.

I'm a realisticly detailed fine artist. I'd don't do the abstract thing. But the experimental free thinking nature - that is in me. That's in every artist. But it remains the kind of thing I read about and hear of.

My life is boring me to death. And I'm so bored of being bored by it. There's no passion, no excitement, no surprise, no zest for anything. On my tombstone they'll be able to write, 'She went the right way about everything'. I feel like I'm on the right track in regards to it being the most sensible and cost-effective. It's safe. I'm safe. I'm going insane.

I don't know if it's going a few months without doing much else other than reading, essay writing and the occasional design job, but I feel 90% dead. Right now I'm a paint by numbers kinda girl. Someone could step in at any moment and just pick up where I left off. I don't feel like my personality or.....'self' is even important or needed. I'm running empty on the life stuff, I've got my plans, my studies, my bigger picture. But as of right now? I'm thinking of sending a search party out.

Missing: My spark.

J.

2010-11-20T01:43:00.001Z

What a beautifully sad excellent night.
I will miss you incredibly much. To begin with.
But it's just a different begining. Ok?
Two things you can always be sure of:
1. We will always be like this.
2. I'll always have scotch.

xxxx

Under the Influence: Unbearable Lightness, a memoir by Portia de Rossi

2010-11-17T12:02:00.000Z

I think I first came across Portia de Rossi via the Ally McBeal TV series, you remember the one, infamous for it's quirky court-room drama theme featuring lithe ladies with microscopic skirts. I was never very well acquainted with Portia's career since then. After her Ally days I knew her best as one half of Hollywood's most famous lesbian couple, when coverage of her happy marriage to Ellen Degeneres was all over the press.

And then I heard talk of a book. Her book, a memoir written by Portia that was pitched as being a 'tell all' account of her journey into acting, as well as revealing the secret of her eating disorder, that became so extreme she once weighed just 82lbs. (That's a shocking 5 1/2 stone). As part of launching her book, 'Unbearable Lightness: A Story of Loss and Gain', Portia was being interviewed all over US television and radio, starting of course, with Oprah. Curious about just how this seemingly successful and happy actress could have hidden such severe problems I watched a short clip. Around 15 minutes later, I'd downloaded the audio version of her book.

Now I don't normally like audio books. Books are a way of ridding yourself from all noise and technology. But considering Portia was telling her story, I felt that hearing it all in her voice might add something to the experience. Plus I was impatient. She had explained on Oprah how she hoped that by writing this book, which was obviously deeply therapeutic for her, she might help anyone out there who had ever struggled with their self-image or dieting.

After listening to the entire 9 and a half hours in more or less one sitting I was incredibly inspired. I think Oprah beat me to it, but I would say that this book is one that anyone, perhaps any girl especially, should read/listen to.

Content aside for a second it's beautifully written. The reader is assured that all the words are completely her own, no ghost writers to be found here, and Portia's writing style is intelligent and flowing. It does however make for some uncomfortable and graphic descriptions of her past experiences. In fact, Portia weaves together three main points in the book: Her eating disorder, her difficulty with being gay and her career as an actress. She remained a closeted lesbian, fearful that news of her sexuality would have a negative impact on her career, until she was 'outed' by the press. It's easy to forget that only recently does it seem much more acceptable and common place for actors and actresses to be gay. I for one had forgotten completely that when Ellen Degeneres came out publicly as a lesbian her sitcom was swiftly cancelled. This was due to a big dip in ratings after an episode in which she 'outed' herself both on screen and in real life.

Portia's disordered eating, which included anorexia, bulimia and binging, seemed to be a reaction to all the pressures she faced, whilst disguising itself as a diet, a 'healthy eating' plan in order to fit into sample sizes for her modelling and acting roles.

I think we're quite familiar with stories of celebrities struggling with their weight and over-coming or scumming to eating disorders. Being in the public eye actresses and models are subject to scrutiny, and a day doesn't go past when I fail to have an article flashed up online with details of the latest 'Skinny celebs' or 'Curvy real women'. The fact that none of these topics should be newsworthy never seems to be questioned. We are a nation obsessed with how we look and how that measures up to everyone else.

It doesn't even seem to matter that we know how fake and Photoshopped every image we are shown is. We still feel inadequate and required to slim down or tone up our bodies. What I loved about Portia's book is that she does spend a good hour (I'm not sure what that is in pages) explaining her recovery as part of the book's epilogue. She talks about her realisation of 'falling for it', the great media myth of how a woman should look, allowing the image of pre-pubescent girls as models to have power over her. Which she admits, is ridiculous. But what really impressed me was the strength of Portia's message: You have to make a decision. You have to decide to love and accept yourself exactly as you are.

