20 Boxes

I spent 3 days obsessive-neatly wrapping and packing accumulated books, papers and clothes in June. I sat on the floor of our large kitchen/living room, hunched over as I discarded bumf and saved for posterity. My back killed, but I was against the clock. Husband went to buy me some GT Dave’s kombucha as a treat to get me through. It was pretty much a job I did alone, as it was pretty much all my stuff. I inherited packing boxes, sharpie markers, tape guns, newsprint paper and bubble wrap from the week before – Leslie and I neatly sorted Peter Wollen’s papers for their future life in the BFI archive, awaiting the day that a researcher will make a break through upon finding collected library fines. So I had the skills to archive my own California life so they could be shipped separately. 20 boxes with hospital corners later and my life was all wrapped up. We loaded up our car with the assorted leftover debris and went to cat-sit for 3 weeks on the Westside, before returning to Sheffield. Our cat-sit stint served as a buffer between our two separate lives.

We said au revoir to the ranch in a number of ways. (Not goodbye). We threw a party to celebrate my birthday, with CalArts and Mexican friends. My birthday present from Husband was a horse ride on one of the ranch horses, Bear, a retired park-ride horse with a shoulder injury, indulged me whilst we walked the arena and some lemon groves. I cried as I got off, it was an intimate and emotional experience.

Once we left we visited a couple of times, to spend time with Gera and his family, going to the beach with them, and to cook a meal for Ellen and David and spend time with them. The ranch was the first place husband and I lived together, and as I look back on our time there, its like a dream, I can’t believe we were so lucky and everything worked out so well. A part of us will always be Deep End Ranchers. (Saying goodbye to Lily the Springer Spaniel broke my heart, and with no spaniel in my life at present, I don’t know how I will ever cope with stress again. She was a fluffball of love who slept on our bed and played fetch obsessively, oh bless her sweetness!)

The final three weeks flew by and contained some Iyengar yoga classes, beach walks, a goodbye to me and Brica beach party followed by barbeque and our final Mexican meals (our staple diet for the year).

I saw a posted for Jarvis Cocker playing at the Wiltern Theatre in LA, two days before our flight home. Husband facebooked his old friend, now Jarvis’ guitarist, to wangle us some free tickets (we’d pretty much run out of money) and so we found ourselves at the gig. Jarvis, a professional Sheffielder, was a great way to get us excited about our return home (and down to earth). His witty observations and great music connected me to our roots. Before I left Sheffield in 2007 we went to see the Red Hot Chilli Peppers and I remember using that to get excited about my new California life.

As I looked out the window of our flight from Heathrow to Manchester (we had a direct flight from LA to Heathrow), I saw the grey sky and green fields with different eyes. My land felt foreign. The next 6 weeks were in a sense, a struggle to find myself, at home. I took part in a Summer Yoga School at the Sheffield Yoga Centre and S1/Critique at S1 Artspace, both important places in re-situating myself. On the critique programme was Jerome, a friend I know through S1 and particularly coffee mornings showing and telling our work.

I house sat for 10 days in London. I meant to see art, but after a trip to the Freud Museum, the Camden Arts Centre and the Photographer’s Gallery I realised I wasn’t in the mood. Instead I went to see ‘the London Folies’ and ‘Hotel Follies’ and put Fopp DVDs, M & S blouses and a What Katy Did waist cincher on my credit card. My job applications for Photo Technician at Sheffield Hallam University and Project Manger at BLOCspace were unsuccessful. The real world felt bleak. I felt empty and lost. I wanted something to that would totally take over my life instead of the bits of bobs of a freelancer I left in 2007. I saw an advert for ‘Fine Art Teaching Researcher’ at Sheffield Hallam. The post was for a full time three year PhD in Fine Art with some teaching. The details sounded like everything I wanted in my life, perfect I thought. I completed the application form and proposal down in London, and I knew I was punching above my weight. I found myself in an art book shop on Charing Cross road. I had the overwhelming feeling of being a fraud – I didn’t know every theory and every artist in all the books there – how could I be ready to teach or generate the original work a PhD required? Well, sometimes, winging it works. I got it! Hurrah! I had to do a 10-minute presentation on ‘Fine Art Research’ in front of an audience of 15 teachers and an in-depth interview with a panel of four. I met the three other applicants for the two available posts. I was the youngest and least experienced. I was relieved to see Jerome was there too. I was over the moon to hear later that evening that Jerome and me were successful.

