Fragmented

I went to a dance theatre production about ageing and the passing of time at the Tron Theatre, Glasgow, last week; Once Upon A Time, two dancers and one trapeze artist all over 65. Stunning, sad, beautifully simple yet full of complexity in its meaning. Apart from feeling decidedly unfit, I went home reflecting on our shared experience of fading memories of who we once were, as strong, young people. We all held centre stage in our own performance. Not much seems to be said about how this sense of diminishing feels, as articulated by those of us who are ageing, into our 60s, 70s and beyond. It's a difficult subject, granted, we're encouraged to stay young, look young but do we feel young? There is a beauty in ageing which needs a particular kind of looking; I saw it last week.
The above image is the residue of who I once was, as a young woman; what's left of my departing self.

New website creation

Long silence, far too long. I even stopped writing in my research journals for a while, all too aware of the thousands of words I've accumulated and not wanting to add even more. Looking back over words written in the throes of intense emotion, is daunting and exhausting. Particularly when I know that I should be trawling through them on the lookout for research insight gems. Sometimes, that just feels too premeditated and contrived. So.... I just stopped writing. I didn't stop thinking.

Much has happened since the last post so I've decided that I need a new website; one that reflects who I am becoming rather than just showing who I used to be. I'll post here when it's up and running. There's a holding image for the new site; www.alisonbell.co.uk

Deciding on this new content has given pause for thought about how we quietly shift from one perspective to another without realising it. Thoughts evolve in the background and I think that it's only when confronted by an unexpected response on our part, to a hitherto 'normal' event, that we see this shift in ourselves. In a way, this forms the crux of my research. I stand on a watershed, or in a liminal space, depending on how you think about this. I'm not who I thought I was, in fact, I'm almost a stranger in my own skin, rather like a snake casts its skin and moves on. Does the snake stay intrinsically the same or has it shifted? The artwork I've created as part of the research, has clearly shown me this movement within myself. I'm shocked, I thought I knew myself pretty well. My self preconceptions are wrong or at best, misguided. I've even had 2 specific dreams where my unconscious has tried to help me to understand this inner metamorphosis. We don't listen closely enough.

                                              research artwork for 'departing selves', 2015

Do Authors Dream of Electric Books?: EU VAT Changes Are Doing My Head In – Chris Longmuir

Do Authors Dream of Electric Books?: EU VAT Changes Are Doing My Head In – Chris Longmuir

I have no images to add to my musings here. But I am in Kyoto now, experiencing one of the most rewarding aspects of being an older researcher in very foreign culture. The Japanese are full of paradox; boisterous/quiet, of the now and also of the past, both intertwined into their busy lives. Kyoto must be one of the most beautiful cities in the world. For an older woman who silently fears getting lost, it is becoming an empowering time for me here, as I navigate buses, busy streets and empty side streets. Temples abound. They are not tourist traps in any sense, but form a real part of Japanese life, as do the shrines. I'm privileged in being allowed to share these spaces of reflection with  Japanese lady, who truly values Japanese traditions in a modern world.
I have been moved to tears by the stillness of ponds, delighted by the subtle taste of simple vegetables, overwhelmed by the kindness of young people as they show me the correct street or take me to a bus stop.
I could live here, I'm finding something I thought I'd lost several years ago, when I left my island home.
How do I sustain this sense of spirituality when I return to the UK?
This is showing me how much I need to touch Nature, feel silk, be kinder.

resonance

No images for this post; just a big thank you to the Masters students at GSA today; talking about reflective writing, what it could be, why we do it as creative people as an integral part of our practice.

I can't really imagine a time when I wont do it and I find it difficult to understand how a creative person could survive without it. The benefits far outweigh the time spent thinking through writing, it opens up new worlds.

There is no 'correct' way to do, if it works for you then it must be 'right'. Personally, I write reflectively in order to think unconscious thoughts, to help organise my hectic mind, to clear space within my head for new thoughts.

I blog to feel 'grown up', to connect, to seek resonance and discourse. Between the two, journal writing or blogging, the journal wins hands down. I am in my journal in a way that I am in no other aspect of my creative practice, I reveal the unspoken........to myself.

heuristic research and mirrors

I'm sure many thousands of psychology researchers have come across heuristic research, but it was new to me, as an artist and what's more interesting, it feels so familiar. The idea of complete immersion, solipsistic, isolated, staring into the mirror day after day and seeing so many faces looking back down over the years..............this is compelling. It's also very difficult to sustain without the feeling that you're slowly going slightly crazy. I'd like to have been around when Moustakas first wrote of this way of doing research, but I was too young, too distracted, just not ready to look into the void.

