Connection and Dissolubility

There are moments, where everything seems to lead to a single point, and there are other moments where it all just drains away. I'm talking about the art-making process of research, connecting and overlaying ideas and then resolving the work. On that final point, I'm not there yet. When connections connect, then continue to connect and connect and connect it can feel rather like being on some conspiracy theory chase. Do they really connect? Or have I just lost any discernment?

Last week we had the MFA Mid-Residency Exhibition. For it, I decided to continue my investigation of text as art, the next step on from Fuzzy Pictures, and produced an MP3 of my voice, describing art encounters (see tumblr). I was thinking back to a conversation I had with Mentor/Genius friend and recalled 'Stendhal Syndrome', then I was talking to her about Freud's Apres Coup/Deferred Action and discussed this with Leslie Dick in relation to the work. I was reading Saussure and Barthes for Semiotics. Then I was reading 'Reading For the Plot', and pretty much all the above turned up the in first chapter. Which freaked me out. In the space of days everything I was encountering was repeating itself elsewhere. This can mean you are onto something and of course, it can be a red-herring. How does one recoup from such an overload? Well I went from a swim in the school's pool. I did that thing where you lie in the pool just looking up, floating. The sky was cloudless, and for a moment everything connected, before it dissolved.




I have that kind of tight feeling that I am not getting enough done, making art is taking too long, I'm making mistakes, correcting myself, taking time, but I want to go faster. I'm thinking about how I could apply for shows and send work out there into the world, but then I want things to connect properly before I do. My brain is constantly pushing and pulling me. I want to do this, I want to do that. I cry frequently...

Husband and I are currently house sitting in LA, for Kaucyila again, and I'm rather enjoying it. There is a buzz to LA; although motor-based, perhaps its more of a car purr. The LA buzz/car-purr is so hard to hear sometimes that it can feel like the act of hunting the buzz can be too daunting a task. Not so this time. We've had fun. I think we are really thinking about moving to LA for next semester. On Sunday I went to a screening of Liz Goldwyn's Pretty Things documentary film, exploring the lives of the 1940s-60s queens of burlesque. Of most interest to me was Goldwyn's subject position in the film - the film is cut with photographs she took of herself in collected burlesque outfits, learning burlesque dance routines in dance classes and from the queens themselves. It was very interesting, the research and area being rather aligned to one of my interest/areas. I bought her book 'Pretty Things' afterwards and spoke to her briefly, about emailing her. It would be wonderful to pick her brains. She was in conversation with Charlotte Cotton at the beginning too - Charlotte always being both lucid and humorous - with a new short haircut too.

Onwards with my artwork then, back to my ghost towns work - I'm counting down the days now to my Post-Studio cruxifiction on 14th November.



Husband has his down days, away from his home and friends, but this week he has been mountain biking and has been much happier, albeit with heat exhaustion! We got our car now, small engine and the seats go down, so he can put his bike in the back.

Yesterday there was a black widow spider underneath my door handle to my studio. I saw the red hour glass on the underside of its abdomen and everything.

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.

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

A Fall Comes Before Pride

Last week I fell and fractured my wrist in three places. It was in F200, I was doing a few dance steps, nothing fancy, my left foot just gave way and collapsed and my right hand broke my fall. And broke, as it happens. I was preparing for a performance night I was doing something for, for Carola's class. I was going to reprise 'Me Against the Music'.

The Follow Up:
The last thing I wanted to do with a bandage wrist was to type up the story, especially in a morphine-laced painkiller addled state. So here's the expanded version. I fell, broke my wrist and could see that my wrist was mishapen. The adrenalnie from the impending performance saved me from feeling the full extent of the pain. A friend, Carlin, drove me to the local hospital. I had to stay there three nights. They gave me morphine intravenously. I had an operation to set my bones and had a steel plate put in (which does not set off airport security). The drugs made me extremely nauseous and not very lucid. Alexis and Dana were absolute angels, visiting me in hospital twice a day and spending time with me and helping me. I fell ten days before my flight home and I needed a lot of help and support to pack up my clothes and bits from my dorm room and take to my studio and also pack for my return home. A lot of people helped me with all sorts of things from wrapping up and boxing my kitchenware, returning the hire car, washing my hair and driving me to the airport. All this help was amazing and it humbled me to see how willing people were to help me out. It sort of was the response to my earlier blogs posts that were reflecting on my isolation here. It that sense, my wrist break really helped me see my situation in a different way, perhaps a way that I needed to see. It was painful, and the hospital bills are shit, but apart from that, I won't moan about it.