I've no doubt to get the full impact of those words, you need to read/hear them in the context she creates, so of course I urge you to buy and read the book for yourself. But Portia makes a brilliant point that sounds obvious but sadly isn't.

Why are you being so hard on yourself? Why are you ruining your own life when no one is making you be like this? You're the one deciding that you need to fit into a certain shape to be ideal. You're the one deciding you're a failure if you're not a certain number. So simply decide not to live your life that way. More often than not, once you label something as 'good' and 'bad' in the world of food you start to want what you shouldn't have much more than you would if you just saw everything as food. If you allow yourself to have anything chances are you won't even want it as much. If chocolate and icecream are available to you tomorrow, you won't eat your weight in it today. Accept yourself for who you are and become free from any kind of obsessive thoughts.

The reason any talk of this book caught my eye is probably due to the fact weight and food is something I used to have issues with. I say used to, but although the bigger and more serious problems can be cured, you can still be left with a few 'hangers on', the odd diet-style behaviour that we see as very normal and common place. Not everyone will experience an eating disorder in the way we understand it, as being so extreme as to warrant medical help, but most people will at some time diet, or exercise, or do something in order to loose weight or change their body. I would argue (and Portia also argues this) that any kind of obsessive or irrational thought about food is a form of disordered eating.

These days I consider myself one level-headed gal when it comes to diet and exercise, but once I'd finished Portia's book I decided the 'hanger's on' had to go. So it's goodbye to cottage cheese and 'low fat' anything, I've never really liked you. Oh and I'll be taking my Jack with real coke from now on I think.

I found 'Unbearable Lightness' to be a strikingly honest and absorbing read. You tend to forget it's written by a 'celebrity' mainly because it isn't. It's the words of a girl who lost her father at nine, who started modelling at aged twelve and who knew she was gay when she was just a teenager. Memoirs are supposed to be personal, but I think it's pretty rare to read a book by someone so known and 'famous' and feel like you've been given an insight into their personal life. This isn't a vehicle to raise her profile or to make money, it's 100% real.

Unbearable Lightness: A Story of Loss and Gain is available to download on itunes, or to order now on Amazon.

The intimate adventures of a Speed Dater

2010-11-10T01:00:00.001Z

When it comes to love, I'm a firm believer in fate. You just never know when it's going to hit you.

Some people find it when they go out to work.
For others, love was to be found during their college days.
It's a popular plan of action to look for love among like-minded people, at some kind of club.
Other peoples weddings could also cross your path with someone splendid.
Hell, the fruit and veg alle of Tescos might just suffice.

There are several ways to meet the billions of new people out there, and potentially start something special. But so far, I'd lucked out with all of them!

Fate might have it's plans, but that doesn't mean I can't lend a hand. If you want something (or someone) in this life:
Make. It. Happen.

No doubt you've heard it said countless times: 'Oh I'm just too busy to meet people. I work long hours. I don't find talking to people in bars works.' And it's true to a degree, our jobs do demand so much of our time now. But there is an answer!

Speed Dating.

Meet 15 guys for a 3 minute date during one evening? Sounds good to me! I found an organised speed dating event near to me and signed myself up.

The event was hosted at the Ivory Lounge in Reading, a pretty plush feeling restaurant/bar. All cream leather sofas and burgundy flocked Victorian wall-paper, I liked it.

I suppose before I jump into the gory details I should give you some idea of what I was exactly after. When I told my friends what I was planning they all seemed to react in the same way, 'Oh I'd love to do that, it'd be a right laugh!'

I like a laugh as much as the next girl, more so even, I'd go so far as to say I love laughing, but I wasn't exclusively in it for the giggles. I was hoping to meet someone. Maybe even someone I could see myself having one of those fancy relationship things you hear about and see on the telly. Just a few weekends ago I found myself at a best friend's wedding and I did wonder, ohhh maybe here I'll meet that gorgeous artsy slightly mental music obsessed guy who has a penchant for girls with oddly coloured hair. Sadly no, it seemed most people there had their own 'lurve thang' going on. Hmpf!

But who needs em? I had a speed dating event to go to.

The idea was simple: Each girl had a table of their own. The guy would then move from table to table with every ring of the bell. Each date would last 3 minutes, hopefully giving both parties time to suss out whether or not they thought the other person was a good match. You were told to write notes on a card, to later fill out your matches online. The details of people who also ticked you would be sent via email after the event.

