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.

No Information In Advance of Need

- is the CalArts school motto. Which is rather interesting.

It appears a lot has happened since my last post. America has a new president elect. Saint Obama. A new regime is so needed that election night was an emotional affair, friends and teachers were declaring they would leave the country if he didn't win. You win some, you lose some - in California, the much opposed, but Mormon funded 'Proposition 8' was passed. The one about gay marriage.

Halloween came and went uncelebrated, this year it occurred to me that Halloween is just not as nice as 5th November so we decided not to do anything. We were house/dog-sitting in Silver Lake again and a couple in their 20s came round asking for treats. We had to give them some of our small chocolate supply. On chocolate, most American chocolate, or 'candy' (a word which conjures up cheap, coloured sugary tasteless stuff to me) is inedible, and certainly gives no pleasure. However the fantastic shop 'Trader Joe's' which I shall miss, does a large bar of Belgian chocolate which we make sure we always have in.

I survived Post-Studio! Being under the spotlight for 4 hours was draining and afterwards I had that feeling of 'fine, I'll never make any work again, its all so shit'. But I recuperated and reflected and realised that it was a great conversation where people who don't speak regularly spoke and people discussed the work insightfully and generously. There were some negative points, but I was grateful for them. I took my 'Art Encounters' sound piece. Michael Asher was kind about my work too. He is so funny in class, he has a habit of swinging on his chair, shutting his eyes as if asleep, then opening them and giving an assured epiphany.

American English has a word that I have certainly never encountered in British English - 'docent' - 'a person who acts as a guide, typically on a voluntary basis, in a museum, art gallery or zoo'.

I enjoy staying in Silverlake (back again now to pick up dog, then back to the Ranch for Thanksgiving). Last time I was here I went to a free LACMA talk with Amy Adler, Alex Slade and Penelope Umbrico. We are, however, staying at the ranch, having looked around for elsewhere to live. We found nowhere cheaper or as private, or as large. Additionally, Husband needed to find employment and he looked around for work in LA, which he would have done, but not enjoyed. Ellen and David needed another full-time worker on the Ranch, and Husband loves working on the Ranch and with Gerado, so he's pretty much working for our rent. This does mean that money is a little better for us and we should drive to LA each weekend for art openings etc. Another LA resource I want to explore is the Academy Awards archive and library.

However, last weekend there was a wonderful day of museum interventions at LACMA in collaboration with experimental gallery/space 'Machine Projects' which I was desperate to go to. Fires nearby resulted in road closures that made our journey 4 hours long. Any enthusiasm was pretty much drained by the time we got there. Ellen even had an opening over the road, but that barely perked us up. An opening at 'COMAspace' - and exhibition from Art MFAs who graduated this year made the evening more fun.

On Sunday Husband was invited on a special horse-riding trip: with Gerado and his Mexican friends. An all male affair with beer - they run out of Bud Lite and had to ride into town to buy more. They rode along the river bed and periodically galloped fast. Husband, a novice, kept up with the riding and drinking. He enjoyed it despite the afternoon being pretty much conducted in Spanish. Now he wants to learn Spanish and get a cowboy hat.



My 'Thesis show' - the exhibition I create that is the culmination of my research here, with a coherent set of ideas that are resolved in it, is scheduled for the week of 21st February. I am currently trying to resolve my work for it, but I keep hitting on problems. I have a pile of books around me and I think they all contain the answers I need, but I want the information now, I want to be able to scan each chapter (like a scanner) and absorb the points and know the arguments. But alas, I must sit here, isolating the most pertinent chapters and reading them, notebook, dictionary, pencil for underlining and page tabs to the side of me. I want to figure it out. I had a meeting with Natalie yesterday and she got to the heart of my conflict/incoherence. A lot of people I meet with are wonderful and have a great read of my work and give me really helpful leads. Natalie will not let me get away with anything and I love it. She asked me to put my ideas into writing and refer to theory. I think this will really help.

No information in advance of need.

The Semiotics of Mexican Christening Parties

My internal emotions have been fairly all over the place since I arrived, so I avoided blogging for fear of moaning. In truth, nothing is wrong, per se, but I am a bag of anxieties. As I get further into the semester things are getting better and my paranoias are easing off. But for a while there, I was paranoid, and that’s usually not my style, so the experience was pretty damn disturbing.

