Making Other People Draw Things

I have started collecting drawings from other people in an attempt to assemble something a bit like a collection of people's thoughts. The first time I asked people to draw things for me (they were given captions such as, "draw someone who makes you happy"), I felt that the drawings were a little too mature and sophisticated. I wanted some of the drawings to ask personal, awkward or sinister questions whilst prodding at their inner children. I felt like it would be less genuine if I actually stated that the drawings were intended to be a bit childlike, so I tried again, setting the tone by enforcing the use of crayons, stating that the drawings had to take around twenty seconds each, and mixing in simple, literal requests such as, "draw an apple." This, along with choosing people who did not consider themselves artistically inclined, yielded results a lot closer to what I was looking for.

I am also interested in found objects, and have been playing with the definition of "scrap paper." Are some things too important to be "scrap paper"? What happens when I am deliberately thoughtless with what I use as "scrap paper"? Is it an immature and cheap way of attempting to get a reaction if I destroy a Bible in the process of creating my work, or is it just... recycling? I think I want to destroy a passport next.

What I Am Thinking About In My Work Currently

- contrasting the childlike with a lack of naivete
- how childlike honesty/sincerity is applied to issues that are not 'childlike'
- things that are harmless but are considered inappropriate for children

Studio Work So Far

During summer, I filled two sketchbooks with an array of ridiculous things, some disgusting and immature, some vaguely sweet, and some from friends. I feel much more attached to and inspired by this work than a lot of my other work. I had banned myself from gallery visits, having completely overdone that whole business during my foundation course. I feel like this gave me a chance to let my own interests and passions speak louder, so these two books are a very clear and honest indication of what inspires me. I think I am going to expand this body of work, and from that I will draw connections to other work. I will avoid overloading myself with research and letting the research dictate what I do. I plan to make every effort to keep the sense of freedom that I felt in creating my silly, crayon-filled books.

Essentially:

- I need to find my own interests, THEN research things (as opposed to picking the most interesting parts out of a huge mass of research)

- avoiding attempts to be skillful or intelligent helps me to realise what I am actually, honestly interested in (and this should be the starting point; the other things can come back in afterwards)

- feeling free when I create work is important

- I would like my work to be as honest and genuine as a maths student's doodle of a penis

"Cultural Orienteering" Task

I have lived in London my whole life, but the city still feels new. It continues to amaze and confuse me how you can get off the tube in one place, find yourself in the middle of a sea of suits and coffee, walk for just a couple of minutes more and find that your surroundings have completely transformed into a haven for pseudo-bohemians, with every shop attempting to look like a quirky, family-run business. You then walk in an arbitrarily chosen direction for approximately thirty seconds and suddenly the second-hand shops are full of clothes which are not so much "pre-loved" as "pre-urinated on," and the graffiti is about as inspiring as the foam spilling out of the mouth of the woman claiming that her baby (which she has presumably left somewhere) has gone blue in the face and instead of, say, calling an ambulance, what she needs is to feed it baby formula (which you must fund) right this second, whether the thing is still conscious or not. What I mean to say is that being set a task that involves exploring a part of London still counts as "exploring," as it is so varied. Luckily it is varied enough that I didn't encounter similar Mother-of-the-Year-types while carrying out this task.

The first stop was Borough Market, which is probably a place that it would be easy to be cynical about if it weren't so pleasant. The surrounding area has an artsy feel, being dotted with quirky shop fronts which preserve historical-looking architectural details under coats of gaudy paint, somehow in a vaguely charming way. Matching this, the market is filled with food chains sneakily disguised as small businesses. Their customers (who are mostly either wearing flannel shirts or suits, with no in-between) probably notice that the stalls' signs are just printed to look like they were hand-drawn in chalk as opposed to actually having been hand-drawn, but they don't seem to care. A comfortable, quirky atmosphere has been created, and people looking for lunch are not necessarily going to be that fussed how "genuine" the whole experience is. The quirky feel and multitude of things to see help to make up for the fact that all these people are going to have to eat standing up or walking around. The market is covered, but not indoors, mainly relying on the warm, family feel to distract from the British weather. Faux-vintage signs stating, "We are a smoke-free market," and sign-posts with hands indicating where to queue give instructions more gently than the usual bold red signs.

