I am not the artist I used to be

I am not the artist I used to be. 

I could be distressed by this (and I am a little) or I could be excited. 

The second one seems like the better option. 

I don't play the game as well as I used to and I always required a lot of help to play it at all. 

I have been beaten down and worn out by it and I got confused. 

I deviated from my original purpose.

I make art to express myself to myself and to understand the world and my place in it. 

I make art because I am good at it and it feels good to be good at something.

I make art because it gives me a purpose and helps me make sense of my brain.

I make art because I don't always understand the world or myself and it helps me to feel better. 

I make art to hide within and to stand strong beside. 

I make art because it is something I know how to do better than almost anything else. 

I don't always stick to a routine or a schedule and I judge myself for this but less and less.

I know my natural rhythm is a trickle or a deluge. 

I know I am rebellious against the routines I love the most. 

I know I can have a hard time with record keeping, documenting, archiving, and consistently sharing my work as well as presenting it for sale. Probably because I am a painter and could use more support in these areas - but I am done judging myself for this and I am proud of doing it as well as I have.

I don't love all art, some art really pisses me off and I wish it would go away. 

I have made 1000 choices in order to live the way I do, to protect my art, my brain, my being. Some of these were hard and some of my choices were not so good, or easily understood, but I am still here. 

I still need people to view, enjoy, and support my art - I don't want to work in a vacuum and community engagement is extremely important to me.

Financial support of my art is crucial. I'm not independently wealthy and I can live a pretty precarious existence that is at times stressful and scary. 

If you want to see me in my flow state, ask me to talk about art. When I don't have the chance to do this (and I haven't really in years) I feel like a part of myself is missing.

Art has given me so much in terms of community, love, support, joy, and excitement. I have sacrificed a lot for art in exchange. I wouldn't change it. 

I have cried over and regretted this calling.

I still wouldn't change it. I can't.

When art returns to me after being away there is no better feeling.

To be certain of my place in the lineage feels like coming home. 

I am not the artist I used to be.

So let's see what happens next...

Keep fighting. 

Our joy is our power

Well, shit. 

There is a certain way those two words are said together in my head in an Arkansas accent that conveys a certain feeling. It might be my grandmother's voice I hear it in, or perhaps it's my fathers, or maybe it's my own. 

Well, shit...

I have been eating cookies for breakfast while avoiding the news or reading any articles. I have been checking on friends and family and gratefully focused on union work. I have been going for walks, bereft and questioning but not surprised. 

But, let's go back in time to before the shit hit the fan - I was jet lagged and hopeful and I had one more adventure in the cards before I could rest. On Monday, I caught the train through to Glasgow to see Interpol for the 8th time. 

Paul Banks of Interpol

Daniel Kessler of Interpol

I was really worn out from travelling and a recent migraine but I knew Interpol would give me more energy than getting myself over to see them would ever take. I was right. The train was smooth and easy, the venue was close to the station, and I left early enough to stop by a cafe for a light dinner before chatting to the folks working the door at the venue. I was one of ten or so early birds or super fans. They let us in the venue at 6 to wait for the stage doors to open at 7. Water was purchased, toilets were used, and all the women at the front of the line chatted with each other and laughed. We were instant friends with one shared objective, to be right in front of Paul and Daniel of Interpol. We were from countries all around the world and we spanned generations. Some of these women had just seen each other at the previous gigs in Wolverhampton and Manchester. The woman from Leeds next to me had seen them 31 times. The artist I met waiting at the door made sure I had a great spot next to her at the barricade and we traded Instagram handles and talked about witches and art. We were an instant sisterhood -  with our shared and knowing smiles, talks of ageing, the joys of gigging alone, art, small towns, cats, travel, politics, and of course Interpol. 

I was uplifted by these kindred spirits before the band even took the stage.

The opening band Dust from Australia played a fine noisy set and seemed extremely appreciative of the Glasgow audience which made me wonder how they had been received by Wolverhampton and Manchester. 