Finding Everything And Realising / Freedom of Expression As Revolution*

And that's it.

I finished. At 10.30pm precisely, tonight, I finished watching every single episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I was crying my eyes out. I watched the last episode again with Joss Whedon's commentary. You may think that I am just vulnerable to the syrup and simplicity of children's television, but I would argue with you there. The emotional themes of the show and the honesty in the writing and producing of it made it truly amazing; outstanding. The ongoing theme was really the experience of being an individual, having to take on life and face your battles alone. But, paradoxically, also as part of a group, a small, tight group with strengths and weaknesses but a group nevertheless. Spike was/is amazing. He basically saves the world by causing the Hellmouth to implode and destroying Sunnydale in the process. I commit very easily to things which partly explains my determination to complete watching all of the shows, but there are deeper reasons why Buffy won my heart. The small class has been a great place for me to really work through psychoanalytic readings of conventional Hollywood, Freud's ideas on the dichotomy women are faced with, creating resistance and subversion within the male gaze and growing in personal confidence with developing my own ideas and vocalising them in class. There were no photo MFA students in the class - mainly art and film students and evenly split between grad and undergrad students, which gave me a break from my usual set of peers. Its given me the opportunity to understand why I am here, 5000 miles away from home, following my vocation, alone, but part of a network of close friends supporting me and keeping me on track. I have been able to meditate on the purpose of life. I went to breakfast this morning with Dana - we went to a diner and and ate pancakes - and Dana was telling me all about being confused by the variations in the guidance she receives on a daily basis from her mum and dad and I realised then that I do not have that, an adviser, like that. But then I watched Buffy and I understood my situation a little better. I do not need an adviser because I can interpret and learn through art what it is I do and how to do it. And finally, indulge me here with a syrupy moment of my own, I'll try to keep it brief. I found Buffy and Spike's relationship utterly plausible - a girl, with a vocation, though lost, treading water, wasting time and a boy, been doing the same thing for years, not going anywhere, repeating the same things without fulfilment and in the process of leaving behind old habits and without a game plan or seriously understanding the nature of their love, growing and evolving and becoming better versions of themselves because of that love. I'm sorry reader, but I identify.

I've had a long day - after breakfast I went to the Fuzzy Pictures class show installation and put up my piece. It is a piece of text that I have printed very large and laminated it so that it is shiny like a photograph. The text stands in for a photograph and allows a meditation on representation. I wanted the text to operate the way I speak in class - which can be quite lucid and articulate, which is disappointingly not usually mirrored in my writing. So I invited the other class members to email their definition of 'Fuzzy Pictures' and suggest to me an example of a fuzzy picture. I'll post my text piece here so you can have a read of it.

After that I took part in a re-do of Allan Kaprow's happening 'Publicity', which was organised by CalArts students working with David Bunn and MOCA who are doing a retrospective of Kaprow at the moment. The whole thing was thoroughly enjoyable and really unique. A bunch of us went at Vasquez Rocks - which has been used by Star Trek - and wearing hard hats, erected any kind of temporary structure out of string and wood and debris, whilst 4 people videoed the action and others used loud speakers to call to each other. It was a strange kind of way to understand how Kaprow's happenings work, maybe he would or woudn't approve. But you know what? I enjoyed it.

On Friday I went to Miller Updegraff's house. He and his wife hosted a rather lovely dinner party with a great group of people. There was only one other current MFA student there, in the mix where an animator/tv person who works on South Park, the curator of the Hammer Museum, a theatre writer/director & reviewer for the LA Weekly, 2 CalArts faculty, a woman who is one of the 17 assistants for Mike Kelly, Taryn the admissions director for the art school and lil ol' me. I was quite nervous about the evening and thought I might be out of my depth, but I really had a great time.

Last week the visiting artist was Mary Kelly who I found very interesting and I really liked her and her work and the week before I went to a film evening with Carolee Schneeman. It's been so lovely to get the opportunity to see these women in the flesh and hear them talk about their work. Although Carolee's latest video piece consists of photographs she takes daily of her being woken up by her cat licking her on her open mouth first thing in the morning, which I'm sorry to say, I found gross.

