an admission of love for the ampersand

At art school, just as at any university I would imagine, there were a number of cliques, divisions and groups, but none were more obvious than the infamous...

Fine Art student vs. Graphic Design student

In my second year of uni I had a graphic designer boyfriend, and I can still remember the scowls and withering looks of my Fine Art peers, fully loaded with contempt and derision at being associated with 'one of them'.

I graduated a while ago now, and I've grown up a lot since then, but still the fact of my being a Fine Art graduate means this is not an easy thing to admit to.

Here goes:

I love typography.
I love fonts.
I love punctuation marks.

There, I said it. I'm a Fine Artist who also loves lettering - and I'm not ashamed!

Furthermore, I am in love with ampersands.

Just look how deliciously perfect they are, in all sorts of situations and media:

{shape poem} {balloons} {Land of Ampersand print}

{moss-covered} {sterling silver ring} {vintage light}

{photographic print} {wooden necklace} {cotton pillow}

also:

{marc johns}

Are you enjoying the ampersand trend?

Or do you prefer a different punctuation mark?

memories of a glorious French summer

In my second year of uni we were advised by our tutors to spend the summer getting some work experience. I decided to get some life experience instead, and spent a long, glorious summer living in the south of France, surrounded by families who knew very little English.

It was quite an experience, and one of my favourite summers ever. Staying just outside a small village, there was nothing in the immediate vicinity, so every morning I rode an ancient bike into the nearest town to buy fresh bread for breakfast and anything else the family needed.

Mornings were spent writing, drawing and making pretty things. I was just a little obsessed with beaded animals at the time, and spent many hours creating tiny butterflies from rocailles and bugles. One morning, while beading in the garden, I was kindly informed by a local artist that there was to be a craft fair in the town centre the next weekend, and that I should set up a little table selling my beaded butterflies and some bracelets I had made. It was quite a challenge as a shy, foreign 21-year old, but once I'd got my head around the currency and money-related words, I was good to go. My French teacher would have been proud to see me selling my wares in French!

Mornings may have been for work, but afternoons were for more adventurous pursuits - canoeing in the local river, chasing tiny lizards in the garden, wading around watching kingfishers, cycling through the nearby forest on the search for butterflies, or swimming in the nearby lake.

It was absolutely incredible, and feels totally surreal thinking about it now - I had forgotten loads of it, until I found a bag of beaded butterflies in my studio a few days ago and the memories came flooding back!

How did you spend your favourite summer?

a late birthday outing

Ten years ago I celebrated my birthday with a fantastic group of girls at TGI Friday's in Southampton.

This year I decided to do the same, but instead of Nicky, Bez, Sian, Tana, Sarah, Laura, Sally and Bianca, my flatmates of 10 years ago, I was joined by Kaz, Jo, Siobhan, Laura, Susie, Lou, Sarah and Claire.

It was one of the loveliest days I could have had, and for someone who claims not to have many girl friends, I greatly enjoyed the company of these girlies.

There were a lot fewer balloons this time (only one sneakily stolen one, in fact), fewer teenage girl gifts of silliness, pretty much the same amount of cocktails, much much better cake (à la Kaz) - which was accompanied by the wonderful singing of said girlies and our charming waiter, Matthew. It really was splendid.

As well as general happiness and contentment, which was certainly enough, I also received some wonderful gifties: a gift bag of Screme Eggs, 2 immense chocolate orange birthday cakes, and the best mini book ever from Kaz, a pretty kitty ornament and a snazzy new purse mirror from Jo, a Rob Ryan notebook and a flowery heart ring from Siobhan, an adorable handmade anteater named Anthony from Laura, a selection of kawaii stickers and stationery from Susie, a cute kitty diary from Lou, a needle-felting book from Sarah and a Christmas crafts book from Claire. All of which were waaaaaaaay better than the wind-up penis that I had received from one of the girls all those years ago....

I wonder if Laura remembers that this photo exists??

Thank you to all of you for making my birthday outing so lovely, I had such a fab time!

you always take the weather with you

I have been feeling somewhat melancholy and grumpy over the last few days. I don't want to sound too British, but I do feel the weather might have played a part in this.