Interpol took the stage at 9:15 playing their second album Antics in its entirety, and then a set of 9 songs spanning their catalog, capping off the night with a perfect one song encore by playing PDA from Turn on the Bright Lights. The light show was intense and atmospheric and both Paul and Daniel were in fine form and seemed delighted to be there. Sadly Sam was missing as he continues to recover from spinal surgery and health issues. It was another great Interpol gig.

I hugged my new barricade mate goodbye and was out the door to catch the 11:15 train back to Edinburgh. Once returned to the city and on the bus in the wilds of Leith, another Interpol fan recognised me as they were exiting the bus, "Weren't you just at Interpol and in the front?" Aye, I was. Smiles were shared, take cares uttered and again I was embraced into the fold of humanity. The night ended as it began.

I was energised and happy to be alive. 

As I mentioned the last time I wrote about Interpol here, all you have to do is use the search feature in the top left of this blog to see how I feel about the band and what they mean to me, my life, and work. That's the power of art and music - it is truly life giving and inspiring, momentum building and community forging, identity shaping, alchemic bliss. 

The edge of a guitar note as it rings out, the turn of phrase, the gasp and crack of the voice, the bass as it moves through you and drums as they ground and transcend. There is nothing much better than that. And every time I see Interpol their music returns to me shiny and new to be discovered all over again as if for the first time.

Tears drown in the wake of delight
There's nothing like this built today
You'll never see a finer ship in your life
We sail today...

That was Monday night, then the US Election on Tuesday came and went, and like a needle being dropped on a record, Wednesday was a day of mourning and the rest of the week was a blurred hellscape. And here we are.

And I am still listening to Interpol as I walk briskly through the leaves. I still "understand the assignment" and I still stand by art, music, and community. 

Our joy is our power.

My heart lives in two places

What a difference a few days make. 

I have on my cosy jumper while sitting under a blanket with the lamps turned on. It will be dark within 30 minutes. This can only mean one thing... I am back in bonny Scotland sitting in my flat. The window is speckled with rain drops. I do have my big headphones on though just like the last time I wrote, but the music has changed. I decided to listen to an old favourite on repeat. 

Thanks to everyone who read my last three blog posts written in Arkansas. If you missed them the first time here they are again. 

October 11th https://meganchapman.blogspot.com/2024/10/the-true-liminal-space-and-comfort-of.html

October 18th https://meganchapman.blogspot.com/2024/10/i-see-you-you-see-me-we-are-here.html

October 25th https://meganchapman.blogspot.com/2024/10/i-am-of-leaves-i-am-of-trees-i-am-of.html

Let's pick up where we left off, in the last few days I was with my parents, I did various projects around their house, enjoyed the sun and warmth as much as I could, did a bit of work, and ran some errands and just spent time with them. On Sunday, a dear family friend came to visit us with some lovely baked goods - we caught up on the weirdness of life around the table. Later that day, my mother and I enjoyed Fiber Fest down the road at Ozark Folkways. Again, I spontaneously ran into a couple of people I knew there and it was a delight.

On Monday, we took family photos against the orange backdrop of the maples and I said a tearful goodbye to my dad before I took my mom to an appointment in town. Afterwards we ran some errands together, where I ran into yet another person I was happy to see for a quick catch up over a shopping cart.

Afterwards, my mom and I had a mediocre but funny lunch, saw another dear friend for a bonus spontaneous visit, ran another errand, and then I was dropped off where I started, at the old house in town. I hugged my mother goodbye and she was on her way back to Winslow.

I organised my belongings, and then took my dear friend out for a delicious dinner at one of my favourite old spots - Thep Thai (it's still good Barbara - get the Pad Kee Mao with Tofu #35). On the way back I asked my pal to stop so I could take a photo of a dreamy Cadillac at dusk in the parking lot of the old muffler shop. Magic!

Once again at the old house, I just had a bit more organising to do before it was off to sleep. The next day would see the long journey back to Scotland that would start Tuesday morning Arkansas time and end Wednesday morning in Edinburgh. Three planes back and this time no missed connections. I even had time to enjoy the Prince store in Minneapolis - I saw one of his guitars and his hand written song notes. I was quite the fan back in the day and if you recall 1999 was mentioned in the blog post prior to this one, so again - there are no accidents.

