In the Groove

Happiness is the by product of motion and only, evident in is absence, well, seldom acknowledged when present. We all have periods where we find ourselves surfing the wave. Where life seems to flow as if time itself had smoothed out all folds to leave a trajectory smooth and faultless. We all stray from the path sometimes and these diversions can take up years, some never find the way back on to their channel. The good thing is, being so swift once on the right path, once redound you can be back on the waves crest very quickly. Years of darkness may vanish in an instant catapulting you back in to the groove. How to find it? If I knew I would be up there with Jesus. What I do know is rational does not help. Listening to others rarely helps. You know, not even deep down, it is you after all. Act, keep moving, react.

Albert Einstein- How I See the World

Einstein worked intuitively, like an artist

Being on a Roll

I intend to write a longer piece on this but have little time so shall quickly blast off the idea. As I have written previously we have two types of thinking. The studious, analitical, measured, considered though we practice in study. It is slow, laboured etc. Then we have another type of thought, infinitely faster. This is intuitive, reactionary, animal, word free thought. It kicks in when we are in danger. It also comes in at many other times. 

Going through life we look for meaning. This is usually, arguably only can be done the slow way. The intuitive, fast way may offer nothing here. But what is happening when we find iouraelves on a roll? in the zone. There are many terms for it. Athletes practice until they can drop in toi the zone yet it seems no ammount of practice can make a Gascoigne, someone who can be in this state with ease. It is a joy to behold and no doubt why we pay so much to those whos intuitive reactions and motor skills are upthere with animals. Our pride in our consciousness overlooks our similarities to the reactionary thought shown by say a hunting leopard, a peregrine falcon. There is clearly pleasure in this state of being. Most animals play to explore the possibilities of their selves. This enjoyment will be seen in some of our athletes in the olympics. This 'intelligence', and surely it is a kind, though bereft of what we might call meaning may be the secret to a happy life. All the self help, all the philosophy, all the religion seems to miss some crucial point. 

Making ourselves, in our imaginations, somehow greater than animals, aligning ourselves upwards to gods rather than looking sideways to other animals is killing us off. Astro physisists ask why we are alone. One answer they give is that our type of consciousness may lead, in all cases swiftly to self destruction.

This is why I am changing route. For a time enamoured by the fantasies of the linguistic mind I now see it works in contrast to this other, quicker way of thinking. We all know, without having to rationalise what we should do. It is only to keep ourselves in check, to police our worst excesses that we need use depression inducing slow thought.

Down by the River

Perhaps due to the rainy start, eferything seems to be boldly out in the sun. Walking behind the workshop by the river, deer stare out from the trees, fish swim beneath sun dappled water. A group of sparrowhawk fledglings were making a hell of a racket, practicing hunting, stooping etc.

Porlock

For those who are aware of what has happened over the last few years this posting will seem ironic. Having gone through the worst mindstorm, the closest brush with death, the dissolving of the self and its reconstruction one looks for bouys to cling to in the sea of dissolution. It was as much a creative crisis as a mental illness, as much the reassembly of a passable identity as physical disability.
Some may be familiar with the literary term Porlock. Porlock is the site where the last few years of my creative endeavour has gone. When writing Kubla Kahn, Samuel Taylor Coleridge was interupted by an unwanted visitor from Porlock who stuck his neck through the window and proceeded to insistently talk trivia such as the uncharacteristic nature of the weather. This was endured by Coleridge for some 60 minutes.  'Porlock', is now a literary allusion to unwanted intruders who disrupt inspired creativity.
Kubla Kahn came to Coleridge in an opium induced dream. Some speculate that his story of the visitor is a cover for what is common to all drug users, the feeling of having discovered something great but being unable to produce it. What I believe takes place, and this is the characteristic of halucinogenic creations, they are halucinatory; they only seem to be there. Coleridges great vision is largely forgotten thanks to the unwanted intruder from Porlock.
Thomas De Quincy in his Confessions of an English Opium Eater speculated that the visitor was Dr P Arron Potter who regularly bought Coleridge laudanum, the suspension of opium in alcohol that was popular at the time.
This year, Howard Hodgkin has made a painting called Porlock, his coming in the manner of a phone call. Hodgkins well documented suicide attempt took place on a tubeway station nearly 50 years ago. It was prompted by a poisonous remark from the painter Richard Smith, 'it doesn't matter if you are a painter or not'. This stuck in Hodgkins head.
Last year my life had spiralled completely out of control. To talk of the ingredients of the malaise does little to clarify. Some of them are similar. A creative confusion stirred up by poisonous commentary, dissolution and decent in to substance misuse, suicide attempts and interventions from outsiders in to my work coming out of Porlock.
Hodgkin is now in his 80s and overcame his mindstorm and went on to make great art. I hope to do the same.