<3

While studying English Literature at college we were taught about pathetic fallacy, and how inanimate objects or naturally-occurring events can be described as having human qualities, a bit like personification. Pathetic fallacy could be used to describe an angry sea or a sleeping moon, but the main subject of pathetic fallacy that I recall, from the, admittedly, limited poetry that we studied, was weather-related, and now I can't help but think of those lessons every time it rains or it feels like a storm is brewing. It's often thought that storms denote anger, though I'm not sure if that is a natural unconscious human feeling or a response to some learned beliefs and myths...

It's an ancient belief in many cultures that thunder, lightning and storms are a product of gods' anger, so it's no wonder stormy weather makes some people feel uneasy or emotionally unsettled when this notion has possibly been ingrained in us for millennia. I'm not particularly religious, and I don't believe that storms are caused by gods, but before a scientific explanation was provided for the occurrence of thunder and lightning, I imagine they were one of the scariest experiences ever - it's no wonder people felt as though they were being punished for something. It makes sense for humans to be instinctively fearful of storms and lightning as they may well be dangerous - but with no explanation as to why they were happening, I probably would have felt as though it was being caused by someone/something angry too.

There are dozens of gods who are associated with thunder, but the most famous is probably Thor, the hammer-wielding Norse god. Thor was popular during the pagan Viking Age, and is generally thought of as being strong, fierce and angry, just like a personification of thunder, which the name 'Thor' literally translates as in old Germanic. As well as Thor, there is the Greek king of the gods, who was also god of the sky and thunder, Zeus, and his Roman equivalent, Jupiter, whose name translates as sky-father, and who later also became the god of war; in Hindu mythology Indra is the god of storms, rainfall and war, and is described as being mischievous, courageous and strong; in Ancient Egyptian religions, Set was the god of storms, darkness and chaos; and finally (though there are many more), Xolotl was the Aztec god of lightning, death and fire.

It's hardly surprising that the gods of thunder and lightning were so similar in all of these cultures - unexplainable storms would certainly have evoked a frightening sense of otherwordly fury in the people witnessing them, and to believe that storms indicated the powerful gods were angry must have been utterly terrifying. Add to that the fact that most of the gods associated with storms were also associated with war, death or chaos, and it's no wonder they were the most feared of all the gods. It's also no wonder storms can still cause such stirrings and emotional turbulence, when considering both the unconscious and the acquired beliefs.

Going back to the idea of pathetic fallacy - part of the reason it was, and still is, so well-used in both poetry and prose might be that the act of giving human traits to something difficult to explain, like extremes in weather, is a very simplistic and often reassuring way of trying to understand the world. The idea that the manifestation of thunder and lightning insinuated that the gods were angry would have struck fear into anyone who may be feeling guilty or unforgiving or jealous, and would probably have caused people to repent simply out of fear of punishment, whereas using pathetic fallacy to personify the storm would make the prospect seem far less frightening, as the storm would be given human traits rather than godly ones, making it (slightly) easier to understand and seemingly more empathic. That, however, doesn't mean it's any less likely to cause that pre-storm feeling that some people, including me, tend to get in anticipation of an overdue storm.

As I have been writing this I have longed for a storm to start (it has felt all day as though one was coming), but sadly I have been denied that ironic pleasure. How appropriate though that I am writing this on Thor's Day, and I have only just realised!

artists vs designers

I was asked today, by a colleague at work, why I wasn't a graphic designer. To anyone who knows an art graduate, you will probably know what a (supposed) insult that is: everyone knows you don't mention designers around artists, or vice versa.

At university I refused to succumb to the mass peer pressure that we were all subjected to, and in return I would be sneered at with contempt by the art students for DARING to talk with a "designer", the word spat out as it was spoken, as though it was abhorrent. It was r.i.d.i.c.u.l.o.u.s and I simply couldn't win - I didn't get along with those pretentious art students, and although there were some awesome ones, they were few and far between. The designers were based in a different building on campus so we didn't see much of them around our studios, and when our paths did occasionally cross, I couldn't approach them as I knew they could tell I was an art student.

image source

There was frequent mockery of the designers by the painters while
pissing about
working in their painting studios, with terms like 'linear', 'geometric' and the names of various fonts being bandied about, always in derisive tones and mocking accents. I imagine the graphic designers probably had better things to do than rise to the bait or join in the squabble. They certainly seemed to have more work to do than us.