I wasn't especially nervous. I felt confident that I could waffle on about myself for 3 minutes in a vaguely amusing manner plus I think I'm pretty good at it's sizing up whether I like a guy in lightening speed. I'm not the sort to have a 'shopping list' of criteria. An ex once told me, 'People are the things they like and if you can share enough of those things with another person, it works'. As it happen it didn't work on this occasion but the words ring true. The more times you can go, 'Ohh I just love -blank-. Oh you do too?? Did you hear -blanks- experimental B-sides for the -blank- album? Oh you did! Wow!' Common ground makes someone new feel familiar, it makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, they might have half a chance of understanding the complex soul that you are.

That and I generally go for guys in bands. I know I know, how cliche. But music is like an art form I don't understand but enjoy, it fascinates me when someones talented like that.

But I digress. Bring on the men!

I think out of the 15 guys I met I can place 3 or 4 of them. The memory of most of them seems to mesh into this one giant collective 'man shape', all dressed in denim and beige, droning on about his god-awfully boring job. I tried to direct the conversation into more interesting realms.

'So, tell me what your biggest passion in life is!'
'Uhh, I like drinking!'
'That's nice, are you a bit drunk now?'
'Heh heh yeah a bit.'
'Right, so, what do you do?'

Urgh: 'What do you do?' seemed to be the most asked question. Depending on the guy I 'did':

Graphic design: If he looked all suited booted and professional. There was no way I was gonna say 'student' and feel nicely judged as 'unsuccessful'.
Student: If he looked like he'd never read a book in his life and described himself as 'in between jobs' I'd flaunt my amazing academia.
Artist: If this guy seemed so up himself and self-important I'd delight in turning on the whole: 'Well I've got this wild artist streak, more like a calling, an obsession, I'm so fucking complicated and mysterious - you could never understand me!'
Air-hostess/F.B.I./Porn star: Ok so I didn't say any of these, kinda wish I did though....

But there was one guy who sticks out in my mind. He scared the shit out of me. As number 11 sat down to my table he instantly grabbed my hand and stared into my eyes.

Don't touch me. Not when you first meet me, or in your case, ever.

He then uttered the word, 'Metalica?!'
'Um, I'm sorry?'
He repeated himself, 'Metalica?'
I honestly thought he was foreign and this was some freaky pronunciation of 'hello'.
'You look like someone who might like Metalica? You look like a rock chick'.

Ok so he had a point. I was weirdly void of any colour. I'd decided to go for some black lace tights with patent boots, a grey mini skirt, black chiffon shirt with a black waistcoat to top it off. I looked rather gothy, maybe a bit harsh, like I was looking for a fight, but in a sexy way.

'Er, nah I don't really know their music. I'm not very rock, just rocking the look!' He then pawed at my shoulder in a way that made my skin crawl. 'That's really great.' We mainly talked of music, he insisted I listen to this and that, all the time freaking me the fuck out with his intense staring eyes. 'Did you come here alone? So did I'. Great, I thought. So tonight's the night I die and they find me in little pieces in a bin somewhere in Reading. When the bell rang he 'promised' to talk to me again later.

Yeah I think I need to be somewhere, like, the Moon.

I'm afraid there wasn't really anyone who made me think, 'Ohhhhh!' Either I'm one picky bitch or you just can't mess with fate after all. I don't know. I enjoyed the experience, but that's not really the point.

Ironic the only person I swapped numbers with was Lauren, a girl who had also gone to the event alone that I'd got chatting to whilst we waited for the event to kick off.

Time whizzed by and at the end of the event I felt deflated. It was getting late, after a girly de-brief with Lauren, comparing notes and mutually slagging off 'freaky guy' it was time to get my train home. Which I managed to miss. By one minute.

I had a 40 minute wait ahead of me, so cramming my headphones into my skull, I planned to soothe the night away with the help of some Icelandic melodies. Then, a voice in an accent I couldn't place said:

'I like your tights, where are they from?'
I look up and this guy in a bright green and yellow hoodie is looking at me expectantly. Of course, the late night train station weirdo, hello to you.
'Um they're just from Primark'. I continue to listen to my tunes and hope he leaves me be.
'Oh so you're good with money, you would make a good wife. Are you seeing anyone?'

*Sigh* Ok, looks like now it's time to talk to the late night train station weirdo.

'Yeah I am actually, I've been seeing a guy from my work for a few months'. (Thinking the lies might shut him up. They didn't).

'Oh, ok, well I just thought I'd talk to the pretty girl on the bench just in case y'know? I'm Andy. Oh it's so cold isn't it? Do you want me to warm you up? Without touching you, check this out!' He proceeds to show me a video on his mobile of his recent holiday to Thailand. He spent some time out there training as he's a semi-professional heavy-weight fighter. He told me he was from Cyprus. 'This guy here, he broke two of my toes, short guy, but look at how muscly he is? Fast mover too, but see, here, here's when I got him and won.....'

