Waiting (again)

I am back dating these posts more often than I like and the tuesday studio video visits fell by the wayside long ago. I didn't even try to sell you anything this year. 

I am letting it all slide and fall away as my energy is spent on living and laying down the first two bricks of the foundation in the hierarchy of needs. Again. 

I had a good dream last night, one of the special - true to life, lucid dreams, filled with symbolism and allure. I made a great cup of coffee this morning and I sang a made up song at the kitchen counter while looking up at the skeleton trees. 

Not bad at all. 

I completed some chores and I thought about ancient times. I listened to a familiar voice with his vulnerability vibrating down the line - a character actor singing about nothing. Perfectly. 

I meditated. 

I don't mind waiting.

Screaming from the window

"I am mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore" but what am I supposed to do with this anger?  Should I open the window and scream? Would you like to join me? 

I have so many things I want to say but I don't have the energy to get into it (isn't that what they want). My salty tears and mood are mostly about artists and our continued poor earnings and exploitation and the broken system we are attempting to operate in. My anger is fueled by the myriad of reports (this is the latest) that back that last statement up and the cherry on top is the racist xenophobic radge I sat next to on a recent bus journey.  

I am the master of looking for the positive spin, the humour, and the story of it all but I am really fucking tired of conjuring up this way of coping in order to make other people feel more comfortable or to make my rage more palatable.

So you can see why I am short on words this week. Yelling from the window seems the best option. I will meet you there. 

Buy Nothing Day

"I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that."

- Lloyd Dobler, Say Anything

What is old is new again

Archive in Progress

Thank you to everyone who read last week's post, "I'm not the artist I used to be." It seemed to strike a chord with many of you. It was one of my most viewed posts of the year. In fact, since I returned to writing more long form posts starting the second week of October, the readership has increased dramatically. This has of course been very encouraging. Writing this blog each week since 2007 has always been one of the more important and meaningful elements to my art practice. 

I have been feeling a strange sense of excitement like something good is about to happen, a bit like a kid the night before Christmas. This either means I am about to start painting again after a break, the weather is about to change (snow is forecasted), or it could be because I have been taking a deep dive into an older record by Interpol. Most likely, it's a combination. 

Part of me wants to get up and paint something new right now so I have some art to show you here but that is a ridiculous way to work and one of my old ways of operating. I have loads of pieces to show you, and I have older works that you have forgotten or never saw the first time around.

That brings me back to Interpol's 4th album, Interpol.

As I mentioned in my recent post, Our joy is our power, - "...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" and that is what has happened. When their 4th album came out in 2010 I didn't connect with it right away. However, I did go to see them on the tour in support of it. There was a lot going on in my life at that moment and the record didn't quite register with me in a meaningful way. It was a fine album, there were a few songs that I really liked, and then I put it away.

Interpol's fourth album is seemingly conceptual taking the listener through the course of a relationship - perhaps as the band was navigating some issues amongst themselves in real time. It was the last album that Carlos Dengler (their amazing bass player) worked on. It was reportedly hard to record. 

I am not a music critic and I don't get a thrill from dissecting an album song by song, and you aren't here for that anyway. However, I can tell you, that the song, Try it on has been on repeat for a week and I get a thrill from it each time. When it's not in my headphones, it's in my mind playing. It's the rhythm, repetition, and phrasing along with all the layers that pull me in. I find the emphatic, pleading delivery, immense. 

"Please explore my love's endurance
And stay, stay
Please endure my love's exhortations
No way, no fucking way, no"

I have been diving into the old beats, floating through the phrases, identifying with the emotions and feeling so lucky that I receive music in such a way that it can completely transcend the less lovely parts of life. And that something old can be new again and give me more joy than I ever imagined. 

And here lies the lesson. I have paintings that you haven't seen. I also have paintings that you have seen but maybe you weren't in the right place to receive them at the time. I have paintings that fit into your life now that perhaps didn't then. 

Artists get sensitive about this. We want to show you the new thing - where our heads are now. What we think is our best work as we keep evolving our craft and expanding our meanings behind it. There is also judgment around older work - it must still be hanging around because no one wanted it and now it has expired, as if art comes with a "use by" date like food. That's ridiculous.

I am listening to a song on an album from 2010 on repeat and it is delivering a fresh punch of joy each time. 2024 happens to be the year I was able to receive and comprehend this gift. 

When I don't share my older work, I am censoring myself and I am limiting your experience of my work. That's madness and that brings me to my archive. 

I have been working on my archive for years because my website is out of date due to space limitations and because of this, it is sadly static. My goal for the archive was to first showcase the last 10 years of my art - the large bodies as well as the smaller bodies of work. This is a huge undertaking and I have been working on it for ages and it is still not done. I haven't shared it because in my mind it is not perfect or complete. I need to get out of this trap and so I have decided to offer it up to you as it stands now.

I hope you will enjoy just some of the work I have created in the past 10 years in Scotland from my archive. There is still so much more to add to it. Currently, you will see untitled work, work with missing information etc. so if you have any questions about anything you see or don't see here don't hesitate to ask or leave me a comment. Eventually, I will share work from the beginning of my career on the archive too.

I just need to make a start, so here goes. Keep fighting, we need you here, perfectly imperfect.

I present to you the ARCHIVE.

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