Algorithms be damned

dark interiors

Dear Readers,

It's another cold but bright start to the day. The coffee is hot, and the fake fire hums. This past week was fairly quiet, but the theme of connection buzzed throughout.

After I posted my blog last Friday, I walked over to see my talented pals Fiona Thompson and Chris Donnelly of Cyan Clayworks. Their studio is warm, bright, and inviting - just like them. Their pal, Craig Peebles, was also visiting. Craig is the founder of Welby & Wright, an encaustic tile maker, master tiler, and artist. It was lovely to be welcomed into the fold with mince pies, tea, laughs, and art chat on a Friday afternoon. I even left with a flock of Chris' wee chickens and plan to go back later today for one or two more in yellow!

If you are local to Leith/Edinburgh or passing through, make plans to visit Fiona and Chris, as well as the many other talented artists and creative businesses taking part in the upcoming Leith Creative Trail.

After chatting with all of them, I stopped by Malt & Hops (est. 1747) to enjoy their coal fire and have a non-alcoholic beer. I've always loved this pub; the warm, dark interior feels like an embrace.

The weekend consisted of a bit of charity shopping, painting, and reconnecting with my fellow artists and patrons online. I managed to share two posts on Instagram and Facebook; somehow, I hadn’t posted to my Instagram grid since 23 June.

In case you missed it, here's what I wrote and posted.

Photo from a dear patron showing one of my paintings in their home in Holland.

"Hello, my dear and wild friends - I hope this finds you. I’ve been thinking about this space and how I use it. I miss how we used to connect, but I also loathe the platform - and the algorithm can fuck off. I haven’t been making “content” lately, and I’m trying to find a way back to you, grounded in our shared care. Maybe this is a start: if you see this, could you drop a comment or an emoji? Thank you for your years of support for my painting." 

It was wonderful to hear from so many folks - with a total of 153 emojis and approximately 67 comments between the platforms. I really needed that sense of connection to remind me of the importance of community building in my art practice.

I posted this as a follow-up. 

Photo from a lovely patron showing one of my paintings in their home in England

"Thank you for your kind, encouraging comments on my recent post. It was wonderful to reconnect with so many of you, from early supporters to more recent friends. It truly means the world. Your support keeps me painting through storms and opportunities alike.

These days, I'm taking a slower, more intentional approach - algorithms be damned. I'm still here, making work in fits and starts, and I can't wait to share it with you."

And again, I was met with a sense of community. 89 emojis and 7 comments across the two platforms. If you commented or reacted to the posts this week, thanks again. It's not about numbers; it's about connection, and it gave me a needed boost and a reminder to reach out.

Due to my postings, I was also contacted by and learned about a new community arts space in Glasgow called MOMO. According to the organiser, they are a small space in an area of Glasgow not normally associated with art, and they are attempting to find a community of folks who not only love art but also want to participate. I can appreciate that ethos and understand that it can be more difficult to start something like this off the beaten path. So if this sounds up your street, give MOMO a follow on social media, and if you are in Glasgow, pop by for a coffee and some art to support their mission.

Also, thanks to my post, I had a lovely Zoom catch-up with my friend and fellow artist Muriel Prince. Muriel lives and works in the Scottish Borders. It was great to talk "artist to artist" about life, work, and cats. Muriel's "draw walk" technique is fascinating, and her works are richly layered with meaning and feeling. It was great to reconnect.

Otherwise, it was a normal week: working, watching films and shows, keeping in touch with loved ones, and watching more Stewart Copeland interviews.

As I mentioned above, I painted, but I wasn't thrilled with the results. Dark and brooding - but not fully realised, so I won't share it just yet. Painting something is better than painting nothing, and reconnecting with my fellow artists, patrons, and the wider community is an important step in the right direction.

I am not sure what this weekend holds. I will probably attempt another social media post. There will be a painting session on Sunday, and big thoughts and ideas rattling around my brain. Some will be actualised, and most won't, and that is all just part of the process.

I will wrap up warm in my new charity shop jumper, get outside and see what the big city has to offer and go get my chickens!

Thanks for being part of my community. We really are in this together. I hope you have a warm and relaxed weekend. Keep fighting.

Tend to the small fires

Awake in the dark, the screen illuminates my fingers as a cup of coffee balances on the arm of the sofa. Flames of dancing light from my electric fire pretend to lap the air. Kodomotachi by Susumu Yokota plays on my big headphones.

It's Friday morning; the work week is behind me once again. This is a strange way for me to think about time. When one is self-employed (as I have been for much of my life), the work week is never behind you. Time has been bending in on itself, forward and then back. I am somewhere in between - my dreams vivid, the subconscious hard at work.

