tatting art
i recently got roped into exhibiting as an artist.
this is all a great honour and exciting, but there’s a small problem: i don’t consider myself to be an artist. still, it’s my friends’ gallery so i gave it a go, and managed to come up with something, while negotiating my concept of art and my opinion of my own work.
when i consider my creative work, i see myself as an artisan rather than an artist. i am interested in forms, processes, tools and techniques, particularly ones which come with history and tradition. it’s not about message or innovation, though these do have a place. it’s more about embodiment than representation. people for whom art is a primary classification have argued against any of these criteria being necessary, and that anything done in an art gallery, in the company of artists, is art. i see that something can be art when it is under such conditions, but the work may not continue to be art when it is not. what does that mean for my handiwork? i am not convinced that it makes me an artist.
i guess i need to hear more.
anyway, it was a fun experience, despite me not actually having time to put it all together to my satisfaction. i displayed a tableau of tatting, my own pieces along with what i’ve inherited from my grandmother, along with tools, materials and a nice collection of vintage pattern books, all as context for what was to be the main event – an installation/performance of giant tatting. on opening night i sat in the gallery window with sixty metres of climbing rope and a mess of other materials, and proceeded to tat from the middle. instead of wrapping a loop of cotton around my hand and passing a shuttle in and out, i stretched out both feet and passed a loop or rope around my hand and both big toes, and proceeded to manhandle the remaining thirty metre tangle of heavy rope around. i didn’t get far considering how exhausting each and every stitch proved to be, but by the end of the night i had a few rings to hang from the hooks in the window, which looked interesting, at least, as they lead down to the impressive tangles of rope. it was a fun evening, the exhibition was opened with a song from a sister of perpetual indulgence, and alexis and i danced out into the street.
catch up
i haven’t written for a while
i stopped when our generous neighbours, who were letting us use their wireless, suddenly put a password on it. no warning, no internet. that was last year. we’re still waiting on house internet but at least i now have my own interim unwired account, after using meela’s for a while, and before that, sitting in the car wherever i was, trying to catch stray unlocked connections.
much has happened in the last six weeks, that i haven’t quite managed to record. i’ll try to put some of it down… in the last week or so, life has been intense. fast and emotional. very good side by side with very stressful. i ran a couple of screen printing workshops, which were very good, though exhausting. at the first one, i got my car towed for being in a clearway, though the sign didn’t say it was. i’m still stressed about contesting that, i’ve gotten legal advice and still don’t know what to say. i should make some phone calls, but it’s the weekend.
i’m starting a job tomorrow. my third acoustics job – hopefully this one will be ok and last a respectable amount of time. i’m trying to not put too much emphasis on the fact that the boss didn’t manage to show up for my interview, and rather appreciate that he finally got back to me, and let me name my own starting date. hm.
with meela, i still feel like i’m second in line most of the time, whether it’s to absent people, or even to the cat. i understand when she’s missing people, but i’m a little impatient about being ignored in favour of a cat.
urk. sore throat – clogged head– runny nose – headache – difficulty breathing – sore nose – red eyes – sneezing – coughing – sore ribs – itchy ears– white– yellow – green – brown – red. not too many possibilities left, so it’s nearly done. no tonsillitis.
at the same time, staying home while everyone else is at some unmissable party or other, i’ve been getting up early and managing to do things! i’ve made sequential plans for wood work projects i haven’t touched in years, glued together the layers for a hat block, sorted out the disintegrating patterns in my sewing machine cover, dared to soak new gloves and old dress and get out stains i never thought would go, played piano, put brush to surface and varnished the escritoire, packed tools and materials in appropriate size boxes, started on a screen printing template, a light box and hat block stand, and put my beloved sewing machine in for fixing and a service. not to mention cooking and cleaning, eating and getting hungry. actually, life is good.
ten years coming
i finally had a market stall yesterday. it was a big deal, selling my own work. i’d been mildly stressed in the leadup, but it happened, and was even moderately successful.
