Haircut

I gave little darling a tiny haircut today. I just really wanted to clip her bangs because she absolutely refuses to leave her hair pulled back and I wanted to get it out of her eyes. I think I cut it too short, and she moved, so it is a bit uneven. The little lock of hair is so precious I have to save it. When I snipped it off I was reminded of this woman I taught in my women's studies art history class three years ago. We discussed a piece by Kathy Prendergast, Love Object, a brush with a woman's long brown hair attached and at the end of the hair was a comb. Some people were uncertain how to react to a sculpture with real hair and struggled to connect with the work. So in order to try to generate some ideas we discussed the different meanings culturally attached to hair. A woman who was normally quite quiet in class shared what hair symbolised to her. She told us that she had saved a lock of hair from her daughter who died at age six. She absolutely cherished this precious, soft curl that she kept in a special little box. When I glanced around at the other women, there wasn't a dry eye in the room. Even as I write this, I still tear up thinking about that poignant story. I suppose one really can't put a value on memories.

What a weekend

I have spent the past three days at a seminar devoted to the oeuvre of Leo Bersani. I am literally running on metal empty. It was an amazing three days filled with psychoanalysis galore. Bersani writes on all sorts of things, relationality, art, queer politics, literature, philosophy and of course Freud. Somehow I keep falling into these psychoanalysis seminars 'for fun'. I honestly do find the stuff fascinating but it can be so mentally draining to have to focus on theory for sustained periods of time. I did have a very cool moment I must confess. I got to meet James Coleman. Seriously. He was so cool. We just talked about everyday normal stuff. You know. Art. AWESOME. I can't even write coherently. 

It never fails to amaze me how I can be thinking about these obscure things and then I need I hold a baby, correction MY baby and all the theory flies right out of my head and I remember, 'oh yeah I am a mommy'. On Friday I arrived home spend some quality time with cupcake. It was much needed on my behalf. Perhaps the most loving, tender moment we have shared (this week) was when she sat on my lap in her pyjamas facing me. She patted me on the chest and said Mama. I nodded, 'Yes I am Mama.' Then she pressed her face into my neck and whispered 'Mama, Mama' as if to assure herself that I was real.

Spencer Tunick Dublin Installation

In June of last year the two of us participated in the Spencer Tunick installation at the Dublin Docklands. Spencer Tunick is an American photographer who is known for his use of the naked body. He often places the human form in urban and occasionally rural landscapes. The photographs function as documentation of the installations and as works of art in their own right. When I learned that Spencer Tunick was looking for approximately 750 people to get naked in the name of art I said hell yes! I managed to convince himself, plying him with several shots of tequila before we boarded the bus to the secret location. It ended up being a wise idea because it was absolutely freezing and I think the alcohol helped to take the edge off. 

On Monday I opened a A4 brown envelope marked "do not bend" to reveal my 'payment' for taking part in the exhibition. It was a high quality 8 x 10 limited edition photograph. Very cool. Unfortunately the Docklands Authority have failed to secure a physical location for the resulting exhibition. Instead there is a website exhibition. What a cop out. The spin is that it is supposed to be more accessible, blah blah blah. The website is getting so much traffic it took 30 minutes to load yesterday. Call me a traditionalist but art on my computer screen stinks compared to a live exhibition. 