What bothers me slightly, regardless of how comfortable this type of research feels, is 'am I doing it right?'. This may not matter too much (at this stage) as there is no 'right', or so it seems. Is this too good to be true? I wonder? Phenomenological research offers many pathways, this is just one of them. But it has encouraged me to look again at what I'm doing, the question of rigour, integrity and variable truths. I'm now reflecting on some of the summer collages of this year, the visceral ones, where writing was almost impossible, apart from describing the process itself, my choice of materials etc. I wrote very little of their meaning, just needing the images to speak for me. Immersion and incubation have been and gone, I'm now at the illumination stage. Expilcation comes later. The creative synthesis is way down the line of thought, out of sight.

I'm doing a short talk at the GSA tomorrow on this blog and on reading back over these months of posts, it feels as if the chosen content is becoming much more serious, less conversational, (if it ever was that?) more contemplative, more questioning..............more 'grown up'. Or is it just me seeing it that way as I delve down into very uncomfortable undergrowth? I only tend to add a post when there is some aspect of the research I want to put out there, to share, to invite comment, or just to let go of it for a while. Initiating discourse would be good, the challenge to look again at the work in new ways would help me.

self analysis

As I look back over what I've done this summer, I wonder about the thin line between self analysis and art therapy. I'm not ill, I'm just ageing, it's not easy nor do I have a choice in the matter. Trying to articulate this journey is almost impossible, I've no idea what words to choose, none come up to the mark for me. But images do, they tell of shadows, distant memories perhaps false, created histories and whispers. I'm layering my thoughts with these images, as I position one on top of the other. Some take on a dominant role, others float quietly behind, hoping to be un-noticed. This will take me to the words I need to write. This is nipping at my heels, demanding attention and I don't know where to begin, I'm in a fog.

Digital Crafts.........new book!

I had the opportunity to see a review copy of Ann Marie Shillito’s book ‘Digital Crafts: Industrial Technologies for Applied Artists and Designer Makers’ in which I have a vested interest as my digital designs for printed textiles are included.

How I see myself using Digital Crafts – initially – is as a way of ‘finding out’ who is ‘out there’ working as I do – feeling my way in what might feel an alien, almost non-human world of creative process by machine. The contradiction here is intentional – we seek out our own kind, as I am now doing, with this book.

The next layer of experiencing the book is through exploring new names whose work resonates with my own or even my way of thinking about creative process, for this is (still) very much about creative process, albeit in collaboration with technology. A good example of encountering ‘new faces’ is my first becoming aware of  and inspired by Monika Auch; I want to find out more about her beautiful work and how she uses digital technology.

Further reading will inevitably lead me into unknown, unfamiliar territory – I am not naturally ‘technical’ – I respond to organic forms rather than ‘mechanically extruded’ ones. I see this process of discovery happening automatically – we’re driven by curiosity, a desire to explore new ideas which resonate and ultimately broaden our own. So this is what I see as being the essence of Digital Crafts – a visually stimulating layered journey with excellent sign posting.

The book will be published on 10^th October 2013 by Bloomsbury and Ann Marie’s Company, Anarkik3D , are offering signed copies through their Kickstarter crowdfunding project (link to be added when it goes live).

Atomic Doric, Year of Scotland in Nature at Woodend Barn, Banchory

Recently I had a beautiful opportunity in Glen Tanar, Royal Deeside. (www.glentanar.co.uk)
I was invited to do a short residency by Woodend Barn Banchory, as part of their Year of Natural Scotland project, Atomic Doric. A project which takes a look at the people and natural spaces that make Aberdeenshire so special. (www.woodendbarn.com)
The location was stunning, we forget just how amazing our small country looks, the varied landscapes, tones and textures of our natural world. I gave an out of doors workshop on making natural paintbrushes from found materials and will be creating a piece of work in response to my stay, which will be exhibited at Woodend Barn and Glen Tanar Visitors Centre later this year.

What struck me more than anything else, was................tree bark. Obvious, maybe, but until you get up close to these wonderful surfaces, their real beauty is seen en masse rather than as potential homes for tiny creatures, offering protection from predators and the weather. The work I create will hopefully reflect this sense subtle containment.

Meanwhile, here are some images from my stay there and thanks to all who made this possible, I really appreciated the space away to just breathe, look and imagine.

An excellent few days! I must go back up there sometime, so much to see, so well cared for, the locals are lucky to have such a wonderful place right on their doorstep. I met some lovely folk up there, out walking, enhancing their sense of wellbeing in Nature. The Rangers were great; helpful, enthusiastic and very knowledgable about the area and its history. They made some good natural paintbrushes too!

time passing

I haven't felt like writing in the blog; too much internalising going on I expect, but I have been busy in the studio. Teaching fills head space so working when energy allows and ideas flow, seems to work best for me.