the day was quite pleasant, if very slow. i showed up before 9am, set up my card table, tablecloth, rubber stuff, screen printing and canes, and proceeded to sit there.
gretchen showed up at ten, as arranged. company was very good.
i talked to a bunch of friends and people i haven’t seen in a while, but even more dashed past not noticing, with the fixed gaze of someone scared a stallholder might want to talk to them and try to get them to buy something.
i made a custom cuff to fit the sister of a friend who was working another stall. she was quite young and thought her mother would kill her if she came home with spikes, so she settled for purple sparkles. she was so happy with it that she kept coming up to show me she was still wearing it, which created some much needed interest. when she asked why i had made one of them so small i tried it on a little boy who was fortituously hanging around, and he walked away happy with blue sparkles. someone else bought a collar with brown knobs on it, and paddy decided my black and silver canes were the perfect accessory for bloodlust that night, and so was very generous – telling me what he thought i should charge for them, then actually paying it! that all came to $70. i probably would’ve done better waiting till the bitter end, but i was already late for my dinner plans.
aurelie had come past earlier, leaving all excited to drag heather back to see my stall. they finally showed when we had packed up and were crossing the road loaded up with stuff. both parties kept walking, and that was the end of the day.
i can breathe!!!!!
this is the first wednesday of the wonderful new anti smoking laws. after passing up offers to go out for a few weeks before – why deal with smoke when i soon wouldn’t have to – i was beginning to wonder if it was a horrible mistake and laws were only changing in england. that was all i could find media on.
so i was a little nervous of disappointment tonight, as most of the household trouped up to the sly fox. on walking past a huddle of smokers on the pavement, i felt a strange mix of revulsion and elation. it smelt so bad, but could only mean one thing: they’re real, the laws are real, they’re being taken seriously, the day has finally come!
inside, the place became packed. many people i knew were there. i got many complements on my good old favourite red dress, and lots of attention for the collar i was wearing, with a double layer, red press studs and short spikes. several people wanted to know if i sold them. the frisson of alter ego discussion continued. a few people i didn’t know said hello to me, apparently because i was wearing a red dress.
i stood in the front area, which is quieter but usually so smoky that i hold my breath most of the time. i took a deep breath. i filled my lungs with air as clean as it comes in sydney. without turning my head, surreptitiously searching for the best pocket of oxygen. without measuring my breaths. without covering my mouth. without analysing, and dodging, wafts of smoke.
i danced without coughing, and without half my brain and one eye logging the precise location, probable path and reach of each wildly swinging cigarette in view.
i went home without stinking of smoke. when i go to bed without a shower i’ll be able to sleep without stretching my neck unnaturally so as to keep my nose as far away from my body as possible. when i take my clothes off i don’t have to dump them over the bath rail in a futile attempt at airing; i can put them in the washing pile without it stinking out my room and needing to be washed twice. i’ll wake up with no more goop in my head than i already would’ve had, and when i get up and have to put on the same coat i wore last night, i can do so without asphyxiating myself for a week, and generally smelling disreputable.
i can breathe.
the pressure of a name
more thoughts on identity and facade: why have i ended up with such a girly pseudonym? pretty and drawn from religion, it’s not me.
historically, it actually is me. it is my hebrew name, given to me by my parents. taken from two random great aunts or something. and anglicised. back in 1999 when i studied millinery, i went to considerable trouble to create a label that was suitable for branding hats. now it has branded me. maybe i should leave hanaleah to the nice little black and silver cloth labels that i stick in my creations, and become something a little more true. but first i’d have to find something.
harness fame
heh! i was at the sly fox last night, and one of the performances featured a harness she had made in my workshop. it looked good! in some strange way i feel validated, after my last workshop at camp betty being such a disaster. a disaster that nobody noticed because they were all so busy enjoying it, but i felt bad nonetheless.