After sitting next to a MAGA bro with some weird ideas on the first flight, I was rewarded on the next two with no one sitting next to me. On the overnight airbus, I was sat on the aisle at the end of a row of four, in the middle of the plane. The dutchman at the other end and I shared air high fives as no one was seated in the two middle seats between us. Yes! I love these spontaneous joyful interactions with strangers. I settled in and ate more delicious KLM food while watching a film, listening to music, and sleeping. Smooth as vegan butter. 

Later, I watched from the window on the last flight as Edinburgh came into view - a calm joy washed over me. I love making that bank over the Firth of Forth. I eased through the border with my U.K. passport, picked up my bag, and ordered a chai. Thanks to the insistence of my parents, I got a taxi back home. 

I enjoyed the banter with the taxi driver as we drove in the sideways morning light. Once dropped off, I rolled my suitcase into my garden and heard the familiar wail of the stray cat (wee bear as he is now known) that I have been feeding for over a year. All was well. My pals had been looking after him while I was away (thanks Alice, Ever, and Eleanor - it takes a village to feed a stray cat). Besides the hungry cat, fresh flowers greeted me along with a card once inside. My people are the best people. 

It was all still here. My heart lives in two places. 

I took a nap, a shower, a walk to visit my Scottish friend tree, and then I jumped into work meetings and again all was well. 

I dedicate this post and the previous three travel posts again to my communities near and far and to all the people who make this world a beautiful and kind place. Thank you. 

Oh, and to music - I dedicate most things to music! 

The album I listened to while flying

I am of the leaves, I am of the trees, I am of the road

I am sitting outside and the yard is now carpeted in orange from the falling leaves. This will be my last Friday night in Arkansas for a while. The stars are above me, and there is a warm wind blowing across the land. Record high temperatures. I see the headlights of the cars and trucks as they round the curve on old Hwy 71 and pass my parents' house in Winslow. I sit stretched out across two white wicker chairs in the dark, illuminated only by the porch light. I am listening again to Hermanos Gutiérrez and their hypnotic music. El Camino De Mi Alma has been the album of my visit.

I know I could take off my headphones and be enchanted by the bugs and the wind in the trees, but the music is equally enchanting and seems to contribute to my writing. Music, music, music... it holds such power and alchemy. I have found myself in the Winslow Dollar General several times over the visit and each time a song has come on that has had the power to shift my mood, my perspective, and my experience. Perfect and meaningful to me.

Modern English: I melt with you

Naked Eyes: Always something to remind me

Prince: 1999

Perfect selections, at the perfect time, in the strangest place. There are no accidents. It's like having my tarot read while surrounded by plastic and shopping for bread. 

Last Saturday, my Mother and I joined members of this community and beyond at the Riverside Rally for Democracy. It was another gorgeous sunny day and there at the Brentwood rest stop along the highway, we gathered for food, music, and camaraderie as we listened to speeches from some of the democratic candidates. It was good to see and chat with some lovely familiar faces.

I have watched more political news during these last 3 weeks than I have in ages and it has reached that special fever pitched intensity as it does right before an election. Repetitive and anxiety producing, the morning pundits drone on. How this election could be as close as it is, is genuinely terrifying. To quote the band X, "I must not think bad thoughts..."

But back to Arkansas, I spent another 24 hours in Fayetteville across parts of Wednesday and Thursday. I spent time in the old house again with a lovely and empathetic friend - ice cream was shared. I enjoyed another Fayetteville style serendipitous encounter/bonus visit with a dear friend as well. And then later that night met another old friend in a parking lot for expensive iced coffee drinks and a deep dive catch up. I drove by Lake Lucille and was glad about that - I love that wee lake. 

The next day I met a friend at Penguin Ed's (the old B&B BBQ) for a delicious lunch and afterwards we visited the East Mountain, Walker, and Confederate Cemeteries. I always go and visit Sally, a formerly enslaved woman who is buried there along with many others. I have visited Sally since I was a little girl. My friend and I shared some stories, got caught up, and took some photos. 