The day of the interview, our 20 boxes arrived from LA. I’ve spent the last week unpacking the boxes and trying to integrate this surplus of stuff into my Sheffield home. I realise now that some of it is worthless rubbish that went straight in the bin, but on the Ranch, I needed to defer that decision to trash everything. I just didn’t know what was what at that point.

In the meantime, Husband has been focussed on mentally preparing for his first return to full time study since he left school aged 15. He’s doing BSc Biomedical Sciences at Sheffield Hallam University, the same campus I’ll be at! Unfortunately, he broke his collarbone 15 days ago so we’re sitting in the Northern General Hospital now. I got my wrist re-Xrayed too (lingering pain).

Things are slotting into place. The boxes are getting unpacked. Tomorrow is my first day at Hallam. Husband and I can go in together.

Faking It

Seventeen years of dancing lessons (at Constance Grant Dance Centre to be precise) have taught me a number of things. But perhaps, my favourite of all, is ‘faking it’: when you have forgotten the correct dance steps, substitute them for steps you make up as you go, with such performance, personality and conviction that it looks to the audience as though you either have different dance steps to everyone else on purpose, or that everyone else is wrong. (I’ve had Miss Tracey in hysterics watching me totally re-do her choreography whilst performing and smiling for all I’m worth. But of course, since she taught me the trick of faking, she could do nothing else but laugh!)

Faking it in art is a tricky thing to own up to. It translates as bullshitting. No-one wants to admit to that. But I find myself, for quite defensive reasons, convincing myself, unconsciously, that THIS IS IT, because I know I am near to IT, so its comforting to say I am here now, I stake my claim HERE. But, alas, on reflection, I am faking it. It is, a rational response to being not there yet, which is, frustrating and at worst painful. This is where I was last week, and I felt that the combined efforts of Ellen, Natalie and David coxed me – gently, aggressively and without judgement respectively to address my not there-yet-ness and keep working towards the right spot. I am pleased to announce, I got there. I think. Let’s wait and see for the responses to my thesis show.

Yes, the moment the scales fell from my eyes was totally traumatic, I felt lost, confused and scared. Unfortunately, that’s what art-making (for me, at least) involves, and so, the reality is, I’ll have a life-time of these occasional total freak-outs.

Faking is a bit of a recurring motif at present. I’ve felt rather like I’ve been taking part in the Channel 4 television series ‘Faking It’. Before Christmas I had my first ever singing lesson from an actress/opera singer, Danielle. We traded skills – I did 1940s style photo-shoot for her and she gave me singing lessons. Six lessons and much homework later, I recorded the song we worked on together. The tune is ‘And All That Jazz’ a Kander and Ebb song from the musical ‘Chicago’, and the words are taken from a section from Laura Mulvey’s Visual Pleasure in Narrative Cinema (1978) essay. Danielle fit the words to the music and recorded her version for me to practice to. I now have her version and my version. And mine is, well, awful. Danielle was very pleased with my progress – being able to sing the right notes in the right order a cappella. But really, it is not an aesthetic high point. But I tried very hard, and that is the way I know how to generate authenticity. Interestingly, I am now having official singing lessons from the Music School. And the Musical style suits my voice. Apparently. Live performance, anyone?

Concurrently I’ve been learning a Fosse-style dance to go with my song. I’ve been working with a BFA1 dance student, Staci, who’s been great. She worked with me, devising the majority of the choreography, teaching it to me and checking it. With some dance experience this wasn’t so traumatic. A little embarrassing when the only rehearsal space was the large main gallery (also a main thorough-fair in the building. Avram, a graduated BFA, very smart and interesting person, just happened to walk by. He hates my infatuation with the showgirl figure, so no doubt he was grimacing inwardly.

I’m going to video myself singing and dancing my song – the main part of my thesis show. I know I will hate my singing and dancing and the piece will make me cringe. However, It’s been an interesting process stepping into other artforms, ones that use the body as the artwork. I admire that quality in singing, dancing and acting. They involve using the body as a conduit for art. This creates a very immediate relationship to the audience, which I think I’m jealous of. It can feel like art is very separate from you, like a baby. Or a poo. Something that was part of you, but now is not, that you leave in the gallery for all to see.

The process of singing and dancing has been great fun, though. I kinda what to get into amateur dramatics now. I really hope that one of the am-dram companies in Sheffield will do a production of an old-fashioned musical (my wish list: 42nd Street, Chicago, any Cole Porter) when I return home. (When I was about 9 years old, Mum, Dad and I went to London for a short-break which we did a few times when I was young and we went to see 42nd Street. A unknown 19-year old Catherine Zeta Jones was in the lead role.)

