Given that I would consider this blog post to be almost a continuation of my previous one, I would advise you to read my most recent post on imagery and the Self-Portrait prior to reading the write up below. Click here to view the previous article.
As well as recently thinking about the ‘necessity’ of images, both in life and on my blog (particularly alongside larger chunks of text), I have also been thinking about the lack of their necessity. About how the text in itself can become an entity through it’s strength. About how presently, I am more drawn to writing and to reading than to the creation of visuals. This is a shift which has occurred quite naturally, it has not in any way been a conscious decision. However, over summer I found myself merely dabbling in the making of artwork and instead ripping through several books as I devoured the words on the pages hungrily. I think this is an interesting transformation of interest, as I have always been immersed in the making of art and the documentation surrounding the process. However, I am now content to retreat and instead observe the process from afar. Watch others conceive and create. Take a practical sabbatical if you can call it that.
Words have become my substitute for the studio. They have become my addiction. I think working so conceptually over the past three years is much to blame for this. Often, my notebooks were more precious than my sketchbooks. All of my thoughts and ideas that were so hastily sketched out as they entered my head, soon became a sacred collection for my own creative reference. Sol Le Witt and Eva Hesse were huge inspirations to me in their reliance on writing in relation to their studio practice. Sol Le Witt because he was a conceptual artist and his work would not exist without his words. Hesse because her diaries were her own backdrop to her work; her words were her refuge and respite from what could at times be quite a consuming mode of art making. Artists never stop. Their minds never turn off. They are always thinking, seeing, looking, observing. It is only natural therefore, that words on a page can become an escape and a freedom from the frantic energy of being an artist. I know that I myself feel unburdened when I write. That once my thoughts and feelings are down on paper they no longer physically inhabit my body. I believe Hesse must have felt the same.
Following her tragic death from a brain tumour at the premature age of 34, her diaries were published. I am very conflicted over this action. On the one hand, I am sure it is amazing to have specific insight to her work and thought process. On the other, it is an invasion of privacy which reduces her work given the direct translations and observations the diaries provide. For Hesse, the diaries were a document of art and life. To her, the two were inseparable. However, I feel it is slightly tragic that her work is always read with this trajectory. In some cases her death and diaries inform her pieces almost more than the materials, colours and spatial relations do. Which of course is wrong, as no art piece should be spoon fed to its viewer. I could never read her diaries. It is my belief that they belong to her, were for her own sake and so I should find my own way of interpreting her life and work. I think this stance is probably because I sometimes keep a diary myself. Not often, just when I feel like it and need some form of release. Or I have had such a brilliant day that only words will do the justice of documenting properly. Either way, the diary is a personal entity which I feel should remain that way.
Recently I have had an urge to write in my diary again, mainly because I am feeling slightly lost. Although I am happy about my accelerated interest in the theory of art as opposed to the practicing of it, I am also left feeling slightly guilty. For someone who has been making art for as long as they can remember, it is strange to suddenly be left without the urge to make. I would go as far as to say I have an artist’s guilty conscience; that moment where you are not creating in your studio, mainly due to an inspiration dry spell, resonates with how I feel right now. I suppose however it is just a shift in focus for the time being. I am currently starting a Masters at Edinburgh University in Modern and Contemporary Art: History, Curation and Criticism. So being more drawn to reading, like bees to honey, is only a natural consequence of this. I think it is just strange for me, yet another thing I am unfamiliar with at the moment. However, instead of having the urge to draw and drip paint from giant canvases in a studio, I just need to adjust. I will now dedicate my time to reading my theories and prose in a quiet little Edinburgh cafe or the gardens and fully absorbing the context to contemporary art making, knowing that in time I will start making again.