These two were done in March, when I sensed that I wanted to use a familiar image to visualise my thinking on the research. The doll's head has significance for me in that it embodies a great deal of how I see my life evolving. 

More work followed shortly afterwards, again, using the doll's head. What I find interesting about working this way; intuitively, is the element of surprise I feel when standing back and just looking at what emerges.

More work followed, again, emergent identities stare back at me from the page. In June I created this collage, it developed from this image but maybe this works best as it's clear-cut, at least for me. Using the doll's body was important, without the head to distract me.

In July, life took on another sense of direction, one where deeply held convictions surfaced in the work I created, none of it comfortable. I decided to actually make some heads, have them standing in a group, inter-connecting, like voices.

 And finally to now, with this work, in paper and old lace, maybe still in the making, I'm not sure yet.

I don't know where this is going, but the 'head' is now an entity in its own right, outwith my direction. This is new for me, not just working figuratively but watching from outside myself, of myself.

Flip sides

I like using my Flip, the resolution is not so good but sometimes the stills reveal a great deal unseen by the 'talking eye'. (I tend to ramble into my Flip as I make short videos)
This week, I felt very unsettled, restless, nervy and over anxious, so I did what I usually do; went for a long beach walk. Freezing day, too cold to stand and make steady video images, so instead, I talked to myself as I walked and videod the beach; deserted thankfully.

I've been wanting to create something which I felt represented the changes I sense I'm undergoing just now and have been since Shetland. Impossible to put into words but maybe possible with images. So I tried, with varying degrees of success. I've spent 3 days on these images; stills from the video itself and it's not quite there yet. I'll persevere. They make sense to me at any rate.

 They embody the layers of self(ves), caught within a formal structure, some are disintegrating while others are reforming. Lines always play a part in my work, as connectors. They're here again.

Caol

Caol     cold     clear

I spent the day up here on a visit to Room 13, ( http://room13international.org/) to tap into their philosophy and feel energised. This is pretty much what I wrote as I went a walk along the beach.

Familiar wanderings, asking that same question, ‘could I live here?’

Sad council houses smelling of coal. Ask a runner beside his spotless, sleek, black BMW, of his life here; an out of work gamekeeper who likes the life. I never realised gamekeepers could be out of work surrounded by mountains and lochs.

Small, untidy shops with locals rushing in; there’s a hairdresser’s almost empty, I almost go in for a shampoo and chat, but don’t in the end. Too artificial?

Old man passes me on the shoreline, ‘nice and chilly…………it’s good right enough’.

My glasses are steaming up it’s so cold. I can hear the rushing hum of traffic over the water at Fort William; clunking of old wine bottles being binned, laughter, curlews. It’s remote yet connected to that mainland ‘pulse’.

Sand/mudflats, tide far out, like my memory of Lochgilphead, but not quite. The drifting scent of seaweed, traffic noises………..I try to re-connect with home. Nostalgia, another word creeping into my vocabulary of place, I’ve begun to use it more and wish I didn’t, it’s disloyal somehow.

Walking towards Ben Nevis now, no camera, interesting that I forgot to bring it…………but remembered my little black notebook? I’ve changed.

I’m trying to re-connect with a ‘past place’, find that feeling again, the one I can’t define but know.

Beached boats rotting.

Walking along the tideline now. Every shoreline has a part like a ‘no man’s land’. I’ve crossed this one, onto grassy hummocks, like low living, crawling creatures making their timeless way towards the sea. Slimy, hard, impacted greens underneath. Lots of leaves on the shore in between the seaweed. Train in the distance. A ferry bell? Walking on the soft hummocks, nice underfoot, shades of yellow/green. It’s the textures – intermixed, jaggy, spongy, spirally – beautiful.

It’s good to just look.

Beneath Ben Nevis now; clear and not that high, not like Arran mountains. Knobbly, rounded, dusted in snow. That can’t be a chair lift? It looks all wrong beneath it; dark.

2 black and white dogs bounding up to greet me, territorial, ears flattened but tails wagging. Yells from swings, incessant traffic – surprising and incongruous. Numb fingers now. Bleak mountain, soft hummocks on the shore, leaves in seaweed, beached boats rotting, familiar smells, wrong sounds………….of people.