The thing with art is that you can do almost anything and claim that it means almost anything. It's bloody hard to come up with original ideas (rien de nouveau, darling) with nothing whatsoever to go on, and no starting point. I guess that's the challenge of an art degree, and it was a real challenge. Everything "original" or controversial that I ever attempted to do at uni was met with absolute horror by my tutors, and I was even asked to leave the course in my final year after a particularly "disturbing" piece of work. It really wasn't anything that bad, and I still don't get what all the fuss was about, but for my final year I didn't have a tutor as they all refused to work with me. What a great example to set the artists of the future. Pah. I thought the whole point of art school was to push the boundaries of taste and to be as controversial as you want while in a supportive, if critical, environment, before spreading your wings and flying out into the big art world? That kind of thing would never have happened on a Graphics course. But then, I suppose I would never have been in the position to make anything terribly controversial on a Graphics course.

*secret - confession - alert*

In a way I kinda wish I had taken Graphics instead of Fine Art: I like the idea of being given a specific brief, and having a certain time limit in which to complete a certain amount of work. In Fine Art we were largely left to our own devices and just told to get on with it. Most people only really did any work when there was a group critique coming up, and even then it was often hollow, contrived rubbish. Where's the structure? Where are the guidelines? Where are the tick lists?

These days I think of myself as a Fine Art-educated illustrator. I'm neither an "artist" nor a "designer" and since I imagine there will always be a rivalry between the two groups, surely that means I can ironically mock both of them, right? It is a pretty amusing game to play...

If you are an artist or designer I'd be interested to hear how you feel about the others? Are you an artist who secretly adores fonts? Are you a designer who longs to create something messy and pretentious? Come on people, confess!

Or are you neither and don't know what on earth all the fuss is about?!

being an artist + the return of breakfast club

I moved to London the year after graduating from art school (after having not lived in London for 10 long years) and found it very hard to settle into a rhythm of post-university art-making. I really needed a "proper" job that would give me enough money to pay my rent but wouldn't suck away all of my time, so I got a job in a primary school, where I worked with a little girl with autism. Although it was nothing like being an artist, it was a very creative environment in which to work, especially as she was such a visual learner. She loved the fact that I could draw, so I drew dozens of pictures of rabbits, tortoises and lions in her Maths book to help her learn mathematical concepts.

Unfortunately, that was the only real chance I had to be creative, as by the time I finished work in the evenings I was so exhausted, physically and emotionally, that the last thing I wanted to do was force myself to sit and draw. It's impossible to make art when you're unmotivated, and unfortunately, for a lot of the first couple of years in London I was very unmotivated. I was no longer at art school, I didn't go to a lot of shows, and none of the people in my immediate social circle were creative, so I felt as though I had completely lost the support network that I relied on at university.

After being in London for a while, a couple of friends from uni who were also living in London decided we should meet up and do some art together. We took turns to host, and as we often met in the mornings, gave our little meetings the name "Breakfast Club".

I loved Breakfast Club, it was the best thing for me at that time - it gave me the opportunity to discuss work with and get advice from people whose opinions I trusted and respected, as well as giving me motivation to make new work, and of course was a chance to see my good friends. There weren't enough Breakfast Club meetings as far as I was concerned, as we all had other commitments, plus I was now working full time so my mornings were not often free to sit about drinking tea and carving lino blocks. It was a real shame, but eventually Breakfast Club just kind of dissolved.

...that is, until last week!

JK was over from the US, where he moved after he married his Californian girlfriend, and was determined that a Breakfast Club reunion took place. It was great to see them again, and although we didn't actually get any art done, we had a great chance to catch up and chat and see how everyone else was doing. Nothing much had changed with me except I'd moved to a bigger flat, got a kitten and now had a proper studio space in which to work! Likewise, things were very similar with the other club members - still working and making art in their free time, though they were also getting commissions and having work in shows. Seeing them again made me realise just how much I love doing this arty stuff, and how much I miss it. Even if I don't get many commissions, and don't have my work in many shows, I am and always will be an artist, and I should never forget it.

