(written in July)
I have been without internet access for six weeks now. It should have been a disaster, with the MA coming to an end and all that stuff. As it is, it means I have been away from all the emails about trivial matters, off the marketing team and unable to bitch on the blog. All of which has meant a smooth, enjoyable end to the course.
Wider still, I have not missed email. I thought I would. There is more to life than being plugged into the net. I like it, don’t misunderstand me dear reader. I think that I had reached a point of addiction, some kind of unhealthy state where use of the internet was disproportionate in my life. Even though the computer has WORD and PHOTOSHOP and PUBLISHER, all applications that I do use in my creative life, since the death of the net access, I have barely touched them. As I am on the edge of being a ‘qualified digital artist’, something I have always disputed, here is the proof that I was right all along. I draw, I write. That is it. I am a digital artist in the sense that we are all digital. I think. There, finally, the result of two years long and hard study; we are all digital now. Make a tee-shirt.
Thirteen posts short of the magic one hundred; I have been asked by several people if I will continue with the blog. Of course! This has always been about more than the bloody course. I will probably link it or merge it with the peep website sooner or later, unless I retire from public life. Tempting. The odd thing is that I have never felt that I have an audience for the blog, this just keeps me happy. I know some people read it; some poor bastards have to for the course, though not for much longer. Is there life after the MA? Once you reach the peak, the air becomes thin and tiredness sets in. I’m clearly not going to find a ‘well paid job’ as I don’t fit into that world. I’m not prepared to bend over and take it in the ass for money. And other than money, what other reason is there to ‘work’? I am interested in doing a PhD but I’m not sure why. Just because. Is that enough of a reason? I fancy it.
Well, I like writing. I like writing about art. I have a weakness for essays and proper binding and so on; all I want is my name on a spine.
Is this enough to attract a sponsor?
My Camberwell experience
The weeks leading up to the show had been quite hurried. I felt a little distracted, unprepared. I wrote endless lists and made drawings of how the show might look. A week before going down, three days after two wooden units had been made to order for the space, I was told that I couldn’t have the planned room. It was an odd sensation, partly because I was not on the internet that often; no time to sit and shoot off a missive on ‘how much of a cunt you are’ etc. and so on. It is easy to be angry and difficult when you have the comfort of continuous net access coupled with alcohol. In the morning, at a friend’s house, under pressure to leave, the only reaction to the news is: oh.
The only real issue was that I had asked a friend to make two units for the room. These were supposed to go behind the glass windows to make a ‘cabinet’ for some cups and maybe a few bottles. This was vague thinking of the highest order and as with my plans for the show all along, subject to a change of mind in the slightest of moments. This is how I work. I doodle what I want the show to look like, write a list of what needs doing, delegate as much of the work as possible, procrastinate my own contribution to such a degree that I need to readjust my expectations continually; negotiating, cajoling and making excuses along the way.
This is how it works:
‘I need thirty drawings!’ Two weeks pass, during which time I have done six drawings. ‘I can manage with twenty!’. A week passes and I have managed another four, making a total of ten. It is now two days before I leave for London, I have no idea what space I have and I have very little time left to draw. ‘I can knock off another four, maybe, and then take the OHP….just in case!’ This I do. I end up using nine drawings. I selected. I curated.