I headed back out towards Winslow a bit wistfully, knowing my trip was starting to wind down and that I won't see these familiar faces and places for another wee while. I keep my eyes on the road and make another trip to the Dollar General for ice cream for my parents. On the way back up the hill, the leaves danced across the highway in the wind. Hope Sandoval of Mazzy Star in her low psychedelic drawl bellows, "Oh.... Sweet Mary of Silence" as I put my foot on the gas and drive.  

I am of the leaves, I am of the trees, I am of the road.

Thank you, Arkansas.

I see you. You see me. We are here.

Sunshine every day.

I haven't felt a drop of rain since I left Edinburgh in the wee hours of Tuesday October 8th. Unfortunately this means that Arkansas is in a drought. I am sorry about this and everyone here is apologising to me for the trees' lack of colour and the crispness of the earth. For me, these temperatures mean SUMMER as I am well acclimated to Edinburgh's weather. Folks here might be rejoicing in the cooler weather but to me it feels wonderfully "scorchio!"

I sit outside every chance I get. I even fell asleep under the sun listening to the bright red leaves of the maple trees rustle in the wind and fall one by one. The sky has been brilliantly blue. I am not sure if I have seen even one cloud. I rejoiced as I witnessed the full moon rise up and over the ridges of the Boston mountains in the night sky.

Nature is a balm for my soul wherever I may be. And for the past week, I have been in the rural community of Winslow, Arkansas after spending a few days in my hometown of Fayetteville. I can't believe I have already been in Arkansas for 10 days. 

When in Fayetteville, I have mostly stayed in the older parts of town that are fairly unchanged. My old neighbourhood has snuck a few houses in on some of the longer lots or replaced old homes with newer ones, but it is mostly intact. I love walking the very familiar streets of my childhood. One morning last week, I walked up to the square and met a dear old friend for coffee and ran into another one there too. So lovely to see these beautiful faces and catch up - however briefly. Touchstones from an earlier life - a family of odd souls. I will always love these warriors who I ran the streets and saw bands with back in the day. We lost a lot of our friends and many of our friends continue to struggle in one way or another, so it's a joy to see each other. I don't take their faces for granted. 

I also spent time sat on a porch swing and then moved on to a screened in back porch and talked the day away with another dear friend. Another friend popped by to chat too. That's how it has always been, spontaneous sightings, chats, hugs, and bowls of soup. That's what makes Fayetteville special and home to me. 

I met another pair of friends for lunch at a place virtually unchanged since the 1980s. It was great to taste the familiar food and see their smiling faces and hear of their latest adventures in life.

On another Fayetteville encounter, I helped a friend with a photography project. I also popped into the best record store - Block Street Records, and had a lovely chat with Logan there who was playing this great album. Everything has a flow in Fayetteville. People are easy and practically jump out at you with kindness and compliments. 

I forgot. 
I don't want to forget again.

Another dear pal came out to Winslow to take me back to Fayetteville to have lunch and then explore "the Ramble" and the new library addition before heading up to Fenix Gallery (sadly closed when we attempted to visit), but we enjoyed the grounds and of course had to take in the view of the town from the cross on Mt. Sequoyah. 

At my parents house, we sit around the dining room table eating meals and chatting about this and that while the television tries to sell us drugs. 

My mother and I attended the monthly vegan potluck at Ozark Folkways with the lovely locals there and then yesterday we ran into another lovely old friend who was participating in a Flea Market in West Fork. Hugs, hugs, and more hugs. I picked up a cool rock and roll sweater for $2. 

I have been driving the winding highway between the two towns and the "back way" from West Fork. I sing at the top of my lungs with the windows rolled down.  As I do, I eat the syllables in the back of my mouth. Short and sharp - I make up guttural country songs as I drive through the falling leaves. 

The other drivers wave, the porch sitters wave. Nod of the head, I wave back.
Our shorthand goes a long way - I see you. You see me. We are here. 

This is autumn in Arkansas. 