To be honest, I'm not sure he was 100% crazy. There's a fine line between crazy and just very very self-assured I think, it's more unusual to us Brits, but still, I was fairly sure he was mental.

'Look, I'm going to give you my number, and you just think about it ok?' So weirdly enough, I got the number of a random at a train-station after 15 mini-dates that I'd paid for.

Me and Andy parted ways when the train arrived, the chat had at least killed time.
All in all speed dating was good fun, and I'm sure it can work. I might go to another event, but I might see what fate decides, just for a bit. For now, I continue my mighty reign as the (rock-chick looking) Queen of Singletown.

Understanding Love, acrylic on canvas.

The intimate adventures of a History of Art student

2010-11-07T17:51:00.000Z

Well this is the LAST thing I should be doing, typing away a blog post when for the most part I have today been musing away on History of Art essay numero uno. But rest assured I have been taking a break from screen time to do more important things take my baby brother for a walk to kick up Autumn leaves. (Although he was more content in waving one large yellow oak leaf around and around and around....he's got a waving 'thing'). I also intend to get my ass out the house again shortly but before I do - a post.

As I already mentioned I have been working on my first essay for this History of Art degree. It's my first essay since, hell, a long time, so I was feeling a bit apprehensive.
See that's the thing about getting into academic writing, I'm sat here rolling through the alternative words for 'apprehensive' cause perhaps there's a better one to be found. Freaked the fuck out? Yeah that might give you a better 'flavour'.

I don't mind writing, but my kinda writing. The sort of writing where I can write the word 'kinda' and know it's fine. I'm not normally all that colloquial on my blog, I seldom swear (previous paragraph aside obviously...) so I wasn't too concerned with switching on the ol 'neat and tidy' writing style, whilst still wanting to keep some colour. Colour - go figure.

The freaky feeling was due to feeling the fraud, a right faker. Could I even fake it as an art historian type? I'm not able to fake the look of enjoying myself at a shit party, it shows all over my face, and the hard-core readers out there will be familiar with the fact I've felt far from enthusiastic about the degree.

Now I don't like the feeling of being made to do anything that seems unnecessary. I'm a taurus, any cause to work at something without good reason pisses us off. The idea of slogging away for three writing things and stuff just because someone said so wasn't exactly my idea of a good time. I'll admit that for the first few weeks of uni I was the living embodiment of the following emoticon:

:-l

(I'd just like to credit my friend L for that one. She showed me how to effectively communicate the feeling of bored indifference in one simple move).

'Pfft...really? Seriously? Have I gotta....? What, read n' shit? Then, what, actually write stuff? Awwwwwww - can't I just go and do stuff instead??' Yeah sure, I could go and stack some shelves, or go back to graphic design as my full time, or anything else that doesn't require a degree, but there's no getting away from this simple fact: If you're gonna teach anyone anything, you need a degree in this.

I was slow to start, or at least felt slow. Going through the motions perhaps, as I'm too swotty to actually not do anything. Instead I'd go to lectures and make my notes complete with the sarcastic face, my heart just wasn't in it yet.

So what caused that to change? I suppose it was a few key things. For starters, some of my fellow students have been so damn welcoming and nice, that it's been hard to really hate the place. Being a mature student commuting in and not living in halls has make getting to know people a longer process. (Read: I'm unable to get shit-faced on a regular basis with these people). I should really give a shout out to R here who not only went to the trouble to book time to meet up with me in his diary on the days I was on campus, but I also know he often reads this stuff ;-)

So being a bit more involved helped. Funny that. But the other thing that's really got me going is actually getting behind the idea of doing a degree. Once again this sounds like a no-brainer, but hey I liked to take my sweet time in realising that I can do this. I got organised. To begin with it was a case of planning my time and making sure I knew exactly when everything in the term was due, then going off in search for all the marking schemes and information you're provided. Before I started to tackle any of the actual essay questions or topics I suppose I wanted to feel equipped.

Ladies and gentlemen please welcome to the stage, our History of Art opening act....the essay! The most overwhelming feeling was not the idea of having to collect together 1500 words, but having to collect together 1500 words actually worth reading. What the hell do I know about Art History anyway?? We've only just started!

Nothing. I know nothing. Less than nothing, I probably know a few things that I think I know but are wrong. I'm working in the negative here, I've got negative knowledge of art history!