How to stay Free

Though I dropped the theory for a while, events in my life and further experience returned me to the same point. There is clinical depression which is very rare and first I must make clear I am not talking about this though these tips may help, even if you suffer from that. Depression is 99 times out of 100 due to simple circumstances. These may appear too great to avoid. You may be married to someone you shouldn't be but have too much loyalty to leave them. You may be stuck in a job or career not suited to you but feel unable to leave because of responsibility. Depression is invariably rooted in some soil. My first serious bout came about when I left college. Two universities askedme to go lecture there. Shrewsbury one day a week and Wolverhampton two. I had applied for a two and a half day a week post at UCe in brum. Suddenly and with no training I was a full time lecturer. I had set out to get qualified to be able to lecture two days a week, part time to support my art as I didn't think I could make a living from this alone. Quite understandably I was overwhelmed. I should have realised my five year plan had led to a disastrous finale but had too much invested in the idea. More than most I am able to change tack. So I packed it in, moved to Somerset and went to work for my good friend Fred Baier. My depression passed. I had noticed one morning how people risked their lives to get to work on time. There was a pile up in the fog on the m6 as I made my way to Birmingham. People refused to slow down and ultimately paid with their lives for not wanting to let the boss down. Such Is the thinking that leads to depression. Often I see people with lives they can or ought not to tolerate. Feeling wives, husbands they no longer love are dependent on them. Doctors give people drugs, Prozac, Valium, so they can operate in systems that are slowly destroying them. The cure is simple. If you find you are depressed you need to talk to someone. You must be brutal. You know intuitively what you want to do in life. Who you want to be with. What work you like. If you find yourself taking pills, look at your life. The elephant in the room may well be too big to see. You may well be in such a deep state of denial that you are defending something horrible. It is about bravery. Having the bottle to reject pillars of yourself. The narrative you have written, the story you tell yourself of who you are may need adjusting. Personality is something you can change but it is hard work. This is as simple as obesity and requires a similar approach. Drug addicts live in a similar state of denial to the depressed. Just as capitalism is falling apart and no politician can see this. Steadfastly they continue the mantra of growth, as if returning to the state of folly we were in prior to the crash is our only plan. The same approach to mental health needs to be taken. If a system proves untenable then change.

Last Week

I burned myself out so now am resting for one day

TWTW 5

I have a habit of saying yes to everything so when asked if I could fit out a showmans trailer I said I'd have a look. I drove out to a fantastic piece of woodland between here and Bath teeming with butterflies. It is not beyond the possible to see Purple Emporers in the lofty tree canopy.  Roe deer jumped off as I approached the clearing. There are few sites for those who reject bricks and mortar and this is a hidden gem. There s even a lake. The trailer needs more than I can give at present. The backlog of furniture orders means I'll be busy for most of the year. It would have been nice though and a few free days may get thrown in.

Some old friends of mine are living on the same site; its a small world. Hes got a workshop set up in a refridgeration lorry tucked deep in the woods, making electric, high powered bikes, among other things.

Back home I bumped in to a man who I made a living van for some years back. One of those high bow topped trailers like Fred Dibner towed to London. Its still going strong. Odd how things link up.

TWTWTW 4

So, carrying this malaise in my head I worked on. Stopping periodicaly to note ideas and sketch details of proposed work. All the mundane and sundry thoughts of the normal emotional life and the pragmatic realities of commercial continuance just as everyone juggles. The speculations about art can seem trivia if ones life is spent on the block pattern simplicity of children and it is only in adult life that creativity grows in to differing twigs and branches. It is true also that such considerations may be an affectation but if, like me, creativity is your life, not just a hobby, it matters a lot. Not that any work should be self conscious; it all should be play. But keeping that 'play' alive without seeing it corroded by the sea of practicality we all face is what enables one artist to continue and another to have to get a job. While such a fate may offer security and there is an argument to say that the amateur keeps freedoms the professional loses it is clear there is a difference between a life and a hobby. It comes down to this. If you take on the idea of communication and progress from art therapy, (art bereft of communication), getting your point over is the measure of your skill.

