The internet was a military invention initiated by the Defence Advanced Research Projects Agency. Blogging was made famous by the invasion of Iraq (Salam Pax "Where is Raed?"). The diary format suits my practice as my practice is informed by my daily “lived existence” (1). I find the essay format too rigid. The world is one of "Virtualisation” (2) yet the diary is a classic form of historical document often more detailed and accurate than later published accounts of historical events. Human history forms an underlying theme to my practice and therefore the blog offers a contemporary form of information capture.
I will attempt to capture my life and practice on a daily/ weekday basis, each morning recording the previous day’s events/ decisions or actions. I will attempt to write the blog without any particular rules except to say that for the purpose of not exceeding the word limit I shall not submit the entire contents of the blog for marking but rather only submit selected extracts. Attempting where appropriate to choose those extracts that indicate some influence within or around my practice. I shall date line each chosen entry to give the reader an idea of time, and if I seem to occasionally venture from the point (if there is a point?) then with the help of Laurence Sterne I offer the following example of, and excuse for, the problem at hand.
“ Could a histographer drive on his history, as a muleteer drives on his mule, - straight forward—for instance from Rome all the way to Loretto, without ever once turning his head aside either to the right hand or to the left,- he might venture to for-tell you to an hour when he should get to his journeys end:--- but the thing is morally speaking, impossible: For if he is a man of the least spirit, he or that party as he goes along, which he can no ways avoid. He his eye, which he can no more help standing still to look at than he can fly: he will moreover have various
Accounts to reconcile
Anecdotes to pick up:
Inscriptions to make out:
Stories to weave in:
Traditions to sift:
Parsonages to call upon:
Panygrics to paste up at this door:
Pasquinades at that: - All which both the man and his mule are exempt from.” (3)
Sterne reminds us that there is no such thing as a beginning, middle and end. Life is too rich and layered to truly capture. As with all Histories and stories they are told from a point of view. That all art is artifice that a conversational style is not a conversation. And most important- that words can not do nearly as much as we should like to think.
The main reason for the blog has to be my own inability to come up with words easily. To prove this I will need to draw upon someone else’s words to substitute as my own. If I can substitute the word "paint” for the phrase “am an artist" then the following is true of me.
"I am an artist and I’m satisfied to let it go at that since I’m by nature tongue tied and only a terrific interest in something can squeeze a few words out of me.”
“Nowadays whenever I listen to Artists who have a way with words, frequently with real astonishment I become a little uneasy about weather I can find language beautiful and spirited enough to convey my enthusiasm and passion for the objects of the visible world. However I have finally calmed myself about this. I’m now satisfied to tell myself, you are an artist, do your job and let those who can, talk." (4)
All of my work of recent has been produced based upon the following premise.
"The world is giving birth to a new time: there is only one question: has the time now come to separate ourselves from the old world? Are we ready for the vita nuova? This is the terrifying question of our age." (5)
I had not been aware of this quotation from Franz Marc until sometime after I had come to the same conclusion myself about our own period in History. It was this feeling of being at a crucial stage of Human existence of having to "separate ourselves from the old world" that already formed the underlying question within my practice. When I read this Quote for the first time, my practice had already taken me to Verdun and on reading this quote I found that Marc himself was killed on that very same battle field.
I have been trying to understand why we seem unable, as a race, to draw back from the brink. Why are we so ready to consume the very earth from under our feet? Are we as human’s pre-programmed and predestined to repeat the same mistakes and actions of mutual (environmental/ military) destruction, driven on by greed, envy, lust, anger, sloth, gluttony and pride.
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(1) Jean Baudrillard “The Perfect Crime, pp 27. Baudrillard is talking about the “automatic writing of the world” and the “illusion of criticism” he suggests that the idea of “an original form of lived existence” is a denial of the “ghostliness” of the new technologies. My lived existence may not be original but it is all that I have, and this debate shows that I am at least aware of the (2) “deep-seated virtualisation of Human beings”( pp 28) and therefore I attempt to filter information and record pain, suffering, love, friendship and conflict as my “lived existence”/ experience. (3) Lawrence Sterne “The Life and opinions of Tristim Shandy, gentleman” pp 34 (4) Max Beckmann “Creative Credo” “Art and theory 1900-2000”pp 270 (5) Franz Marc “forward” to the planned second volume of Der Blaue Reiter. “Art in Theory 1900-2000” pp 159.
October 27th, 28th & 29th
woke up this morning slightly early but remained in bed nursing a delicate stomach. I had returned home last night after a weekend in the Fens at my friend Alex’s family home. The Fens landscape (flat expanse) is a fine example of how the world can change beyond all recognition. 200 years ago “man” drained the land for the purpose of farming, before that it had been a series of small inhabited Islands anywhere as far as 60 miles from the coast as we now know it. The once rich soil is now drying up and the water is again rising. Nature will reclaim what was once natural wetlands and they will have to reopen the long since shut port in Alex’s home town of Chatteris.
30th October
Woke up feeling sorry for my-self and stayed that way all day. Went through the standard routine of University at 8 and in the library until 9. Followed by grabbing a coffee on the way to the studio. I spent the first half an hour of the morning boring Hammam with a speech about how everyone is a cunt and up their own arses, how no one makes anything of interest anymore but instead sit in shop windows exploring the relationship between the artist, the public, and the artists hoop (a slang term for ones arse). Obviously I was talking shit and Hammam looked at me and spoke to me accordingly.
Spent the rest of the day milling around the work shop because of a lack of technicians meant a lack of power, spent some of the rest of my time milling around the computer suit, but all the computers were still down from last week. In between these two fruitless activities I spent time coming up with poor ideas for fund raising for the end of year show.
I finally had 10 minutes with the power on in the work shop before giving the day up as a bad job and returning home for a butty and then on to work.
Work is work and always will be. The one and only benefit of working evenings as a cleaning supervisor in Middleton, is that on quite nights I get to read. Last week it was Marshall McLuhan "War and peace in the Global Village" and last night I started "The Perfect Crime" by Jean Baudrillard. My peace was soon broken. One of the cleaners was complaining because the "6 second Abb" which I had ordered for her on eBay (as a favour because she had no internet access herself) was delivered broken and used. I took it back ready to chase up and mail back out (what am I doing this for?) On the way home through Beeston my car was pelted with eggs and after cleaning the mess off back at home I returned to Baudrillard.
"We have all become ready mades"
No shit, I thought. I can bet that I wouldn't sell for much.
I went to bed and stayed there until the sun returned.
