Self-Deceit

GMA 4772

Self-Deceit (Roma), Francesca Woodman, (1977-78)

It has been a long time since I have posted on this blog. For me, this has always been a platform for expressing my creativity and although I am inherently and without question a creative person, my creative impulses have recently been more dominated by my academic ones. The reason for this is I am currently doing a Masters in Modern and Contemporary Art History at The Edinburgh University. I therefore spend most of my time reading, an impulse that has always been natural to me, but until now one I have never been able to nurture quite to this extent! Already, in the time since September, I feel I have gained so much knowledge and learnt so much. We are constantly learning in our day to day lives of course, but I feel so privileged to be able to dedicate this time to my specific field of interest. This university course, although incredibly challenging at times, is perfect; I get to combine my love of reading, art, history and writing in one.

Alongside this Masters, I am doing an Internship with The National Galleries of Scotland (NGS). Another creative outlet which allows me to express love of writing and research. Below therefore, I attach a link to one of my written texts which has been published on the National Gallery’s website. My focus was American photographer Francesca Woodman, b.1958. Although most of the works in the National Gallery’s collection are co-owned by Tate under the umbrella organisation of Artist Rooms (see more information here), there were five works in NGS’s collection which I had permission to write about. See link below for more (in order to view this essay, you must first scroll right to the bottom of the page and click on the ‘plus’ sign at the right hand side, adjacent to the ‘more about this artwork’):

Self-Deceit, (1977-1978), Francesca Woodman

See also my publications page for more.

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Words Speak To Me

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.

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13687179_1140432052704433_1840139293_n1As 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.

13741013_554567611334947_978616461_nWords 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.

14350434_198530390560672_4054096995940302848_n1Following 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.

13768303_181033652308440_1820311018_nRecently 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.