These early years seem like the memories of another person, perhaps they are, at least in as much as I have changed. I have no regrets nor pride in any of the stories from my younger years and these reminiscences are self indulgent though theraputic as I try to understand what brought me to where I am. Most peoples story is of interest, I know some who have brilliant autobiographies that will remain unwritten which is tragic. I have only written in detail about those who have died and have not dwelled or incriminated anyone. People that I have mentioned in passing mean more to me than I have said and others, particulaly the few who are in the public eye I have not mentioned at all, their history is their privacy and theirs to write. Life goes by so quickly and only now, with some distance can I understand why I did certain things. I believe, certainly for myself that we react to events instinctually, on an animal level. Afterwards we may rationalise our reasoning whilst little takes place. Their are those who have five or ten year plans but, probably due to my mothers death during my childhood I have never been able to think that way. The consequences of this can be good as I have tended to live in the moment, there are huge downsides. Living with the repercussions of ones actions can be a burden. The one time I did take a long term view led to my first real breakdown. After realising that supporting yourself through exhibitting work you have made from the heart can be an uphill struggle. Looking at older makers I had seen many who worked in relatively well paid lecturing positions that supported their 'Art', on a part time basis, I thought that I might do the same. This was the primary reason I went back to college and took proper training in a university setting to gain quallifications. These would allow me to lecture. It worked but I couldn't do it. Only in higher education can someone teach without any teacher training. This is ridiculous. Just because I was good at designing and making did not mean I could pass this on to others. I wasn't an entire failure; my first post at the University of Wolverhampton was fantastic. I got some students through who would surely fail. The intensity required in the commercial world, I had come from trade rather than throuh the conventional education route, is far greater than in the ponderous, playful world of students. One lad had three weeks to go. He had been encouraged to do that much preparity work, cutting up magazines, sketching, making models etc. that he had left just three weeks to finish making his final pieces. I blasted them out with him whilst working with the others. I was thrown in the deep end though and took on too much too soon.
The build up to this was wrong. My partner of the time had bought a cottage in need of repair in Shropshire, out in the wilds near Clun, the centre of British witchcraft. After I graduated, this is where I went. Her father did the architectural drawings and builders the heavier work whilst I spent a year there on my own working on the house. It was built in 1640, or there abouts and hadn't been touched since. The chimney was a vast structure that was central with a vast fireplace. We reduced this, using the stone for other walls. The end had a brick built area with bread ovens and old washing equipment. Beautiful but impractical for modern living. We knocked this down and I built a timber framed extension on to a hardcore rubble, insulation and damp proof membrane. The inside of the house had flags straight on to soil as the floor which we took up. Concrete was laid throughout. I used the bricks to make a path to the parking bay below a new wall that heald in the raised garden I built. The outside toilet was in an isolated shed. After taking down the shed there was a period where the loo was just that, you could see cars passing as you sat there and there drivers see you. Finally this was moved inside. The renovation was a great period though living on a building site can grate after a few months. After this was done I got some cabinet making work for a local furniture maker who lived a few miles away. This was quite a trek on a bike in winter, those hills can be quite wild. Not as cruel as the Yorkshire Dales where I had lived for a couple of years a decade or more before. I was paid £4 an hour. Those who hit out at Blair should remember his few good moves, like the minimum wage. When I was offered the lecturing jobs, some that paid £27 per hour I grabbed them without thinking. I jumped from one or two human interactions in a day to 50 or more. Learning to spread your attention from one to another and not dwelling on any individual is a skill I hadn't needed nor used since I was a student, even then I would be so engrossed in my work that I shut them out. Suddenly I was required to do a whole lot more.
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