Reading this again, it strikes me that I keep looking for home.

uneasy hands

I see or rather I felt/sensed/suspected that it had been a while since I last added to my blog. Since coming back south from Shetland, I've been swamped with real life research stuff, things I've had to accomplish in a very short time, or so it's seemed to me now. Going 'round the houses', as a good friend told me, is par for the course, literally. Where have these past 2 years gone, as I disappeared into books and my own head? Am I the same? I doubt that. Does it matter? Probably not any more. Our multiples selves all morph into one, given enough time. Is it the same for men I wonder? being multiple people with lots of performances; probably their wardrobes aren't quite so crucial as ours.
Someone asked me this week if I miss making. It was like a cold blade on my skin. What could I answer without sounding trite. I smiled my reply. If, as I've been telling myself, that I think through making, always have done, then what are these recent thoughts made of? I find words difficult, not to say but to use meaningfully. I have no such issue with images. It's rather like swimming underwater; images flow and seem to belong to one another in a unified way; the continuing threads are easy to spot. Just like the seaweed floating in front of my window at The Booth. I can't feel this with words, they're like a foreign language, or being deafened by ghetto blasters, or blindfolded, my mind closes down that part of me which feels.
Why am I rambling on.......I just wanted to write.......words......here. I've no idea who reads them but am happy to know some read them.
I miss islands in my life and have constructed my own, in a field full of sheep. Tonight I watched them all stand still, heads alert and watching, as the heavens opened and straight down rain fell. To a man, they did this, like an invisible message whispered along the grass, 'watch out'.
Maybe what I really wanted to write tonight is the knowledge that I'm not alone, for all that I feel that I am doing this research. Looking at other women artists who are also older, I see connections; Noggle, Bourgeois, Wilke; and now me. Defiant in decrepitude? no, not quite yet. We touch each other over time.

return of the familiar

This might seem trivial, but my crow is back. I've been feeding him for many months now, enjoying his various calls, bravery and insolence as he insists on food, preferably moist bread. I wonder if he's vegetarian, as I am, for I only feed him peanuts and bread. When I was in Shetland watching the arctic tern swoop down towards the sea, in search of fish, I thought of him and wondered if he missed me as he waited for food. When I came home there was no sign of him for about a week.......then he came back. I knew it was him by the way his feathers seem patchy and white in places when the wind ruffles through them. I'm very glad to see him, it helps me to feel grounded once more.

When I first walked into my kitchen I couldn't remember where I kept the cutlery, or even the plates; I was still in Shetland in the tiny kitchen with difficult to reach shelves. I've no idea what lay at the back of some of them. It was a totally self contained space, both in the Booth and in my head, I was complete, living on the sea. It was simple being me, I was one person, inside and out. But slowly, as the weeks progressed, I began to miss the other me's, the roles I play, the clothes I wear to play these performances.

Does everyone feel this way about their lives, that it's merely a series of performances? Maybe I notice it more now, as I look at myself and wonder who I am. It's only in the last 5 years that I've started being different people, experimenting with 'looks'. A bit dangerous at my age, perhaps, but necessary none the less if I'm to discover what lies beneath. Most of all, I missed my shoes, they embody freedom, confidence and choice. When I was 16, my dad made me wear Tuff shoes for boys with knee length grey woolen socks, sensible way back then, unthinkable now. How sad, who I once was.

Is this who I am now? Quick, before it's too late.
But I still feel slightly disconnected, marginally lost and unsure of my footing. Am I here at all?

visual thinking

Still feeling 'nowhere' but possibly less so as the day goes on. While on Shetland, I did a few collages to see how my head was. Some surprises appear when I do this kind of visual thinking. Aspects of inner selves crawl to the surface saying,  'ok, now what?' Today though, I had a very strong image in my mind and wanted to get it out. Gazing at my multiple selves, welcoming them back into my head as I slowly come back down to another 'reality' of here, rather than there, when I was only one, not many. I missed my 'selves' when I was in Shetland and see that integration is coming, slowly. But will acceptance follow? This is what I did in my little book this afternoon. By tomorrow, I'll be back fully, but the clarity may have gone. Sometimes, it's very difficult to do this, like now.

poor eyesight

This is how my head feels now that I'm back home, in my own space. I didn't recognise it at first, forgetting where I keep the cups. I still haven't unpacked and I've been back almost a day already.

I can't see where I am now and miss the sea. Though the view from my windows here is good, it's mostly static, moving at a different rhythm with mainland sounds in the backgroud.

Ah well.............down to earth then? I miss my friend Mary, the star of Shetland for me :)

4 footed walking companions

Last day. Sad but maybe it's time to go back to what I left behind so willingly? It will be difficult though, to walk along a mainland shoreline, knowing that these fellows are up here, walking along theirs. What can I say about this visit to Shetland? I know I will return. I've some lovely folk up here, nearly all women willing to share their time and stories of life on the edge. They don't see it that way, it's in the middle for them; Iceland, Faroes, Norway and Scotland with Shetland right there in the centre. It all depends on your perspective, like so many things.

I came with a vague idea of what I hoped to achieve and will now go back down south with the beginnings of what could be a fascinating research project. There's positive support here, I just need it from down 'there' as well. It's all about sharing, isn't it?, knowledge, thoughts, fears, misconceptions.

My farewell shot.