Prior to all this art-making/trauma, I had a great Christmas holiday. Dad visited for nearly two weeks. He had a bad cold and felt lousy most of the time, but he enjoyed himself and he got to meet Ellen, David, Leslie, Kaycyila (we had Cricket over Christmas) and David and Ellen’s neighbouring ranch-owner friends. He got on with everyone and everyone liked him. He got to understand Ranch life and being an artist a little more. All good stuff. Sadly, Husband is having back problems – apparently due to his pelvis popping out of place. It’s been really painful for him and he doesn’t have an end point when it will stop and get better, so he’s pretty down about it. This year has been a challenge for him, and it’s been a deviation from his dream-plan. But, I think he will go home with some good life-learning experiences ready for his launch into full-time education (he’s going to start Bsc Biomedical Science at Sheffield Hallam University in September).



Thats a crocheted coral reef from an exhibition we went to see, co-curated (and croched in part) by Christine Wertheim.

Ranch Life

Husband and I are here together this year. We're on a 100 year old ranch in Santa Paula, home of David Bunn and Ellen Birrell. They have a number of guest houses and we are renting one. It's very hard to understand how we got so lucky, but we have. The ranch is like some kind of retreat. Lemon and avocado orchards are commercially picked and the fruit sold, with plenty of fruit for us and additional grapefruit, orange and pear trees. Chicken and ducks lay eggs and there is a vegetable patch with chard, squash, herbs and I'm not sure what else. Our veg bills will be non-existent. As a vegetable eater this just heaven. We only really need to buy dairy foods, tofu, cereals and pulses to sustain us. There is also a swimming pool shaped like a lagoon, designed by Michael Jackson's Neverland Ranch designer earlier in his career. The ranch backs onto National Parks type land (forgotten their terminology here) so when you run out of the 3800 acres of ranch land you can keep going into park land.

We hope to subsidise the rent by working on the ranch. The commute is 40 mins to CalArts, but its a straight drive. We really hope to make it work living up here. Its not city life but it is something rather unique and idyllic. We had to grab the offer with both hands.

My three months at home were great. I got to see pretty much all my friends (bar two) and spend time with Dad. When I got home I really need to rest after the nine months I'd had and with my broken wrist. Husband and I watched two seasons of 24 in a short period of time followed by the Hitchcock Signature DVD collection and a Film Noir boxset. I caught up with one of my old workplaces, the Sheffield Yoga Centre and spent some time with my lovely yoga teacher. A friend's very dear mother whom I visited two days before I initially came out to Calarts last year, lost her battle with breast cancer and I was so privileged to be home and able to attend her funeral. I was home for my own mother's birthday and the tenth anniversary of her death. We don't morbidly dwell on such dates but it was nice to reflect on them at home. I went from a disorientated shell shock of recognising home but not quite being there, to fully being present there. And now I'm here. Again, with a kind of recognition of CalArts but a disengagement of it. That will all change soon. As the term starts the pace will pick up and I'll feel like, 'we're off again'. I'm so lucky to have husband to ground me this year.

I really hope I have a good year this year. I have a plan of what I what to do and I really hope it happens and goes well. The challenge of the year will really be in taking part in the Mid-Residency show and the end of year Los Angeles show, that the students organise. This will be where the diva egos raise their ugly heads. And they will. I hate diva behaviour, and from artists it makes me cringe.

It's Nice To Be Home

CalArts now seems like a dream sequence, it did as soon as I got home. It's hard to reconcile the experiences of the last nine months with life back in Sheffield. It is great to be back. Though I am taking it slow re-connecting with friends as it feels a bit, erm, cheeky re-inserting yourself into your old life. I have to be considerate of others and not just go 'ta-da!' here I am. Or at least thats how I feel.

A rather valued good friend managed to get me a well paid temporary job, which I really love. Doing PR for b.TWEEN 08, a media/technology/creative event happening in Manchester next week. It's fun. It is so nice it makes me feel like, wow, have I been here all year and not noticed? I don't know, that struggle to bring back California Me pervades all my thoughts.

I have seen a rather successful artist good friend and she's had a great year and I liked hearing her news. I popped into S1 and Bloc and although both are doing well the Arts Council are really putting the squeeze on all art organisations. The Arts Council just pisses me off and I have a lot to say about what they get wrong but I fear if I start to blog that I will be here all day, and also may lessen my chances of getting money off of them, which I probably will want at some point. Even though I think having an Arts Council logo on your artwork is deeply uncool.