But you've gotta start taking some advice, the good stuff, like making sure you read the question first. So I did that. We had a lecture covering 'the period eye', a topic we would have to cover in the essay, so before that started I looked the stuff up and read up on this strange sounding subject. Feeling glad I'd paved the way to understanding what the lecturer was going on about, I cornered her after the hour was done to run by a loose idea of what I might cover in my essay, just to make sure my mind wasn't lulling me into a false sense of 'know it all'.

And that's how it started. Happy I had half an idea of where to start I thought it might be time to make friends with the library. I know I know, hadn't I done that yet? Sure I'd been IN the library, as far as the computer rooms, which wasn't exclusively used for Facebook and Twitter, but I hadn't so much as sniffed an art book.

I kinda like the smell of old book.

Anyway, I used the uni's computer system to search through the hordes of titles, noted down a short list and like a detective of books - I was off! First stop floor 3: Arts and Humanities, then a quick mooch around floor 4: Social studies. Feeling like the first person to ever successfully locate a few good looking books that I could use in my essay I marched off to the self-scanner contraptions to finish the job.

Et voila! 3 books on a couple of key French rococo artist are now languishing on my bed, I've been reading them and everything. Impressed? I sure am. I'm almost there, the essay has been started, I feel confident that I've got a good angle and that what I've written so far isn't half bad.

I just felt like sharing that with you, besides it's been a few days since the last post. In but 2 short days I'm embarking on the wonderful world of speed dating, which is a long-winded way of saying: Oh my god, this Tuesday I'm going speed dating. I'm pretty sure the details of which will be my next instalment.

So stay tuned.
Ah that's enough writing for today I think. Who needs a drink?

Under the Influence: Jónsi

2010-11-01T19:50:00.000Z

I felt compelled to write a new 'UtI' post, something I haven't done for a while, after becoming totally enchanted by Sigur Ros front man Jónsi's solo album, 'Go'.

I had a phase of adoring anything musical or otherwise that Iceland produced when I first heard the ( ) album by Sigur Ros - which was the BEST musical tip-off a guy's ever given me. (For those who aren't in the know, '( )', or 'brackets' is a way of referring to the album Sigur Ros produced that purposely had no title, nor did any of the tracks. Sometimes you don't need words getting in the way of a pure piece of goddamn musical mastery!)

But to quote the wise and highly misunderstood Cheryl Cole, 'Too much of anything can make you sick,' and after such a heavy dose of all Icelandic, (I saw Sigur Ros 4 times live) I took a step back and put Sigur back on the shelf, just for a bit.

And then Jónsi made his solo album. I'd heard about it, and seen clips of the video, but wasn't all that bothered. Sigur's latest offering, 'Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust' ("With a Buzz in Our Ears We Play Endlessly") was, in my opinion, too up-beat and 'happy'. It was a far cry from the soulful sadness that struck a chord in me during the 'brackets' days. I assumed Jónsi's stuff would be similar, some tracks were even in English - how sell out of him!

So I didn't give 'Go' a go (sorry, couldn't resist)
Until yesterday....

It was the day of B's wedding. I'd met B when working for an agency in London, we were both 'the new girls' and during the works Christmas do in Prague (ahhh them were the days!) a firm friendship was struck. She's lovely, a total gem, so I was ever so chuffed to hear that her fella had finally realised how lucky he was and had proposed. Slightly less chuffed was I to learn that B would shortly be moving to Dubai, where her husband's work was transferring him.

Selfishly so, it was a bitter sweet day watching this couple so clearly in love announce it to the world, knowing they would soon be leaving.

Sure there's skype, and emails and the like. But it's a poor relation to a hug. Or the leaning on each other, staggering home after a happy night out.

I don't know what made me download 'Go' before I got the train. Someone had mentioned it, maybe I read something online, something made me seek it out and get it all downloaded.

I'm glad I did.

'Go' is such a beautiful collection of tracks, full of energy, colour and life, but with the knowledge of deeper things. There's a richness and depth that's reignited the Icelandic spark in me.

And I can't stop listening to it.

Life's seldom exactly the same each time you open your eyes in the morning. Things change, there's no helping that. And it's good really. A change is as good as a rest. I've heard it said. But some change is better than others, and there's been a lot of this lately.

I'll leave you with my favourite track from the album, 'Tornado'.
(It's an unofficial video but I like what this guy's done with the visuals. Nice.)

Jónsi - Tornado (Unofficial) from Giorgio Uboldi /// TRUO on Vimeo.

Official Tour Trailer from Jónsi's Vimeo.

jónsi tour trailer from Jónsi on Vimeo.