Need Money to Buy Art- You can help

I've decided to start a foundation. It is called the Arty Feminist Needs Money to Buy Art Foundation. Yesterday during my whirlwind trip over to Edinburgh I was completely blown away by Francesca Woodman. The pictures in her monograph and on the internet just cannot do justice to them. I went to the Ingleby gallery which was showing 27 of her works selected by her estate to exhibit. The work selected represented her early period in Boulder Co (1972-75), her work at RISD (1975-77), Rome (1977-79) New York (1979 -80) and Mac Dowell Colony, Petersborough, New Hampshire (1980). I absolutely loved her self-deceit series in which Woodman photographing herself with a mirror in an old (abandoned?) building. The contrast between the smooth, shiny surface of the mirror and the gritty paint peeling concrete walls was beautiful. It probably didn't help that I had just finished Leo Bersani's Intimacies and was feeling pumped full of psychoanalysis. However I managed to make some notes based on the subject matter of the work rather than psychoanalysing it. The work was smaller than I imagined, with delicate details and haunting beauty. I left the show feeling that I had left a piece of myself behind. It did not help matters that the work was for sale. To own a Francesca Woodman... I can't even begin to describe what it would mean. I do not necessarily consider myself a 'collector' probably because I don't have money. But in the last two years I have managed to purchase a couple small works - an Alice Maher etching, a Renee Cox black and white photo. Last year my husband and I participated in the Spencer Tunick installation at the Dublin Docklands just because each participant receives a limited edition print. It is alway said you should buy what you love - and I love Woodman. In a moment of utter weakness I did call up my better half (wink wink)to see was there a way we could pool our collective 'resources'. I'm sure you can guess the answer. I also tried to convince my mother to front me the funds on the basis that it would form part of my 'inheritance'. Her answer, "No one has ever heard of this person." For now I will have to content myself with framing the small free postcard distributed from the gallery.

Aside from that longing in my heart that will never ever be filled by anything but a Francesca Woodman, my trip was very successful. I saw two very cool video works at the Collective Gallery by Jordan Baseman and Henna-Riikka Halonen. Both works centered around the Royal Commonwealth Pool in Edinburgh that is closing for refurbishment. 

Then of course there was the Willie Doherty show at the Fruitmarket Gallery. A plane ticket well spent! Ghost Story (2007) and Buried (2009)  were staged in two soundproof rooms downstairs while Re-Run (2002) was upstairs in a large room. Also accompanying this exhibition were several cibachrome photographs and b/w photographs. The two newer videos were simply amazing. I found both to be thought provoking. I think I am still on art overload so I haven't much coherent to say about that at the present. 

I will leave you with this thought: maybe money can't buy happiness, but money can buy art and in my book art is happiness.

Contact me for donations (monetary or otherwise).

Research: Willie Doherty and Francesca Woodman

I have just booked a quick one day jaunt over to Edinburgh to view an exhibition of Willie Doherty's latest work in the Fruitmarket Gallery. Willie Doherty is a well-known video artist from Northern Ireland who was twice nominated for the Turner Prize. On display will be his newest video works, Ghost Story (2007) and Buried (2009).

I found a cheap 28 euro return ticket that goes over at 7.30 and arrives back in Dublin at 22.30. While browsing the internet to see how else I would kill time I came across another exhibition that I really want to see. In fact I am restraining myself from jumping up and down and shouting. I really want to call someone to tell them but no one will really share my excitement. I am going to see an exhibition of work by... FRANCESCA WOODMAN. OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!!!! There, phew, got that out. 

Woodman is my secret passion. The only other artist I love more than Woodman is Frida Kahlo and I saw a major exhibition of her work in SFMoma last year. That was fabulous. But this is even more exciting because Woodman's work is rarely shown. Most of her work belongs to her estate which is managed by her family, and I don't know if this impacts on how often her work is shown but not much (if any?) of her work is in public collections and certainly not on permanent display. My absolute favourite work is The Kinds of Melon in Four Kinds of Light,  and when I get off my ass I am going to try to publish an essay I wrote on it in 2005. Her work is so amazing because it combines surrealist imagery with active female agency. I am certain that in some ways she must have been influenced by feminist theories of the gaze. I also see some connections with Ana Mendieta in the way she places the body in relation to the landscape (I am thinking Silueta Series). To date Mendieta is the only artist that has ever brought tears to my eyes, but this could change shortly. This is a major opportunity to view her work; I wish I was going for two days. How in the world will I take in all this art? Wait, I did visit 17 galleries in Chelsea, MoMA, and three sessions of the College Arts Association conference all in one day, so I should be able to handle this.

They want to send us back to the dark ages...

I am probably posting this to the blog a little late as this was announced last week but I have other things on my mind i.e. PhD, Baby, Cleaning, Sleeping. You may or may not have heard that Minister for Justice Dermot Ahern is proposing an amendment to the Defamation Bill. (See this Irish Times article) He wants to introduce legislation that would be punishable up to 100,000 euro for blasphemous libel. Seriously? Who is this NUTCASE? 

