For many years I've worked to gallery deadlines and this is usually necessary, as artistic creation must be tempered with professionalism. Images and information are required in advance of an exhibition opening, for which organisation and planning can take many weeks, even months.
What happens then, when you’re not limited by those constraints? I can’t speak for other artists, but for me it’s been a rollercoaster ride of visual adventure and learning. I had began working differently before the Covid pandemic, mainly for personal reasons. After a landmark twenty five years as a professional artist I found myself drawn to career reflection. I felt an overwhelming sense that I’d barely scratched the surface of my capabilities and ideas. More importantly I felt I wasn’t taking enough time and space for self exploration. It’s a hard decision to step out onto the plank and let go of what is safe and comfortable for you, particularly if your income depends on it. The pandemic would disrupt everyones’ lives of course, and in some cases this may not have been a bad thing. I guess what I wasn’t expecting was that the change I was trying to bring about in my work, would bring another level of disruption to my life, changing me fundamentally as an artist and again as a person. I work hard! I really push myself towards excellence, and it’s mostly bloody tough, but ultimately the rewards are profound.
I’ve been working like a feral creature for some years now, harvesting in and squirrelling away knowledge to use as and when required. I’ve continued learning my craft through exhaustive experimentation with my materials and techniques, in order that I may express the essence of my subject matter through the most personal form of mark making possible. This has accompanied exploratory projects which I regularly set myself. Sometimes a project may off shoot its own side project… and even that can grow its own arms and legs. Enter visions of an opulent labyrinth, a rabbit hole way of working, which can result in exploring some very long and winding tunnels, often branching off and realigning elsewhere. There's a dose of fear of the unknown to keep me on my toes, but I do love the thrill of that, as I've come to learn that everything seems to eventually connect and fall into place.
Exploratory monotype of seabird wings found at Sanna Bay
This summer, against a background of ongoing development of my painting practice, I diverged to explore a printmaking project I’d had in mind for some time. The subject matter shall remain under wraps for now, as it became so intense to work on that I had to let it rest for a while. Enter the side project: I wanted to further explore some bird images, particularly of corvids. These beautiful birds fascinate me. This would connect nicely with my sketchbook exploration of bird wings which I’d like to develop further in this project. I was drawn back to re-referencing my sketch books. Drawing from my own drawings is something I do often to awaken my unique visual perception of the subject matter. Why is that so important to me? Because it pushes the work beyond observed drawing toward something much more tangible and sublime: feeling.
Here’s where it starts getting complicated - anyone familiar with my figurative work will know that I’ve referenced Victorian mourning costume to accompany many of my characters. Mourning dress has always intrigued me, it has a dark majesty and mystery to it which I find beautiful. Many mourning costumes, capes and bonnets were highly embellished, full of beads, bows and intricate pleating that was far from austere, aside from the colour being restricted to black, of the blackest and most non-reflective variety. Anyone with a love for dramatic, romantic novels, or even an iota of Goth in their DNA should just love it.
So, to return to Corvids (that group of feathered souls which make up the crow family, rooks, ravens, magpies, jackdaws…) I have a theory that Victorian mourning costume was inspired by these dark birds, perhaps as they were superstitiously perceived as harbingers of death. All those layers of feathers, culminating in the powerful sweeping primaries of the wings, remind me of pleated black silk, pleats upon pleats upon pleats. A sumptuous plumage recreated in copious amounts of fabric. I’m lucky enough to own several stunning taxidermy specimens, one of which I’m proud to say I completed myself under the tutelage of George Jamieson of Crammond Tower, who also initially taught artist Polly Morgan. I use my birds for reference, inspiration and all round general good company when I’m lonely. As part of my corvids and wings side project, I decided to honour my preserved friends by making them their very own little Victorian mourning costumes. Cue the side project’s baby!
Gathering and pinning lengths of tiny pleats
Some simple little capes would be nice, I told myself. This would be helpful in establishing further drawing reference for the artwork I wished to create. I warned myself not to embark on a complex couture project. Cut to several weeks later and the corvids’ personal wardrobe department is in full swing. Lace and silk has been antiqued and stained with paint, measurements taken, mini fabric layers gathered and pinned in place. Bows, ribbons and fastenings customised to each expectant feathered fashionista. Let’s make them some tiny brooches and bonnets. I don’t do things by half measures - nothing but the complete garb would do.
A concern was raised that they didn’t wish to model in my studio, where sticky inks and solvents may contaminate their plumage, or god forbid their new attire. How are your photography skills? they asked. You’ve created something beautiful, now make a worthy document of it. The actual artwork can wait.
Suffice to say, when the actual artwork begun, it presented its own technical issues. Monotype is not easy when it gets beyond the simple line. I’ll talk about this in a future blog, but for now will say that you only get one shot at each piece you work on because once you transfer the image onto paper, you cannot re-use the plate.
Another twist, another turn: in the end I didn’t reference my models too closely. Those images were really just a starting point. Fittingly, I began exploring another tunnel of imagery, that of the dead bird. I felt surprisingly very comfortable with this. There was something more organic to it that my mark-making technique would serve well. It also resonated with me - the sense that life is short, and how important it is that we connect with our true selves, even if only fleetingly.
Soul Shell, monotype on Fabriano paper, 30 x 22.5 cms
The emotional grappling with the technical, and the importance of expressing myself through authentic mark-making resulted in many late nights. Working with damp paper and inks in extremely hot weather, many failures, to the point of feeling this project wasn’t really achieving my desired artistic vision. At times like this, I often feel like giving up and reverting to what’s safe for me, but it’s also at times like this that I know I have to push on, a bit further, perhaps a few more hours work that night or a few more days until I have a breakthrough. Hunger can go unnoticed as I’m in an exquisite state of flow, I’m literally hunting something down, chasing it, working it out of my system… an exorcism.
You can view new work in The Tattered Wings Series from 8pm on Sunday 1st October 2023 in my Online Gallery.