Just in case you were wondering, here's some info about my fellow Club members' work...

James has a website and an Etsy shop where he sells cards, prints and postcards of his beautiful watercolour illustrations. He is awesome.

House With Turret Pink House Blue House Fire House
by James Keniston

Lisa has a lovely website and creates the most deliciously sumptuous paintings. She is awesome too.

Cat Looking Up by Lisa Freeman

Now I've just gotta get some of my own work up here... soon, I promise!

reflecting on the past

It was lovely to see my parents last weekend, it seems like I only see them a couple of times a year, which is just crazy. Yes, they do live far away, but I don't think that's much of an excuse really, is it?

One thing that happens every time I visit my family is they find yet more belongings of mine, tucked away in the garage, or under a pile of books or something. I moved away from home 10 years ago, and they have moved house twice since then, so how I still have "stuff" there seems ludicrous. Their new house is a little smaller than their last one, since two of the three children have left home now, and they really don't have any spare room for my sentimental "stuff" any more. How nice it was to be met at the door with boxes and boxes of this "stuff" to take home with me. I dutifully packed it all up and brought it back to London with me. Here it is, the last few remains of Vixie Stuff from my parents' house. Doesn't look all that scary, right?

Taking a closer look, it's no surprise that I left these few boxes until last - they are full to the brim of old stuff from my university years: a huge conceptual poetry installation piece I made in my first year of uni (which brings back some painful memories) and lots of pieces made based around the idea of being lost (something I really suffered from while at university). Seeing it all piled up, and having it intruding in my nice, pretty, (supposedly) calm studio has made me feel slightly ill at ease. I'm not sure what to do with it all. The boxes are full of memories from another time in my life, and of course they, and the ideas behind them, are important otherwise I wouldn't have made them into physical permanent reminders.

And they aren't necessarily good reminders. I had a hard time at uni, and that came through in the art that I made over the three years I was there, so surely that stuff is better kept in boxes, hidden away, forgotten about? But at the same time, it was that hard time, that struggle, and that perseverance I found to "get through it" that has made me who I am today. I can't say I'm completely happy with myself, but I feel I am a lot better now than I was then, in a lot of ways. I have to admit, I don't want the constant reminder of a difficult and sometimes very unhappy part of my life being in my nice new studio, a new place for me to work, a new place for me to have ambition and dreams, and a new place for me to do what I want with my life, on my terms. I will (thankfully) never be the artist I thought I so desperately wanted to be while at university: I'm not pretentious, I'm not arrogant, I'm not fake, I suck at lying and I can't play along with stuff I don't believe in just to get a good review or a foot in the door. Don't get me wrong - I'm not saying all artists are like that, I know a great deal who aren't at all, but that was what I thought I had to do to "fit in". It seems "fitting in" isn't something I am terribly good at, and that's probably largely a subconscious thing - why fit in when you can be unique and do things your own way? I did do a lot of stuff my own way towards the end of my degree, and for part of it I was very successful - I had solo shows of my work in galleries, I had galleries contacting me to show my work, instead of me having to write pleading letters to beg for a small bit of wall space, like I did in my first year at university, and I made a lot of sales. None of this, however, was the work I wanted to be known for - I did a great deal of projects at uni, over a range of topics, some difficult and some more light-hearted (I needed something to drag myself out of the pit of depression, after all) and it was the latter that I became known for, not the conceptual poetry concerning the heartbreak of lost love, not the projects involving keys and maps with hidden emotional depths, nope. It was the prints I made of puns, silly illustrations that I had scribbled on the back of a napkin after mishearing someone else's conversation, punchlines of jokes. Ironic really, isn't it? The one thing I did in order to force myself to focus on something positive and a little flippant, and that's the work that people at uni associate with me.

So, back to the task at hand. What of these boxes? Should they be kept hidden away at the back of my studio, their secrets held out of the sight of others? Should they be discarded, as they bring back only bad memories? Should the past be kept in the past? Or should I face the horrors that may lurk within? It's a toughie.