The amendment proposed reads:

“Blasphemous matter” is defined as matter “that is grossly abusive or insulting in relation to matters held sacred by any religion, thereby causing outrage among a substantial number of the adherents of that religion; and he or she intends, by the publication of the matter concerned, to cause such outrage.”

But wait there is more...  

Labour spokesman on justice Pat Rabbitte is proposing an amendment to this section which would reduce the maximum fine to €1,000 and exclude from the definition of blasphemy any matter that had any literary, artistic, social or academic merit.

But certainly we must have other things to be worrying about in these troubling times? Like recession? swine flu? Cutting the child benefit? Surely the rights of the individual must be protected over the rights of a religion?  So who would define artistic merit? The government? What is next burning books? Rounding up people into detention camps? Who voted these crazy people into government? Come on Ireland you can't be this fucking conservative, get rid of these bozos.

Some interesting points made by readers in the Irish times here and by Fintan O'Toole here.

Reports from Manchester

Good news, the conference paper was... a success! I can breathe easy now. I was worried I would be torn apart but was spared. The crowd was friendly and super understanding when my paper came in at 20 min instead of 30! I had culled a good deal of material in my second to last edit, only to realise that I definitely had more time. The feedback was positive across the board and I was relieve that the organiser, someone whose work I admire was very supportive of my ideas. Woo hoo! One of my most exciting developments of the day is that I have met a kindred soul who is an American based in Belfast. We had the most amazing conversation, it was like talking to myself about art but better. I think I need to have more of those shared art moments. It makes me remember why I got so excited by art in the first place. I think it is so rare these days to meet someone who just blows me away. I am delighted with a new connection. That sounds like a fortune cookie...

Portrait of the artist as a nursing mother?

Oh great! I have just realised that if I plan on weaning I have to get back to my art making, and fast! You see, I had previously worked on a series of paintings that related to the experience of pregnancy. In August 2008 I participated in 'A Womb of One's Own' an exhibition that was part of the Le Cheile Festival in Oldcastle, Co. Meath. 

1. Artist and Daughter at exhibition (before I lost baby weight!) 2. Daughter and Aunt with erie hanging wombs.

I have always wanted to dabble in performance/video/installation (convenient since I am researching in that area right? I believe in cross fertilization - no pun intended) I definitely want to documenting the breastfeeding experience in some way. Now if I am planning to wean cupcake, we have limited time to get photographing. The trouble is I am not really sure exactly what I have in mind but I would like to do it when she is relaxed (i.e. sleepy) rather than when she is acting like the suckling acrobat.

Marcelina's Legacy

I was looking at my daughter this morning and I was thinking how much my grandmother, Marcelina would have loved her. Marcelina was born the fourth of six children to poor Italian immigrants. The early years were tough for her family, my great-grandfather John was a bootlegger in Texas during the prohibition. He would disappear for weeks at a time, leaving her mother Ida to fend for herself. My grandmother remembered one time the FBI searched the house and found his stash. They saw how poor the family was and took pity on Ita telling her next time they would came there would be consequences. The family then moved to San Francisco and then to Burlingame. My great-grandfather opened up the first bar in San Mateo County after the prohibition. He was a bit of a chancer and had some gambling problems. My grandmother had  to bring him home from a poker game one night, where earlier that night he had lost two properties in Hillsborough (now one of the richest suburbs in the Bay Area). She left school at age 15 to work in the family bar. She met my grandfather who was stationed at Fort Point during WWII. It was love at first sight and they were happily married for an amazing 61 years.

Over the years my grandmother honed and perfected her domestic skills. She was the original domestic goddess before Nigella Lawson took her first breath. She was the Martha Stewart of the 50s and 60s. She made all their clothing (adults and children) and when they wore out the clothes she made rag rugs. She was an amazing gardener and as my dad once said she could plant a stick into concrete and under her watchful eye it would turn into something amazing. She made ravioli, spio and crab cioppino like it was going out of style. But most of all she was a wonderful artist.