The true liminal space and the comfort of art

I left my flat in Scotland at 3 am on Tuesday morning for a 6 am flight to Amsterdam, onward to Minneapolis, and then finally to Arkansas. I was due to arrive in Arkansas at 4:25 on Tuesday afternoon. KLM/Delta was in charge of the flying. All I had to do was eat super tasty vegan food, listen to music, and watch a documentary on Rita Moreno. My other task was to glide through the airports - the true liminal space. 

Once I arrived at Schiphol, I knew I wanted to find the Rijks museum in the airport and so I did. A wee calm oasis awaited me. No more racing people, no loud calls from the speakers above, no hustle and bustle, just art in a dark space. A pause for beauty - inspiring and restorative. A quick breakfast salad and then on to my gate bound for Minneapolis. The flight was delayed by well over an hour and I knew that it would make my last connection close to impossible but I wasn't worried. 

I sat next to a lovely couple from Minnesota on the long flight, we made conversation and took cat naps as we flew like birds. I got a message from the airline app in the middle of the flight to say that they were sorry for the delay and I would be put on a new flight the following morning.

I decided I would be spending the night in the airport and I was okay with it. However, once I landed on the ground and made it through customs and immigration, there seemed like a chance I could make the final connection. I rechecked my luggage and ran through the entire airport. It was 30 degrees warmer in Minnesota that what I am used to and even though the air conditioning was in full effect, the passive solar heat from the huge windows was roasting me as I ran in an attempt to hold the plane. I almost made it but they had stopped boarding and shut the door. I slid down a wall to catch my breath and to rest while. I would be on that next flight tomorrow morning just as the app predicted. 

I spent from 2:30 that afternoon until 8:30 the next morning getting to know the MSP airport. Some chats with friends and family followed and an overpriced dinner was purchased. A couple of 20 minute massages from the robot chairs soothed the spasm in my trap caused by running with my heavy bags.

I found my accommodation for the night within a public art space video installation. This made me laugh as well as feel safe and completely in my element.

Art saves. I trust art, we are friends.

I would "sleep" to the repeating video compilation of artists talking about their varied practices. This was perfect. I had a spot off the main concourse with plug points to charge everything, free WiFi, and even a vending machine with cacao nib vegan chia pudding, that was cold and delightful at 2 in the morning. As the artists repeatedly talked to me about their passions, I would sleep for 2 hours at a time. I meditated and did yoga when sleep eluded me. I washed my hair in the bathroom sink and refreshed myself for the morning flight ahead. I sort of love being put in these types of situations. I am a worrier and over-thinker, but when things go awry, I can get pretty clear about what I need and how to make the best of it. So that's what I did. It's good to be reminded of this trait. 

I arrived at my gate at 5 am for a departing flight at 8:55 am. I greeted the woman who had turned me away from the gate the day before. A cheerful good morning was shared and I told her I was going to be on that plane. We shared a laugh and she said "Yes, you are, and I am moving you up to comfort plus - you will be on that plane." All was well. I chatted with a stranger about the upcoming election and then it was time to fly. 

A quick hop later and I was on the ground in Arkansas. A dear friend picked me up from the ever expanding XNA regional airport. My bag had arrived the night before on the plane (that I really could have been on) but I was just glad it was all there. Hot dry air hit me as I rolled my suitcase to her car. I am back in Arkansas - for the first time since my last visit had me flying out in January 2018.

We arrived at her house, which is the same house I left back in 2014 to move to Scotland. I hugged "my friend tree" (that's it's proper name) and said hello to my beloved cats Rufus and Evie's graves. I am home - it all still exists. 

Jet lagged but content, I listen to the bugs in the trees at night, look to the sky, amazed by the stars, and the sweet freight train calls out in the night. 

 I am home. I am home. I am home...

I dedicate this post to my community, my friends, my co-workers at the Scottish Artists Union, and everyone who has had a kind and supportive word. I wasn't travelling alone, you were all there with me. Thank you. 

Just like a ghost walking in place

 

Music.

Keep fighting.

