Having just written 12,000 of them, I have few words to say at the moment.
Perhaps once you’ve read it, I’ll have thought of one.
A blog post in which I question representation and relate tourism to a work of art.
I went to Paris in 2010. I was in 2nd year at art school and hadn’t yet discovered Ceal Floyer or scrutinised An Oak Tree. I was more interested in purchasing a beret and wearing it to saunter around the Pompidou, with a sophisticated belonging of course. And then I came back to Dundee and the 31st of the month arrived as it often did, and with it, the time to discard a pair of scratchy contact lenses for fresh ones.
Think of what they had seen, though. An entire trip, a life moment. Alas, no. It could not be done.
I spent the next year or so in the studio exploring this phenomenon of stowing nostalgia in objects. But I think I may have overplayed the role of irrational sentiment.
Bog II (an homage to Bog)
iPhone, bog sign, recollections of Bog.
Semesters’ Thoughts. (click link)
This evening, the Talbot Rice Gallery hosted a public discussion on the artist Bruce Naumen, as part of the Artist Rooms Cafe des Artistes. Ruth Burgon gave an initial summary of Naumen’s work, in particular his affinity for breaking the rules and challenging the institution. This was followed by an interpretation of his performative work and within this his need for control, by Dr. Catherine Spencer.
This image was put on screen and we were asked to talk amongst ourselves addressing questions such as;
Is Naumen being sincere/should we take this seriously?
and What is an artists duty?
I was very uncomfortable.
“D’you know when you have lots of layers open on Photoshop, and then you merge the image to flat?”
You have all these relevant parts.
And then you flatten the image. All those relevant parts are still there, but you can’t pick out one in particular.
It’s a new thing. With all those old things. They’re still there… but also not… somehow…”
In 1991 I was given a teddy bear. In the subsequent 23 years, alterations in fashion and style have been represented by a variety of neck bows adorned by this bear, including one brief dabbling in a scrunchie phase towards the late 90’s.
In 1992 I rarely slept. Tbere was a significant fear that year of the border that decorated the walls of my room. ‘Snatch’ was a fictional character taking the form of a dog. But his eyes were too animated for me, and his stare was deeply troubling.
In 1993 I developed a particular agility for stretching my hands to touch plug sockets and cable wires. “Rachael, Careful!” was always immediately exclaimed after such a happening. I was less grammar-savvy back then and my minds mind omitted the comma. When I visited a nurse later that year I would respond to the prompt, “And what is your name?”, with a confident ‘Rachael Careful’
In 1994 I developed a taste for Reebok Freestyles. The pristine white straps soon became grubby with an overreliance on the Velcro attribute. This was a shoe with both straps and laces: A training trainer. Having yet to have mastered the making of bunny ears, I muddled through via Velcro.
1995 saw my first specsavers purchase. I firmly believe that I failed my eye test on purpose because I wanted to attain a pair of glasses. I was fascinated by these objects that sat on my mother and brothers face. This fascination would hinder my sight forever.