She specialized in landscape paintings. She and my grandfather spent their lives traveling to all 50 states. Everywhere she went she took pictures of farm houses, New England lighthouses, mountains, deserts and then would return to her studio to paint. I remember as a child, I would beg her to let me into the studio where I would touch (and taste!) the paints, run my hands over her brushes and just marvel at the colours and smells to be found there. We spent a lot of time together and I became obsessed with art. I became aware that my grandmother had real talent, but I could never understand why she didn't go to art school. I asked her one day and she dismissed it saying that she couldn't afford to, she had to leave school at a young age to work and that in those days women didn't have careers as artists. I think that was my first realization of the gender inequalities that exist in the art world. I became determined to learn more and I credit this with one of the main reasons that I decided to pursue degrees in Women's Studies and Art History.  

Before she died I had the privilege to spend 6 weeks taking full time care of my grandparents. We spent those weeks arguing, laughing, cooking and for the first time I really really got to know my grandmother. I mean beyond the familial relationship. I helped to bathe her and dress her. I was there when she unleashed her Italian temper and heated arguments ensued. Before I finished my time with them she gave me a quilt that she had started back in the 50s. It consisted of hexagonal fabric scraps that she had saved from nearly every item of clothing she ever made. She told me she wanted me to finish it and give it to my first child (I wasn't even in a relationship at the time). When I became pregnant I knew that if nothing else during the pregnancy I had to finish the quilt like I promised her. I tried to channel her spirit to guide me. I am fairly crafty (I like to pretend I am) but I never have the patience to see a project through (my achilles heel). I began by embroidering on four rectangular pieces of fabric. Each block came to symbolise something about personal. One features two dachshunds to represent our dogs, Oscar and Lulu. On another I embroidered dancing fruits and veggies (we love food in this family!). The third featured a redwood tree and banana slug to represent California and the fourth featured the words handmade for you by mother. Next I had to shape my grandmother's quilt. It was a 'free form' and I was in a quandary about how to proceed. I decided the easiest way was to make several rectangles that I could then attach to the blocks to form a giant rectangle. I finished the quilt with only a few weeks to go, relieved that I had made good on my promise to her.

When my grandmother died in 2003, I was devastated. I don't think I can accurately describe all that she was to me. By finishing the quilt I had a piece of her that I could pass along to my daughter. So now she has that quilt and Marcelina as her middle name.

Art is the life for me

So last night I attended the much anticipated opening of the James Coleman exhibition taking place at IMMA, RHA and Project Arts Centre. Coleman is arguably one of the most exciting Irish artists to date! His work has been lauded by major critics and art historians everywhere and he definitely has made his way into the canon. There are six of his works currently on exhibition around the city. This is the first large scale exhibition of his work since the early 1980s. Which brings me to the enigma. You see Coleman is a big time artist. So why then isn't his work well known in Ireland? An artist I was speaking to last night said that Coleman was a huge influence on his work. This guy was nearly giddy because he got to meet Coleman. Another strange thing is that Coleman the person isn't well known. I only say this is strange because in the age of art stars like Damien Hirst and Tracey Emin, sometimes artists become almost more important than their work. Or maybe what I mean is that today we are so obsessed with celebrity that it seems strange that there are no pictures of Coleman! Perhaps this is because he really wants the work to speak for itself. And ultimately, his work is about the spectator and the role that one's subjective plays in creating meaning in the work. So perhaps it seems fitting that Coleman the artist prefers to observe rather than be observed.

I was at the lecture given by Luke Gibbons and attended the wine reception. (Glug glug). I got to meet Alanna O'Kelly, a performance/multi media artist. Her work is simply amazing, I am a huge fan. It was really cool to see how approachable and down to earth she is. And finally, yes, finally I was able to recapture my powers of speech and analytical thinking that have gone to the birds since having my little bundle of joy. (Mommies out there will know I mean the dreaded baby brain). Being able to discuss her work with her in a coherent manner was awesome. I also sat next to NI artist Victor Sloan. I couldn't place the name at first, although I had heard of him. When I got home I trolled through some of my books and catalogues. Yep sure enough there he was. His early work deals with images of the troubles and some of them are very haunting. What a great guy he was. We had an excellent conversation and I think he has earned himself a new follower!