This is where all the stories start

10 years ago this week I arrived in Scotland to make it my home. There is so much I want to say about it, that it overwhelms me. So this week, I will just share some new art and say thank you to the trees, the flowers, the gardens, the birds, the paths, the wind, the hills, the sea, the music, the art, the cobblestones and old buildings and to all people who have loved, cared for, and supported me during this time. Those that are still here and those that are somewhere else. Thank you also to my dearest, Theo. 

Thank you. 

10 years can be celebrated this week, next week, and even all year. 

I love you, Scotland and I celebrate you every damn day. 

More soon. Keep Fighting. 

Bread, eggs, and butter

Thanks to everyone for your support and enthusiasm for my work and for celebrating the good news that comes my way. I will have lots more words next week but until then enjoy these two small works and this old song.

Keep fighting. 

All that I am: Publishing News!

Image Credit: Printano. Painting: All that I am by Megan Chapman 

Dear Readers and Patrons,

I have some exciting news to share with you all.

I was recently contacted by the creative director of Image Conscious, a San Francisco-based art publisher and distributor of open-edition fine art prints, posters, and canvas reproductions. 

"Image Conscious is one of the largest wholesale art suppliers worldwide, they sell exclusively to retailers, art consultants, interior designers, frame and poster shops, speciality shops, and wholesale framers. In business since 1980, their collection is comprised of some of the world’s finest contemporary artists and photographers."

I am happy to share, I am now one of them! I am beyond thrilled to have signed a contract to license a very special series of my paintings for worldwide reproduction across a variety of platforms, including wholesale and retail! 

Image Credit: Printano. Painting: Everything I love by Megan Chapman 

That means that wherever you are in the world, you can now purchase quality reproductions of my series, Echoes and Memory. There are 15 paintings in the series to choose from, all beautifully reproduced, and now in a variety of sizes available as a rolled or framed print, or a stretched canvas, with all sorts of beautiful framing options. 

It has always been important to me that my art remain accessible and working with Image Conscious makes this a reality, and takes it to the next level! I am really excited about this new partnership. 

As part of this arrangement, I am also delighted that I am currently a featured artist with Printano. 

"As planet-conscious individuals and artists at heart, we envisioned creating a platform that offers the highest-quality artworks to our customers while steadfastly supporting artists and the planet. We believe in the power of art to inspire, transform, and bring about positive change in the world. This belief fueled our mission to create a sustainable and artist-friendly marketplace. Printano came to life in 2022, born from a passion for art and a commitment to sustainability."

I love their ethos and I am so pleased to be part of it and have my work available to more people than ever before. Shop and enjoy the collection on their elegant site.

Image Credit: Printano. Painting: Your quiet heart by Megan Chapman 

Besides Image Conscious for wholesale orders and Printano for retail, you can also find this body of work beautifully reproduced on Art.com, Allposters.com and in more places soon. Currently, at Printano they are offering 15% off your first order and free shipping for orders over $100. 

I am just so happy to share some good and exciting news.

To be an artist is to persevere. 
To be an artist is to protect your work.
This is no easy task but sometimes good things do happen and hard work gets noticed. Good working relationships in the arts can exist and when one of us succeeds, we all do. 

Thank you for your support and enthusiasm for my work and for being here to witness it all. 

Keep fighting.

We are the roses

Work on paper, 2024

I don't really know where to start or what to write this week. My regular readers/viewers will know, this year has been pretty wordless on the old studio blog. I have mostly posted images of my works on paper as I complete them. The past two weeks have seen reactionary posts due to the state of arts funding in Scotland.

Yesterday, I was at the demonstration at the Scottish Parliament regarding the cuts with my peers and fellow artists from the Scottish Artists Union. It was a spirited protest. I chanted, held my placard high, and listened to all of the impassioned speeches. I am always moved by anything Roz Foyer (General Secretary of the Scottish Trades Union Congress) has to say and as usual, she didn't disappoint with her speech yesterday. I could share all the photos I took and I could write more in-depth about the experience. However, I am not sure I have it in me to post that blog today. 

I do feel that trade unions hold so much promise. If you are someone looking for help, a safe place to land, and a place to create change and get involved, then your union might just be the place to go. Our unions are only as strong as our membership. The more engaged our members are, the more power the union has to affect real change. So if you haven't already and you are eligible to join a union, please do so and ask how you can be more involved.

