MY ART, MY PRACTICE
I made/created an artist's book. I can blame Mary for it. She makes books. I saw one. It was a printed booklet with markings not dissimilar to the London underground map. It was an object/container for Mary to make and to fill. I never thought of making a book. Books were the source of information, stories and thoughts. They had writing and words. What counted was the content. The inside matters. The covers are only the dress or coat. Does the coat conceal, protect, reveal or invite? What if the coat is an extension of the content? What if the coat's colours smudge/spill/impact on the inside? One hundred and eleven questions later (having few answers ) I grew an extra eye. This eye notes/observes only objects as they exist/sit in a given context.* This unexpected evolution in my physic was one outcome of my chat with Mary. The other was an artist's book.**
Philip and Judy show/introduce me to unfamiliar landscapes and skills. They let me peep into their worlds. With my new third eye I observe Philip transform himself into a statue in a gallery. Hard but brittle. Just like a clay yoyo.
*am referring to micro context only.**Francesca's first husband was an inept lover so she hung his photo above her second matrimonial bed
Sophie Loss's conversations and interactions Cymbals in Pas de Deux - Reification
101: works of 101 seconds in duration
Alex at Blue Fin
Forum at Joanna's
What does an artist wear?
Mapping Blindfold Slip
Blue Home Grown
Remarkable Bookshelf 2
Remarkable Shed Party