T W T W T W Part 3

So, tired from all this thought and the sleepless night it entailed I returned to the workshop and carried on with the furniture. It often weighs on my mind, being misunderstood. Often I don't mind being disliked so long as I am understood and disliked for the right reasons.

The Week That Was part 2

..but it got me so tangled up in memories. What was it I had set out to do?  Back when we were all in Pewsey it was a creative time but one where questions went unasked. There really isn't enough space to make a living from selling one off  furniture pieces through exhibition. All but a few names at the top struggle to sustain a living from it alone. I have always felt it a little arrogant to expect to. It was always art that had been my central interest, right from school. Disillusionment steered me from art in to joinery. Having a trade to support myself was security but an aim in itself. I still love quality joinery and unpretentious furniture. I can't stomach the masterbatory fine wood craft though that treads some muddy line of confusion. 

Without intending art crept back in. Being around furniture makers and using their technical vocabulary along with the same exhibition opportunities put my work, too often in to the wrong places. Looking back I now understand why things were misread. I could not understand how a table inlaid with disabled and no parking signs could be misinterpreted as decoration. At the same show I exhibited a table with glass spikes bursting out oF its back so function was not just impractical but impossible. Yet still misreading happens. An email I recieved last week confused something I had said in a magazine article. Whilst there is some truth in the idea that any practice taken beyond its limits in to the new is art, in the sense Ronnie O'Sullivan makes snooker art. In this way John Makepeaces work may be considered art by some. But this is a different category of practice to the one I mean which is essentially making visual images for people to see in an attempt to express aspects of what it is like to be human. It is not that work transcends its parameters to become art, indeed it may even be poor art. It is that the two are seperate practices.

It has to be clear which is which from now on. I assumed people would know but perhaps I didn't make myself clear. Context is everything.

The Week That Was

I spoke to R who is thinking of making some new furniture. I'd quite forgotten that feeling of making furniture, not to commission but as a creative venture. But what to do it for and with it if it doesn't sell? why are you doing it? is it as a business venture or as a stab at making some sort of mark on culture, or just to impress ones peers. The London avenues, as I think of them such as commercial design shows, where one is lost in trade seas. The Crafts Councils attempt to mirror the American SOFA. Chelsea crafts show. None of these bring fond thoughts to mind for me. Why should this be? Each time I got chances to show I made art. Often I showed it at the wrong places. The sad attempts at useless craft, art with no meaning that is often at Collect depresses me as much as its polar craft opposite promoted at Millinary Works and Cheltenham. I wish R all success as her work stands well in Colledct and such places. 

The chat did get me going, though, and triggered a week of seeing myself through others eyes. I am planning work and have many ideas. From now on the line is clear. I make furniture to make a living. Hence it should be made well and to please. This frees up my art and hopefully there will be no more confusion. I am a furniture maker by trade and use these techniques, along with others, to make art.

Catherine Hill

Why Furniture?

There is a reason why I chose furniture and it is this. I search for the fantastic within the mundane. It is the terrifying disturbance of the transcendent bursting into the everyday. Life is not the orient express to nirvana nor the motorcycle high speed chace but the smoky bus to dereliction. The bus stop wait in rain as archangel wings flutter. It is the hitched lift in dirty lofty cab. The driver picks you up, he is the messiah. Philip K Dick wrote great books in the trashy sci fi genre, Mark E Smith made art in a rock n roll band. The dirt under the fingernails is powdered gold. The alchemy of the banality of wood, the silent sculpture of the living room, the mute art of the chair. Where it goes wrong is when this understated numinous beauty is discarded in favour of making a throne. God lies in the gutter, not in the stars.