The White Cube, Bermondsey both fits with the artistic nature of the area while ensuring that it contrasts dramatically with the surrounding galleries. The clinical and futuristic decor boasts both its funds and size, and the wide corridors and white walls establish a sterile but peaceful breathing space which creates a separation between this gallery and the more cluttered surroundings. The gallery seems to embrace the industrial appearance of the building, aiming to look both cold and powerful. The environment feels controlled, but the sheer amount of breathing space prevents a tense feeling, so people wander around the artworks slowly and quietly, and do not disturb the peace.

Getting to the Drawing Room involves going through a car park and ringing a doorbell, but like many smaller galleries which require guests to be buzzed in, there is a friendly greeter to balance out the unwelcoming nature of the building and ensure that people know that guests are expected and welcomed. The building also has an industrial appearance, but unlike in the White Cube's case, this has been countered and balanced rather than embraced. There is a more humble feeling, both to the building itself and the way its industrial appearance has been toned down and disguised instead of being used as "cutting-edge" style inspiration. There is less of a meticulous attention to detail. While the White Cube either highlights or completely hides functional aspects of its building, the Drawing Room simply makes them less noticeable. For example, the pipes and brickwork are painted white as opposed to either being completely hidden or emphasised in a purposeful and creative way. Either from lack of funds or simply not feeling the need, the Drawing Room is simply about the art and not the building.

Jerwood Space is another gallery whose location seems to stem from practical factors such as cost. It is not as hidden away as the Drawing Room; finding it requires a relatively straight-forward walk from Southwark tube station, but there is no dramatic lead-up to the entrance like there is to the Tate Modern, nor is there a large space seemingly dedicated to stopping and staring at the building, like there is in front of the White Cube, Bermondsey. It seems like Jerwood Space has been set up with casual viewers in mind, much more than other small galleries are. The cafe is not completely separated from the gallery space, so the relaxed, chatty atmosphere spills out into the whole area. The white walls are broken up by plants and glass doors. The place is warm and lively, not white and clinical. The walls are much more crowded with artwork than the walls of most other galleries, possibly from lack of space. This gives the feeling of the gallery being much less selective, which is not to say that it appears to favour quantity over quality. It feels like the viewer has more room to decide which works they prefer personally, instead of an all-powerful curator deciding on a select few "important" works as if this whole business is actually not subjective at all and there is a right and wrong which reveals itself only to experts. There seems to be no pretense in this gallery. It is not aiming for a particular style. A sensible, accessible building has been chosen and furnished to create an informal, social atmosphere, much like a cafe would be designed.

The Tate Modern sits comfortably near well-known landmarks, having become a landmark itself. The Millennium Bridge leads straight up to it, creating an immense build-up, in theory. This is possibly only true for tourists, of which there are many - dramatically more than in less well-known galleries, anyway. The Tate Modern is another converted industrial building, but apart from the curiously high ceilings the interior shows very few signs of having ever been anything but a gallery. There appears to have been sufficient funds to renovate the entire colossal thing. Differing from galleries such as Hauser & Wirth, the space is too large for people to feel silently judged by some sort of part-time gallery assistant in the corner, and the atmosphere is almost like that of a shopping centre. It is casual, less intimate and less controlled. People are comfortable talking, and taking a sneaky photograph is definitely possible.

(All photos on this entry are 'borrowed' - I hope that is okay.)

Blankets As Makeshift Hugs

I'm creating this blog for my Fine Art BA at Chelsea. I hope the evil internet forces don't somehow automatically post these things on my Facebook account or something horrifying like that.

I didn't really get into using the blog I was supposed to be keeping during my foundation year. It felt forced; trying to document an organic process using a glitchy, irritating website and a ton of sloppily cropped images just didn't come naturally to me. However, I am now slightly feeling that keeping some sort of commentary of my studio work and contextual research will probably benefit the long-winded side of me quite nicely. I'll attempt to stop wasting sketchbook space on repetitive rambles in illegible crayon writing.

I could possibly explain the title, but probably not. I think I've used it before for multiple things I didn't really use. It just seemed to fit the kind of work I'm making at the moment; I don't know if it's cute or just sad.