Hermeticism Begins At Home

Alembic K Howell 2005 Mixed Media 14 cm x 21 cm

     Aristotle says Whosoever is delighted in solitude, is either a wild beast or a god. This is a bit extreme, but I'm happy to err on the side of the feral. Solitude is the necessary furnace for creativity.
     But having attended an exhibition of student's work this week, and then another put together by friends on the weekend, I was reminded of the importance of the exhibition process. Gathering work and people together and generating dialogue is a brilliant thing. 
     It's wonderful to see work you've viewed in progress or new work emerging from familiar hands carefully presented for public perusal and enjoyment. Somehow the whole event is more enjoyable when it's not your work on display. 
     Back to my messy alembic of a work space and the entrails of my rewrite.

Risky Business

Run!!! K Howell 2011 Pastel on Paper 21 cm x 14 cm

     Art is fraught with risk. There are no guarantees that execution will match up to vision. The work may or may not be exhibited. People may or may not respond to it if they see it. Even if they do respond, the artist may or may not be aware of the success or failure of the work in that instance.
     We all invest a great deal in what we do, but as artists, uncertainty is our friend. Uncertainty is the dark underbelly of possibility; if we have one, we have the other.
     I know I'm always struggling to balance emotional intensity with games; trying to invest a work with strength and authenticity of vision, but also a certain amount of playfulness. I should take myself more seriously; I should have more fun. This is a risk.
     But risk, I believe, is what makes work interesting.
Yesterday, I attended a concert. The chamber group was marvelous, the sound world intriguing but ultimately upstaged. By a cactus. The unquestionably phallic shape and the fact that it was amplified gave the succulent a playful presence in the percussionist's toolbox. The spines kept me watching. So much potential for drama. Will they blindfold the percussionist? Will the stage hands be impaled? I spent the duration of the piece renaming the work and re-imagining the staging for maximum comic and tragic effect. So I've learned this valuable lesson: If you put a cactus on stage, harmonics aren't quite so interesting*. When RISK is presented as a possibility, the audience wants it explored. (Assimilating this information as I write.)

*This is not a criticism, just a fact. It was a very good event. And the film! Pierre Reimer's Modell, made to accompany a composition by Mark Andre, was brilliant. Very witty, slightly sinister, thoroughly entertaining. Clever and playful. I loved it! And I would've told him so, but my French is specious and my English... not much better. I failed to make my response known. I didn't want to risk sounding like a prat. Won't happen again.

Transition

  There, From Here K Howell 2011 Pastel on Paper 14 cm x 21 cm

     If you've ever given birth, you'll know there's a certain inevitability about the situation. Labour can't go on forever, and harbouring this creature indefinitely is not an option. Something has to give. Your bones.  The same ones that, on a good day, hold you upright. The ugly phase where your muscles are convincing your skeleton to be that much more flexible is termed transition and could very well be the original source of the werewolf myth.
     On the occasions I've experienced this process, I've spent much of the time thinking surely there must be a better way. How long have we been evolving as a species? And this is the most efficient system we have arrived at? I make a mental note each time to move to Australia, where eventually women may become marsupial.*
     What does this have to do with creativity? In the development of work and the search for the right blend of intensity and flexibility, we definitely have periods of transition, don't we? When do we push on, and when do we relax? We've already forgotten what worked last time, and anyway, circumstances are different. Aren't they?
     My least favourite swim coach** once pressed me to finish a ridiculous distance swimming butterfly. When I told him I'd had enough, everything hurt and I took that as a Sign to Stop, he said, Hurts a little? Or a lot? Not wanting to sound feeble, I said a little. He raised a paunchy eyebrow and said, Then you're not working hard enough.
     Transition. The cost of improvement, learning a new balance of instinct and education. Pressure on the thick skull. Too late for the epidural. Alas.

*No, I don't truly believe this, but pain messes with your head.
**I can't remember the likeable swim coaches saying anything of value. But they were ever so nice.