If you are in a reasonably stable place, and you have a bit of time to possibly attend meetings, go to learning events, or perhaps simply read a newsletter and familiarise yourself with your union's website and workings, you will probably get something meaningful back in return for your time. 

I am reminded of John F. Kennedy's famous and often quoted inaugural address from January 20, 1961.  

"And so, my fellow Americans: ask not what your country can do for you — ask what you can do for your country. My fellow citizens of the world: ask not what America will do for you, but what together we can do for the freedom of man."

I'll paraphrase his wise words with an unapologetic union slant: Ask not what your union can do for you, ask what you can do for your union and what together we can do for the freedom of all workers.

I guess I knew what to write all along... and if you have read these last few blogs, thank you. If you have been in the trenches the last couple of weeks and well beyond, thank you. 

You and your work matter. Keep fighting.

Your exposure is my exploitation

Between fear and joy (that's where we live), works on paper, 2024

Thanks to everyone who read and shared my studio blog last week. That post was my most viewed of the year.

There is clearly a systemic misunderstanding of what artists do, how we live, and what we need and want. There is also a devaluation of our time, skills, and methods. Continuous gatekeeping and obfuscation at every turn is the norm. The results of this continue to land on the artists with wounding effects.

These broken systems dine out on the culture we create, yet we are left holding the tab. Emotionally, physically, and financially, we suffer, while the systems that claim to support us grow and thrive. The very systems that pit us against each other while also breaking us down and filling us with doubt. 

Artists seem to be meant to live speculatively and unmoored. Our faith, resilience, and dedication towards creation are meant to sustain us wholly. This is untenable. 

I am not your creative economy. I am an artist. 

I am not your academy. I am an individual. 

I am not your content creator. I am a worker. 

Your exposure is my exploitation. 

My art is my life, not just one part of it. 

I deserve ground under my feet. 

I deserve to be seen and understood. 

I deserve to live well. 

We all do.

The ship is sailing

but I don't want to stop, work on paper, 2024

Through my love of genealogy, I have learned so much about my family’s place in history and the history of the world. It is meaningful to find the beginnings of one’s strength of character, creativity, moral code, or adventurous spirit embedded in the documents of those who have come before. It is moving to find your place in their words, deeds, and movements across the land and sea. 

Recently, I was looking at ship manifests from 1774. This particular one contained a list of passengers on board Ulysses bound for North Carolina from the Port of Greenock, Scotland. Listed are the passenger names, ages, former place of residence, business, and lastly, the reason for emigrating.

“High Rents and Oppression.”

Listed over and over and over again.

“High Rents and Oppression.”

We all know of the Highland Clearances, and most of us know what happened there and why - but for some reason, to read “High Rents and Oppression” repeatedly in this way hit me a bit harder and differently.

250 years later, the same plight comes crashing down around us, “High Rents and Oppression.”

Workers are struggling to pay their rent. Artists are struggling to pay for their studios.

Buildings that held promise are being left to rot - gap sites of misunderstandings and budget cuts. Yet, there is always money for something new and shining.

And then, the news this week from Creative Scotland regarding The Open Fund for Individuals - the fund that supports artists, writers, producers and other creative practitioners in Scotland would be closing due to the Scottish Government being unable to confirm the funds required.

“High Rents and Oppression.”

I am an artist. I tell stories and express feelings with colour, shape, and form. I watch the world and comment on my place in it. I get to be dramatic, daring, and critical. However, I worry some may think I am being too dramatic or that I am not from here and do not have the right to make such connections. I am from here, and I have returned. I stand rooted in my ancestor’s boots.

And I know that artists are packing up their studios, packing up their lives, and hanging up their brushes and other tools. Their offerings and forms of art are disappearing in front of our eyes.

Ideas float past a heartbroken painter, yet she will not look up and grab them. These ideas will float on and away. The jubilant words you need to hear won’t reach that writer as they push their dreams away. The play, the dance, the song, the film - they continue to fade. They are leaving us now...

A cultural diaspora in the making.

The ship is sailing.