The other week an art MFA2 student, Nate Page, removed all the posters from the school (which is against school policy) and turned them into a giant piece of artwork on the far wall of the main gallery. I did not see the piece itself but I hear it was quite beautiful and extended all the way up to the high ceiling. As a violation of school policy Facilities removed the piece and re-stuck the posters around the campus. That evening, Aaron Wrinkle did a sort of protest performance in defence of Nate, which was really thought provoking, all about bringing back the radical spirit to CalArts. Arguably, CalArts is less radical than it has been in the past, but what I am interested by, is that we, the students, are encouraged to think of this place as ours, and to do with it what we want. We make the place. And that is true here, more than any other place I have experienced. And I love it.

I have 11 days before I come home to Sheffield for the summer. And that's it.

*taken from the lyrics of F.E.A.R. by Ian Brown

Feeling Fuzzy - Text Piece

Feeling Fuzzy

Photographic meaning is extremely fuzzy. Trying to represent is like juggling with jelly…

This semester, our Fuzzy Pictures1 class did not reach a consensus on what fuzziness is. Not that I took a poll. But it is hard to pinpoint how meaning can be derived from an image. Any given image shifts its meaning when it has to operate outside of its natural context. But what is a natural context for an image? Fuzzy Pictures2 encouraged us to think about how meaning functions in relation to information given about an image, or how an image functions when detached from such information. Is it better to have contextual information to ease us into a photograph? Can we jump straight in? If we do jump, what happens if we land in the wrong place? And is there a wrong place?

At the end The Silence of the Lambs I know that Clarice Starling is ok, she does not get killed. But each time I watch the scene in the basement where Buffalo Bill watches Clarice through night vision glasses, my heart starts pounding and for a moment there, I really wonder how it will end. I cannot help myself. When we see photographs, regardless of how contentious the image is with regard any kind of veracity, how can we keep ourselves from reacting? How can we look at a photograph and not feel “something”? We may be able to intellectually respond to a photograph, knowing that the subjective nature of any image makes all photographs impossible to read literally, and we may be aware of how vulnerable to massage pixels are in a digital photograph, but can we stop ourselves from emotionally responding to a photograph? Can we stop ourselves from being duped? More importantly, is it desirable to be so cynical? Indeed, it is nice enjoying photographs. But then, are all photographs Fuzzy Pictures3 and can other forms of representation be Fuzzy Pictures4 too?

Garfield Minus Garfield (garfieldminusgarfield.tumblr.com) can be seen as a Fuzzy Picture5 as it subverts the regular Garfield comic strip by (guess what?) removing Garfield. Without this crucial character, the narrative moves from an amusing dialogue between cat and owner, to a lone man asking questions to the air. Because we mourn the humour that is meant to present, the scenario quickly moves to tragedy as we realise that Jon is all alone.

A photograph of a pet horse: presumably a beloved friend can take on Fuzzy Pictures6 attributes if the angle of composition focuses our attention on his enlarged head, cropped out eyes and ears and highlights a nostril and mouth with chance patch of strong light. A pet portrait mutates into a snarling monster as the musculature of the flared nostril comes towards us. Photographs can be pushed into being extremely Fuzzy Pictures7 by complicating their methods of production. An evolutionary method of production involving a camera, film, Photoshop and pencil makes the labelling of an image we are seeing fuzzy. This gives these hybrid images an uneasy feeling – all categorisation being disallowed, we are denied easy access to the image. A night time cityscape, or a long exposure without a flash, create a literal Fuzzy Picture8 . All that can be made out is the blur of street lights, a few office bulbs left on in high-rising buildings and a strip of vertical sky between the buildings, an eerily light and dark feeling at the same time. Nothing is clear in the photograph. This photograph is not an attempt to transmit information, but its Fuzzy Picture9 -ness can be used by the image maker to describe a relationship with the city. A sense of wonder, mystery and respect is created in the haze of city life in this image. Cindy Sherman trades on Fuzzy Pictures10 ideas in all of her work, but perhaps, her work combining medical anatomical dummy parts are her fuzziest. The clash of body parts, plastic genitalia, awkward angles and red silk resists any pleasure that we may wish to find in a photograph. As we move between the different elements of the photographs, attempting or failing to find meaning, erotic pleasure, we are resisted at every turn. We must withdraw from the photograph, scolded for our vain try to enter it.