Obstacles

Through K Howell 2011 Pastel on Paper 21 cm x 14 cm

      Summer is here. Vegetation is rich and luxuriant. There are midges. Humans accustomed to several layers of clothing throw caution to the wind and expose their torsos and legs to the briefly magnificent sun. This is all very distracting. Disturbing. Sometimes frightening.
     A good time to retreat to the trees.
     Looking at this quirky beech, contemplating obstacles, I remember Robert Frost. The best way out is always through. While patience and persistence are very admirable, they're not terribly exciting qualities to cultivate. But three seasons later, I'm still rewriting. Is this wise? I've no idea, but certainly it's an education. The earlier draft is a bit bloated, dizzy with sun, running naked in several directions. Oblivious to the aesthetic implications of its activity. Sigh.

What the Cat Said

Where Birds Belong K Howell 2011 Pastel on Paper

      I'm slaving away over my artist's statement in the brief window of time available, marveling at just how ridiculous it looks in black and white, wondering if I need to start again, when Distraction strikes. A cat has materialised and seems to be in difficulty. I move my feet. He looks offended, and offers up a self contained pile of recently ingested organism.

"Must you?" I ask.
The cat narrows his eyes.
Do I detect a judgmental tone? (cats speak in italics in my world.)
"I hate it when you do that. It's such a waste."
Philistine, says the cat. I am exploring the nature of birds. I am examining them from many angles, observing their behaviour.
"Stalking."
Whatever works. The cat lifts its paw, and licks it.
Then I play with my material. Expand the possibilities. Toss it about. I separate out the bits you'll find most interesting, that's skill, that is. And I leave them where you will be sure to appreciate their qualities.
"The livers camouflaged against the carpet by the window?"
You noticed! That's a Duchampian triumph of Context over Content!
"It's quite off-putting."
You might want to watch your step in the kitchen...
"Why don't you do something useful with your life?" I ask.
The cat blinks. Looks down at its offering.
I've done my bit, mate. I've remade this material into something new.  Make an effort yourself.
"And what about beauty, you murdering wastrel?"
Axiomatic. The cat flicks its tail and walks off.
Artist's statement? What the cat said.

A Pigment to Dye For

 A Peeling Tree K Howell 2011  Pastel on Paper 14 cm x 21 cm

      Outside it smells of sun and elderflowers. To be honest, I'm avoiding updating my artist's statement and find I'd much rather contemplate the etymology of cyanide.
     Deep blue is a good place to begin. I tend to substructure studies with blue. This elder tree is typical.
      Elder trees are the source of so many good things. As we all know from our diligent study of the Harry Potter text, the easily hollowed elder branch makes a fine and powerful wand. Fragrant elderflowers are followed by richly purple berries, both of which can be made into Very Nice drinks. Drinking the essence of tree has benefits. Elder syrups can be effective treatments for colds and flu. But obviously you want to make sure the seeds and stalks are removed, as they contain cyanide-producing glycosides. A more conclusive cure.
     The body is perfectly capable of detoxifying small amounts of naturally occurring cyanide. The idea is to avoid ingesting quantities. I try to remind child number three of this guideline, as when there are pears in the house she tends to eat them in their entirety and look at me blankly when I ask what she did with the core.
     When Prussian blue pigment was accidentally maufactured around three hundred years ago, the name ferrocyanide was also invented for the 'blue substance with iron' produced as components of the dye. Prussian blue pigment was used for blueprints. A working plan in blue.

     Back to the beginning, it seems. This means I have to write a statement now. Curses.   

Extremity

Extremitree K Howell Pastel on Paper 21 cm x 14 cm

     Passing this tree in extremity was an assault on the senses.
     Extremity is a word one can imagine a line of wizened men chanting whilst they relentlessly dock the tails of dobermans. Its rhythm is even and soothing, but it means the End of something or distressingly adverse conditions. 
     Moderation is something we are encouraged toward. It beckons like a scrolling supermarket conveyor belt or a moving sidewalk. Such steadiness is sinister. 
     Extremes are dangerous, cliff-edge and unpredictable. Always interesting. 
     Take Grayson Perry. I used to appreciate his work, but having spent time with his Pot and Print in Manchester City Galleries, adoration becomes an understatement. His careful blend of craft and whimsy, the mundane with the outrageous in life and art is so very admirable. Long may he continue.
     Julian Schnabel says some people must go to extremes to get the world in balance for themselves. Any thoughts?