Today was wonderous, a different day to the rest, a bunch of artists, potential residency holders, went underground, 30 odd metres, under the Northern Line, indeed, we could hear every single train rattle over our heads as we stood below. We stood in vast, long, empty tunnels, surveying our studios. I weighed up how I would feel being down there there day after day working. I am undecided.
I reckon they're pleased to see someone their age. That's Dyson standing and the man smiling on his right is the rector. He had met me earlier, liked one of the drawings.
Then a call with my tutor, "no curly edges Christy...". No curly edges... no curly edges... paper curled, by definition almost, curly edges were the norm. No curly edges...
It's amazing how things change when one realises one has to pull one's socks up. I have so much to do and the drawing has to take priority. Here's an out of focus detail. That's another thing I have to do, get a professional to document it all for me.
We ran a workshop at the V & A. It was fun but tiring.
I got through.
One of the primary reasons I went to the RCA during a fairly mundane but successful career was this - D R A W. Being the RCA, it's intellectually rigorous. Can you imagine a room full of new drawings that are trying to get out of the RCA to speak to the world about the world? That's me on the right, worrying desperately about my drawings in that little black sketchbook.
“The canary bird in the coal mine theory of the arts: artists should be treasured as alarm systems.”
My blog, a thought or two