Since 2000 when I started making art work themes I have followed are discussions around ‘the human condition’, figurative form, tension, conversation, existentialism, curatorial theory and materiality. I have enjoyed playing with materials, seeing what they can do, combining them with others, pushing them to their limits, always with surprising results. I take a minimalist approach to my use of materials, I keep the makeup of them important while being true to the material. I apply substances such as latex to symbolise concepts I wish to portray. Coverings, skin, epidermis, the outside barrier to the inner form have intrigued me, as it is this that the viewer sees and what is inside is the only thing that influences the out. Therefore, tension is created with the protective barrier hiding and containing what is inside, even if that is a void.
I consider the making of sculpture as important as the concept of it, as they can and I believe should change during the process. The risk of failure to embody the initial ideas is in itself an exercise in conceptual evolution, as we are always slaves to the mediums that we use.
During my early years as an artist I was particularly interested in tension. I would sew up and constrain with metal and thread forms that look like they wished to be free. Sheep skin and leather was used, later replaced by latex then stone and wax. All these are ‘natural materials’ but farmed by man to fulfil the wishes of man. The leather and sheep skin came from garments, unpicked and reformed, divorcing themselves from the human form they intended to cover and manipulated into deformed, abstract forms. I used space frames as skeletal structures to support and present the work, but they themselves were as vital to the reading of the work as the ‘work’ itself. My understanding of the use of space frames and exhibtion parafinalia would later become a more important element aspect.
The imperfection in my work is also vital to understand my thought processes. Knots on the threads weren’t tight, as often the lines on the stone weren’t perfectly straight. This could be perceived as laziness (and if I am honest, sometimes it was) but they are there to suggest the imperfections in us all and certainly in the artist. The intention we have as makers and the need to get things right and working conceptually are always let down by the fact we are human. Artists have flaws in their concepts as well as those imposed on us by unworkable materials and processes. This is particulary evident when materials refuse to work together as harmoniously as we would wish. Materials in the natural world cooperate not because they are imposed on each other but because they work around each other. Artists, on the other hand, force these often incongruous, alien properties upon each other and usually the outcome is something of a surprise to the maker. Even when it’s a chisel and stone, the violent union of tool and material can often have destructive results. Therefore, this does not necessarily give the artist the piece they wish for, but the excitement of chance and discovery in creation.
As I moved into the use of stone following my degree, I retained my interest in trying to portray tension and the epidermis of the sculpture inside. However, this more traditional material brought about the greater possibility of commissions and working towards other’s commissions. Exhibiting my work in a commercial setting gave me a different kind of audience that I had when my peers and tutors were critiquing my work. The experiences were no less valuable and insightful, but often the aesthetics of the form became the more pertinent of yardsticks than it had been before. This of course follows the natural progression of an artist when lucky enough to retain an audience of like-minded makers.
I was commissioned in 2005 and given a brief to create drapery in a piece of stone. I decided to take the body out of the work and just portray the material that would have covered it. It was a much more obvious, visual representation of the work I was creating at the beginning of my degree, and I believe this commission infused my lasting interest in drapery as something of aesthetic value. My fascination with the subject matter enabled me to have a ‘visual style’, whilst still loosely engaging with the concepts I have always been interested in.
As a curator and an art tutor, theories of both roles became influences in my work. Particularly curatorial theory, interpretation, conversation between the space, and the viewer engaging with the art work. The two roles, I believe, are inextricably linked, as one is forming a conversation between the ‘objects’ in the relationship. One also has to create an apparatus in order for the message to be delivered succinctly or else pose a subject of conversation interesting enough for the viewer to spend time dissecting and debating it. In this sense the gallery and the class room are the same thing. Both can be anywhere, a gallery like a class room and an artist’s studio are simply forums for debate and intrigue. The class room and the gallery don’t have to be constrained by white walls, as one sees, reads, interprets art work anywhere where the protagonist suggests that conversation should happen.
I often use plinths as both necessary and theoretical interpretive devices. They can be used to both separate and connect the audience from the art work. Separate in terms of creating the works own environment and livable space and connect in the way that it brings the work nearer to the eye line of the viewer. It helps to assign a value to something, i.e. the thing on the plinth (much like the thing in the frame) is valuable enough to be elevated by it, thrust to the gaze of the critical viewer. The thing not on the plinth or frame is not in the slightest bit important, therefore can be ignored as it won’t assist with the translation of the art work.
As a tutor, I often ask my students where the art is in their work. If it is a photograph is it the subject of the photograph, the feelings the picture embodies in the minds of the audience or the object itself? Usually, it’s a combination of all of those things, but my artwork tries to embody all of these aspects. Again, it’s a coming together of elements of most of the things in this writing, tension, epidermis, form, drapery as well as curatorial theory and a comment on the logistics of the exhibition as a platform for conversation. My latest work has a wine glass sitting on top of it, this a comment on the customs at private views, as putting objects on top of a plinth is a cardinal sin. There is also a suggestion that the glass may be the art and the plinth is just what is holding it up off the ground. However, it is a very elaborate plinth (perhaps a reference to Brancusi’s work) and if the art was the wine glass then why is there a sheet of material between it and the plinth?
I have always been fascinated by the ‘Salon’ approach to hanging work. Some of my exhibitions faced (fair) criticism that there was too much in there, I have always had a problem with the less is more theory. So, in that sense perhaps the drapery over the plinth is just decorative (like a carved, gilded frame) and the art work really is to be found in the wine and the glass. The elaborate plinth references my interest in the aesthetics of drapery as portraying one material in another, trying to capture the weight of it, the tension of it and the beauty of it but also the highly staged nature of it. However, like the exceptionally ornate and flamboyant use of drapery in Baroque work, it can often take over the ‘art work’ itself. It has clearly been carved by the artist (in this sense cast) perhaps as a way to show off their skill, but it will be undetachable from the fact it has been made by a person. Whether stone or wax it will have readable clues to the tools, materials and processes used to make it as well as the imperfections in the production of it.