Mind Who You Tread On . . .

imagesLA5P4DUFEarlier this week I visited Edge, a ceramics and photography exhibition in Truro Museum by Paula Downing and her husband Antony Hosking.  There was lots to like.  The colours that Downing uses are very close to my heart.  There is something extremely Cornish and rugged about her work.  Where I prefer the sense of fragility and delicateness of porcelain, she works in quite thick slabs of stoneware and earthenware clays and yet I feel an affinity to her work; I love her edges and I am intrigued by her range of slips and mark making.  The exhibition blurb emphasises how much her pieces are influenced by her ability to look properly and this certainly comes across.  Each work begins with copious drawings and with in depth studies of her husband’s photographic images, which have a soft, ethereal feel to them, very different to Downing’s interpretations but related to them by their sense of place.  All in all, there is plenty to consider in the exhibition and, if you find yourself within hailing distance of Truro, you should definitely pop along and take a look.

But one thing pained me greatly:  As is often the case, there is a comments book for people to voice their opinions and to leave little messages for the artists.  Now I wonder about these books.  Who are they meant for?  Is it intended as a bit of an ego trip for the artist?  Is it so that the visiting public can be seen to have taken note?  Why DO people write in these books?

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Bedruthan by Antony Hosking
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I love Downing’s edges and also her colours.

There were many charming comments about the work on view; quite a few of them by children.  Well, it is half term and it has rained a lot in Cornwall so children have been frequenting the museum.  But what shook me was one rather acrimonious comment about Hosking’s images.  The remark implied that the images were poorly composed and out of focus. Well quite apart from the fact that I don’t agree about the compositions and the lack of focus is, I am certain, intended, I feel that this kind of comment is out of order!  To make matters worse the author had not left their name; a flippant remark filled the signature box instead.  I suppose that it is just possible that this was written as a joke by somebody who knows the artist well and with their knowledge.  If so, it is in pretty poor taste to set it down in a public place.  I do not believe that these books are the appropriate forum for such jokes, if joke it is.  Surely, what ever else these books are for, they are not for that kind of negativity.

The Oxford English Dictionary defines criticism as the analysis and judgement of the merits and faults of a literary or artistic work, the word ‘critic’ coming from Greek κριτικός, meaning ‘able to discern’. This being the case, a critic needs to be able to make some kind of scholarly judgement about the work, not simply pour vitriol all over it, and do they not also need to own their remarks? 

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I hope I can take what is offered but I also hope that it is offered constructively!
I hope that if ,or when, I am in the position to to have such a book available for comments at my exhibitions, the people who chose to leave remarks do so in the spirit of being helpful and that I will be able to receive them with a view to refining my work, not as something which only serves to get in the way of how I feel one way or the other! 

A Serious Attack of Brain Weasles

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When did I get so smug?
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I know all their little foibles.

I spent Tuesday evening with a fabulous group of people at the Royal Opera Arcade Gallery in Pall Mall.  It was the private view of a sculpture and ceramics exhibition in which I had been invited to have seven pieces.  The gallery was full – of wonderful art and super people.  I arrived thinking that this was it – I had arrived!  In actual fact there is something horribly daunting about putting one’s work into a gallery such as this.  I suppose part of the problem is that while making a piece you get to know it intimately.    I spend hours and hours on each of my pieces and when they are finished I know they are not perfect.  I am fully aware of each of their little foibles.  I can convince myself, in the privacy of my own studio, that they will do but then I have the stupid idea that it would be good to send them off to a public space and expect everyone to think they are amazing.  When did I get so smug?

The thing is, as soon as I walked into the gallery, the feeling of smugness evaporated faster than frost on a warm winter morning.  There they were, crouching among some truly fantastic works.  Was anyone even looking at mine?  Did anyone think they were any good?  Was anyone actually thinking about them at all!

As the evening wore on, my nerves settled down a bit and I could see that people were taking notice of my work and that some did appear to be appreciative rather than just curious.  Later my darling daughter tried out her amateur psychology on me.  Do I trust her? Yes.  Does she like my work?  She says so!  Therefore if I have no confidence in my work I am questioning her judgement.  Well . . . . . . . . I know she loves me and wants me to be happy so she is hardly likely to tell me there and then in the middle of a private view that my work is by no means the best there, is she?

707665[1]The fact of the matter is that I think anyone who runs the risk of exposing themselves by putting work into the public arena is going to worry about it.  These are my babies; nurtured and brought to life by me.  I desperately need them to be admired and yet, until the reach the plinth I have only my judgement to go on and of course I am biased.  I am told these fears are called brain weasels.  Yesterday, they were eating me from the inside out!