The art of the artist




I woke early to the sound of rain, a welcome sound after a day of heat. The blankets provide comfort unlike the night before where they were oppressive. It was too hot to sleep then. As I woke my mind started to dance with thoughts. Words formed and they were anxious to be written on a page. I thought I will remember them, I can lie here a bit longer. I did and the words danced off somewhere else and the ones I later wrote weren’t nearly as clear sighted as what I initially thought. The comfort of a duvet chased them away.


The thoughts where connected to my photography work. I have been given a blank canvas to create something. Anything. To tell a story. To build a narrative and part of me can’t quiet believe that I am here. I am starting a Diploma in Postgraduate Visual Arts. I am going to create a body of work.


Yesterday I met my tutors. Tutors to guide me through this little journey I am about to start. Masked up I got a tour of the building. There was a camera equipment store room, open space with lighting to create images. A printer bigger than my dresser and light. Oh the light, even on a wet day you could see the potential of the light coming through the big windows. I felt small and wondered how long it would be before working in such a space would feel normal. I mentioned my set up at home of a chair and a background when taking still life work. I think we all start there. I also wondered how long it would before we would see each others faces, mask free. A weird tangent of our new normal.


We sat and talked. I think I was suppose to share my vision, my plans but I was shy. I listened to how my year would unfold with excitement. It made sense. It felt good. I heard myself give an sigh. The release of breathe when you realise that you are in a good place. A precious feeling after a wonky few years of not knowing which way to go. It was a lot to feel and see. I am slow at processing. I left with millions of thoughts, thoughts that were looking for the paper to be written on.


Lunch with a friend was to follow and I was early. I found a table and ordered food and while I wanted for my dear sweet friend who I knew would get this next step in my journey with a few words that I would say when she arrived in the meantime I wrote. Pairs of women sat around me chatting away about this and that and I wrote my words. I released them to the paper. My friend came, we ate, added to the dine of the chatter and headed back to her office to collect things before heading home.


On her wall are my prints. The first I had put up for sale in the confusion of wanting to take the next step with my art work but not sure how and like the dear sweet friend that she is she brought a couple. She took it a step further and got them framed and then as we stood in her office they where. On the wall. Framed in a different way to what I had thought possible. I struggled at first to see them as my photos. They looked so different. Then it was explained. The framer, an artist, had framed my photos in a way that made sense to them. They looked beautiful and highlighted light and features in ways I had not seen before. It was a poignant moment even more so because of where I had been earlier that morning. In an art school where images sat on walls. I had looked at these images and wondered how I would fit into this space. Would I be good enough? Seeing my prints on my friends wall suggested I would be ok.


Returning to my rainy morning, it crept on. Tea was had along with toast. Words have been written and I encourage myself since I have the space today to leave my notebook open on the table to a blank page so as the day unfolds I can write more. The rain is still falling and I should get out of bed but that comfortable duvet......

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