Obvioulsy re-uniting with husband was lovely and we are so back into normality again that for me it feels like I haven't been away. I don't think he feels the same way, the nine months having been harder for him. But we've done it. I think that is the longest we will have to be parted and its behind us now.

My little 2-year old friend, Freya is doing very well and is lovely, as are her parents whom I adore, (Pat & Jo) but I don't think Freya remembers me. And that makes me a little sad.

Feeling at home involves re-connecting with people and also tastes of home. Tastes include:
eating fish and chips - our local chippy has changed hands and they now do soggy chips which I cant stand so I'm a bit gutted about that
curry - love it, love our takeaway, wish I could eat it every night
HobNobs, eaten some at work
Ribena - tastes better out of a box rather than out of a bottle
Fruit flavoured beer - Belle Vue - not available at our local offy or supermarket so was pleased its now on tap at the Showroom
Blue Moon cafe meals

Tastes that I miss from my other home:
Pinkberry frozen yogurt
Oreos
Breakfast Burritos
Pancakes
All breakfast food

Bite Me

Me and Husband celebrated one year of marriage yesterday! Albeit in separate countries. Fish and chips is a special meal for us so when we had our respective teas (dinners - I miss saying the word tea, sorry to non-Northerners there!) we had fish and chips. That was the plan. There's a British restaurant called The Rose & Crown in a mini shopping precinct on a street round the corner that I went to with Alexis and Sidonie - a really nice MFA2 Photo student from Paris. It was shut. Its shut on Mondays. Using her quick thinking Alexis called up BJs, a Chicago diner chain to find out if they served the important dish - they did - we ate it - and had a big brownie pudding thing afterwards too for good measure. It was not exactly authentic, but nice. The chips were coated in savoury seasonings and the fish batter was a bit too heavy - a bit like a pancake batter, not light and crispy enough. Husband had has fish and chips at home, and his mum made it healthy with a jacket potato. This places added importance on our first fish and chip shop take away complete with mushy peas, when I get home in 5 weeks. Funnily enough, Sidonie, the Parisian was very interested to hear about mushy peas and wants me to make some here. Can you believe that? It took me a while to get my head around that.

Other good news. I got a Calarts scholarship for next year - they are giving me $12,000 for the year. This is an unusually high figure for a grad student. So I feel very lucky. I still need to do much fund raising and need to earn a lot of money over the summer.

Today I gave a presentation in Buffy class. I worked really hard on it. My feeling is, I can unpick film, photography and television and by having something to say on them, I am admitted to higher, more learned debates (without having to do all that reading. I'm not so good at reading). So I pushed myself, I wanted to see how far I could take my ideas. My presentation was basically delivering a formal paper - just me speaking - a personal perspective on watching way too much Buffy. I entitled it 'Christianity, Rape, Heroin Addiction, Cockney Rhyming Slang, Tea and The British Class System: A Personal Decoding of Buffy'. If that really tickles your fancy, email me and I can forward you my notes. Leslie came up to me afterwards to tell me that she really enjoyed it and that she overheard many of the others in the class saying how much they enjoyed it too. She really liked what my brain did with it, she said. In particular, she liked an observation I made. I noticed in Pangs, Season 4, Episode 8, when the Initiative plants a chip in Spike’s head and he tries to bite Willow, the scene is played as a farce and Willow expresses her sadness at not being very bite worthy. Spike reassures her by saying “Don’t be ridiculous, I’d bite you in a heart beat” and “If I could, I would”. The following episode, Something Blue, Season 4, Episode 9, Spike’s inability to bite is referred to by calling him “impotent” and “flaccid”. Instead he must drink blood through a straw in mug. The mug has written on it: “Kiss the Librarian” – its as if all he can do now is kiss. And here's my big observation that Leslie liked: its as if male vampires can experience impotency in two ways. The penis is doubled in the teeth. The wet mouth that house the teeth is a symbolic doubling of the vagina. This means that a vampire’s mouth is constantly a symbol for penetrative sex! Leslie told me that in psychoanalysis we can go off and view the world symbolically, and then return to normality, but bringing back a little bit of experience. The same arc that happens each Buffy episode, we wander off into fantasy but return to our starting position by the end of the episode - a little bit wiser. As previously mentioned, I adore Leslie, so this all made me feel very pleased with myself.