This is my Fall Semester schedule; I’m taking a Final Cut Pro technical class, a Visual Semiotics class which I am the teaching assistant for, a class called Narrative Withdrawal about video art and its relationship to film and finally, the world famous, possibly longest running class at CalArts, Post Studio Art with Michael Asher, aka the 8 hour crit. Fortunately it is not my turn in Post Studio until 14th November. I love it, it’s the hardest class I’ve ever done, and it is extremely brutal. Essentially I think that being the critee is rather like stripping yourself naked, pinning yourself to some kind of mast or cross and inviting an audience to ritually abuse you. Just a little observation, based on the faces of those being critiqued by the end of their session and their recovery time. Michael Asher is a sweet though, a real monk to art.



Ranch life has been fun, but it can feel rather like a gilded cage. Its true, you can pick a lot of food here, and it tastes nice, you can also go for walks, see nice views and go for freezing cold swims in an unheated pool. But our rented car, a Lexus, is really bad with fuel consumption and we just cannot justify round trips to LA for the evening, which leaves us rather stranded out here. Money, like the rest of the world, is going rather worse than expected.

However, DVD box sets of Poirot, Foyles War, Upstairs Downstairs, A Bit of Fry and Laurie and Monty Python betray our landlords Anglophilia. We are working our way through their DVD library; at the moment we are addicted to House (the accent may be American, but the timing is British).

I’m having lots of meetings with faculty in my studio; most very positive (notably, not all). Ashley Hunt is a visiting teacher and very charming, with an ability to get right to the heart of the work. Carla Herrera-Prats pushes, and keeps on pushing. Lesley Dick is unreservedly wonderful, as is Christine Wertheim whose all-inclusive vision of feminism is wonderfully provocative, warm and funny – she is my current cheerleader. I regret not doing an Independent Study with Kaucyila Brook, with whom I can talk black and white movies to infinity, and whose relationship to Queer Theory means she brings a greater understanding of female desire and how that is hidden from view in society to our discussions, which are animated, warm and fuelled by pots of tea.

Mary Kelly is organising a happening in Orange County, I had signed up to be a participant in May and was very excited about the opportunity having seen Mary talk last semester. On Sunday, I didn’t know anyone I could share a ride with, and I could not justify the 220 mile round trip expense, so I did not take part. I was gutted not to take part. Each week another opening, talk or happening that I want to go to takes place and I do not go as it is too far away, too expensive and feels too mean to leave husband stranded again on the ranch. We need to rethink our living arrangements for next semester.

Not all is doom and gloom. Our silver lining has been getting to know Gorado, our next door neighbour and ranch foreman. A friendly Mexican whose rushed, clipped English would be fluent if he could relax whilst he spoke. Gorado wins our respect for being the realest cowboy we have ever gotten to know. He wears a straw cowboy hat, boots (with wear and tear signs from spurs on them) and jeans at all times. He loves horses and has been know to ride down to a local restaurant and tether his horse outside while he ate. A couple of weeks ago it was his daughters ‘Baptisto’ party (Christening). He and his family friends cleaned out the barn, brought in tables and chairs and lavender and white balloons, a heart sculpture made of balloons, cakes, crates of Bud Light and lots of Mexican food. A family friend made some kind of a roasted pork dish by cooking it overnight on a fire outside – either on a spit or in a pot, we couldn’t quite work it out. Food was served at 4pm, a band started playing at 9pm and the party finished sometime not long after midnight. We stayed until the end with time-out breaks in between. We tried to imitate Mexican dancing (rather badly, but it was well received). We had great fun at the party and we were praised for being the only white people to stay after the band arrived. It was such a spectacle to see the little boys dressed as cowboys and the men dressed in their best suits with cowboy trimmings – rather like a Mexican Mafia look, mixed with other more urban hip-hop Mexican styles. We were amongst the most under-dressed, but we made up for that with our ability to party.

Finally, I love cuddling Lily, the springer spaniel, who reminds me so much of the dogs we had as I was growing up. I'm back doing CAP classes, this time on Monday evenings not Saturdays which works out better.

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.