I didn't "make art" this past Sunday but I reflected on it and discussed these thoughts with my mother. We felt that this counted as a "sunday session." I hope to return to making art this weekend.

Last Sunday, I attended a cultural event, which is perhaps even better than making art, due to the energy exchange that comes from being around like-minded people with a singular focus. 

I was fortunate to see Stewart Copeland (the brilliant drummer of The Police and a gifted composer) speak about his life and work at The Queen's Hall. He was always my favourite member of the band. I still vividly recall the pride I felt as I wore my new Ghost in the Machine Tour t-shirt (a gift from my brothers who had actually seen the tour) to elementary school when I was barely ten. Years later, I wore that same shirt to a Black Flag show in 1986; at fourteen, though, I remember feeling pretty square in it. Needless to say, I left that gig wearing a different band's name. 

Anyway, I loved The Police, and Stewart Copeland was the best, so seeing him tell his stories about it all was a delight. Beyond his obvious talents, he is funny, irreverent, whip smart, and is an expert storyteller. Laughing at his antics as part of an audience of his admirers felt good and warm. 

On Monday, I met up with my good pal, Ever Dundas for a return visit to the secret garden in the city centre. With our hot chocolates, we enjoyed talking about all things music while sitting in the garden on a bench in the sun. It was a lovely outing. Music and friends make the world go round. 

Before I met up with Ever, I popped into Edinburgh Central Library to visit the Art & Design Library housed upstairs. I was short on time, but it was good to peruse a few art books and to just see what they had on offer.

Tuesday was a grey day of rain and remembrance, tears, and smiles.

Wednesday and Thursday were filled with work and meetings, and now here we are.
I am not sure what this weekend and week ahead holds. 

I'll leave you with my cheeky visage just to show off my latest charity shop acquisition (the necklace) because I love it and finding such treasures brings me joy. And we can all use a bit more of that.

Thank you for spending some of your precious time with me. Until next week, keep fighting for good, take care, and stay warm.

Messages on the wind

to the weir

Dear Reader,

I hope you are okay. Before I sat down to write to you, I opened the window to let in the crisp morning air and I said good morning to the moon.

Earlier this week, I walked by the water of Leith on slick yellow leaves, mud, and cobbles, and found myself at the foot of my favourite tree, seeking refuge. I breathed in the damp earth and sent messages on the wind.

process

Last weekend, I managed to paint, but I couldn't focus. I washed my brushes, looked at my previous work, and pushed some paint around. It's all part of the process and practice. I am reminded of this repeatedly.

On a rare Wednesday off work, I met my friend Julia for a day of art in the city. We saw the following exhibitions: * = personal highlights

RSA Academicians Gallery: Toby Paterson RSA

Scottish Gallery: *Modern Masters XIX, *Rachel Larkins - Raising Ghosts, Lachlan Goudie - From the Forest to the Forge

Open Eye Gallery: Adrian Wiszniewski RSA, Jonathan Gibbs, Alex Malcolmson and select artists from the gallery (*David Schofield RGI)

Graystone Gallery: Boundless Motion: Land & Form - Astrid Leeson & Sophia Pauley and select artists from the gallery

Rachel Larkins' jewellery exhibition at the Scottish Gallery was magical and enchanting, with plenty of favourite pieces. The Modern Masters XIX exhibition has some wonderful Joan Eardley pieces among other standouts.

At the Open Eye Gallery, David Schofield's piece, This Mortal City, appeared illuminated from within and was captivating with its dreamlike narrative.

down stockbridge way

Thursday was mostly a blur, but that brings us to today's exhibition, or rather, experience.

Leith School of Art: *Jessica Wolfson - Rain, I don't mind

On my way home this afternoon, I popped into Leith School of Art. And by popped in, I mean I interrupted a group of women chatting in front of the school, and asked if I could go inside to see the exhibition advertised on the fence. They buzzed me in and then left me to it.

Once I entered the space, the familiar art school smell overwhelmed me in the best way. The natural light, white walls, and spareness of it all felt like home. I continued through the space following Wolfson's paintings through an entryway to the school's small library as the exhibition continued. I turned to look at the wall of art books and felt a catch in my throat as a beautiful stained glass window caught my eye. I took a postcard with course offerings and then let myself out. I waved my thanks to the group as I made my way off the small campus.

Back on the road, my soul absolutely ached - it had recognised itself within those walls. The old Norwegian Seaman's church turned art school was calling after me, "come back... you've lost your way - please, come back..."

As tears welled up in my eyes, I heard the old building loud and clear.
____________________

Until next week, keep listening.

With love and gratitude.

X.