As if by magic, summer happened

Mainstream Design is not Woodwork

Histories of furniture design seldom delve in to the branch of the tree that began with the craft revival of the 1970s. Penny Sparks mentions the movement giving the solitary example of John Makepeace. After the arts and crafts period ran in to art nouveau the design mainstream became far more interested in the new materials and processes that the war had thrown up. Plywood, steel, plastics. The seperation of designers and makers became complete after the war and this way of working is predominant to this day. Small country workshops continued the idea of design from the bench that stretches back through time. In the 1970s, for a brief period, the idea of the designer maker became the mainstrream. There was a shift that saw middle class people choosing to work with their hands. A reactionary movement that tied in to hippy ideals, the first to voice serious environmental concerns, folk music were all in the mix. David Pyes professorship at the RCA produced a generation of students that made a name for themselves with help from the crafts council. Rupert Williamson, Fred Baier, Richard La Trobe Bateman. The work was unironic, well made, sincere. The focus changed toward the eighties. Post modernism with its irony and secondary meaning rendered the work irrelevant to contemporary thinking. The central trunk of design saw production furniture take center stage again. Next up came creative salvage. Then the millenial white minimalism that echoed the successful british art of the time. Michael Marriott, Mary Little, Ralph Ball. Indulgence in materials and making was out of fashion.
But seperate from this and largely at odds to contemporary design trends, the designer makers continued. Supported by the odd London show curated by Janice Blackburn, Cheltenham organised by Betty Norbury and a couple of galleries, makers grew in number. A handful of courses retained a belief in workmanship as a value in itself where makers from the seventies, unable to find a market big enough to support their aesthetic sensibilities, taught, passing on skills and supplementing their incomes from furniture. The market for this kind of work is tiny. The work is very expensive. David Pye had warned, back in 1969 in his seminal work, 'The Nature and Art of Workmanship' that the future of quality work may lay in the hands of the amatuer for he alone may be proof against amateurishness. Most buisnesses managed to develope by supporting themselves partly by oither means. Some lectured, some took on bread and butter work. Belief in what they were doing came from each other. At the anual Cheltenham exhibition they  would meet up, show each other their work, walk round in pairs quietly dismissing those who didn't quite get it. And there are a lot of these. Some, inspired by the most labour intensive work and unconfident in themselves would parade flamboyant beasts. If unsure of your chair design, why mot try putting a huge carved whale fin on the back. If you feared your cabinet might go quietly unnoticed, why not sandwich it twixt two carved elephant tusks.
Yes, it is no surprise that the casual visitor, perhaps someone more familiar with the ice cool london design scene where being caught in the wrong shoes incurs a lifetimes ostrasism, saw an odd affair. How many, myself included have felt that their little burst of flamboyance might brighten up a dull show only to find that their extremism appears the height of modesty amongst the sea of egos shouting for attention. To the outsider the work looks like a big fat gypsy wedding. A competition of extremes. Yet extremes within a tight framework of values. Like suited politicians break dancing. The understatement all in the rigidity of craftsmanly conformity, as who can argue that well made is not well made whilst the self expression is down the wrong avenue. This party of the peacocks had grown to exclude the outsider. The concept of communication to all but other woodworkers was abandoned in an orgy of dovetails and 320 grit. The comparrison to custom bike shows, to car meets, bug jams, gurning and air guitar world championships is a good one. I have introduced two to this world, hoping they would retain self but watched them both succumb to this indulgent aesthetic.
But where to go from here. The disillusionment with mainstream design is genuine, upholding the values of craftsmanship is a noble cause. The ability to realise an idea in ways most trained architects never get to must be something inspiring jealousy as they design another trainstation toilet. Amongst all that wood there are some quiet ideas that are worth pursuing.
It shouldn't be about shouting the loudest. Surely we have proved that now. I don't write this in insult; I am part of it. No, I write because I care. I stopped teaching at the colleges because I didn't feel we were sending students out with a proper game plan. They were expecting, perhaps due to prices seen on pieces on show, that they were all artists able to operate in a market that didn't exist, producing beasts of wonder. No thought for context, domestic context, only picturing how it woulkd look in some imaginary gallery.
When I was graduating I recall a piece I had made that used a table form to express secondary meanings, a piece to be 'read' in the same way my friends graduating in fine art at goldsmiths expected their work to be read. I had followed goldsmiths reading list and was steeped in Baudrillard, Barthes etc. A well known 70s DM said, 'do we really need anymore generic table forms?', I felt upset as I admired him. Then it hit me. He was looking at it through the modernist eyes of his generation. Without irony, without looking for what it meant. Looking at it purely in terms I had not considered growing up when I did.
We are a generation apart. It is hard to communicate all we amass through life. But it is time for a shift. The language may be the same but what we are saying has changed.

Bunks