Who am I writing for?
I'm sat here trying to write my update for February. After pulling together my notes, my camera reel, and my calendar, I feel like I have a good overview of my last four weeks. And then I'm wondering, who am I writing this for? The process of taking stock of my activities is hugely beneficial for me, but I've done that now. And nobody I know is actually reading my updates, as far as I'm aware, because I haven't really been promoting it that much.
I've always struggled with these questions of audience and presentation. What does it mean for me to have a personal website? I've had one on-and-off for the best part of 30 years, and at times I've wanted to present myself in a certain way, most recently as an artist. This in turn raises questions about the intentions of my artistic practice.
This month I feel like I got some answers to some of those questions. My art practice has always felt very scattered to me: I've worked with a bunch of different media, and made a bunch of different works exploring different ideas, and for the most part they've always felt like isolated events. I have an A(u)DHD mind, and I'm fascinated with so many things. At the jwllrs NON/PRESENT night school I participated in last year, someone referred to my work as "the power of noticing", and after this month I feel like I can see a thread connecting everything now.
My work is about giving careful attention to things which have experienced mundane neglect, learning from those things, and healing with them. When I made acetates from the layers of decaying paint, plaster, and brickwork which constituted the Snapes Printworks for the Open Call and Response; when I realised the Belisha beacons as living music; when I performed (home) at the Ferret Scratch Night, a piece that connected so many things; my obsession with Central Lancashire New Town, and my re/pairing of the Ordnance Survey Explorer map/s of Central Lancashire, which is currently on display as part of the Harris Open 2026. I think, because of my own experiences, I am motivated to care for things which I see as neglected, especially where that neglect is below our social and cultural thresholds of registration. When you leave something for so long, it rusts, the paint chips; an entire landscape opens up in the cracks formed by lines of oxidation, air currents, and the tensions and stresses built into the various layers from their various beginnings. I find these textures fascinating, intricate, and beautiful; they scream out at me. But to most people most of the time, it's just scruffy, and they would repaint it or demolish it without a second of consideration. 'Weeds' are the same: the contempt of man to claim some plants as 'weeds', without appreciating the rich ecological relationality, the potential relationships we could have with them.
I'm trying to take a break from starting any new work at the moment. Mainly because I need to keep focused on my PhD, which is proceeding well, but extremely busy. When I have time in a couple of months, I'm going to sit down and plan out a cohesive 6 to 12 month programme of work, and then apply for project funding from Arts Council England. Until then I'll keep quietly writing in public for my own benefit ☺️