Larry Sultan’s book, Evidence, is full of Fuzzy Pictures11 . The fuzziness here lies in the lack of contextual information. Butting the images up against one another without any explanatory notes takes the world of the evidentiary document to the realm of nonsense, and all of a sudden the photographic meanings are up for grabs. Any discussion can be had over any image. The most fantastical explanation is permitted. Stripped of a title and context, Robert Capa’s Death of a Loyalist Soldier (1936) is an extremely Fuzzy Picture12. This is a soldier’s last breath. This moment, the most important moment for this soldier, has been recorded and saved for us to view. There is no model release form. This is death. Photographs can record anything we choose. This type of photograph reminds us of the ethical-aesthetic responsibilities we have as image makers, as we produce visual evidence of moments existing while the fuzziness of the eventual photograph can be at odds with our intentions. War photographs exist long after the conflict has passed. How do we interpret them now? Can we re-contextualise them for the present, or must we be careful to preserve all contextual information in order to view such imagery as historical artefacts? Or does this type of image transcend its own context, and reminds us of the fragility of life, when the other imagery we are surrounded by, with imperfections erased, tells us a contradictory message? What about news pictures? The images we see circulated on the television, newspapers and online. Are they all Fuzzy Pictures ? If we accept their inherent fuzziness, how should we approach them? If we accept there is no truth in a news image, what do we see exactly when we encounter it? Must we stop looking?


1 I think a fuzzy picture is a picture that lacks one or both of the following: a clear referent, despite the fact that pictures are supposed to refer/point toward something, and/or a picture in which the intentionality of the photographer seems (purposefully) unclear. Fuzziness is almost entirely dependent upon context.
2 Fuzzy Pictures are photographs that create questions but do not provide answers.
3 Because a photograph is by nature a recording of something, whether real or created, a viewer is always aware that they are looking at a photograph, and there is always a lingering question of how the photograph came to be. It becomes impossible for a photographer to simply send one message with a photograph as that photograph immediately also brings up discussion of the process, form, and representation. The photograph is formed in this mystery of being. Without it, the photograph would not be controversial, it would not be alive. It would not ask questions or present answers to those that had not yet been asked, the way a photograph always does. Because of this, all photographs are "fuzzy", although some perhaps fuzzier than others.
4 A fuzzy image is and can be anything, everything and nothing. Taken literally, a fuzzy image can be an image with fur on it, or with motion causing a blur. A fuzzy picture gives little to nothing about itself and allows the viewer to make up and fill in the gaps.
5 I guess the way I see it is that there is fuzziness in all photographs. For instance, with almost any form of art photography, we run into gray, or fuzzy, areas. For example, with documentary photography, we are in a sense replicating something through our own ideas. So the images themselves are not really what we are documenting, rather they are the idea that the photographer has about their subject. So, I guess, to me, the idea is not that a picture IS fuzzy but what it is in a photograph that makes it fuzzy.
6 Fuzzy Pictures are ones that refuse to give all the information and ask questions; fuzziness represents the instability in art.
A piece of artwork that always remains unresolved. The ambiguity of the work should leave the viewer thinking about all the possible resolutions that are unattainable.
7 A fuzzy image is and can be anything, everything and nothing. Taken literally a fuzzy image can be an image with fur on it, or with motion causing a blur. A fuzzy picture gives little to nothing about itself and allows the viewer to both make up and fill in the gaps.
8 I think a fuzzy picture is when what is outside the frame is more important than what is in the frame, physically and theoretically.
9 The heart of the idea is in understanding fuzziness itself. Like in general use, it indicates something unclear, as in a disjunction or delay between the perceived surface and the suggestion of a more solid form somewhere within, possibly edgeless or permeable. The purpose of seeking out this function in a photograph can be manifold. Simply to point at the difficulty of locating meaning in an image where context often obscures its nature as a construction. When looking at a fuzzy picture, you may find yourself spit back out, somewhere unexpected or at a complete loss for the tangibility that photography is known for. If a photograph manoeuvres slipperily around meanings, fuzziness is the reveal of the layers between those meanings as well as between the photographic object and its viewer. Places and thoughts that are complicated to perceive and are not recordable through the process of light reflecting off a surface necessitate seeing in-between layers of indeterminacy.
10 The term “fuzzy picture” produces a fuzzy definition that includes, but is not limited to, an image that blurs the lines of certainty, that raises questions within the viewer. It offers an intangible element that can exist on an intuitive level, while becoming confused when examined in rational terms.
11 A fuzzy picture is 1. not a kodak moment
2. one that makes you linger over the answer to "what is this a picture of?" a. defers closure
3. revels in the inevitable and incommensurate gap between representation and its referent
12 Fuzzy Picture- An image in which the meaning is to be interpreted by the viewer.

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.

Show-girl!

One solitary dancer out of say, about 100 had a boob job, and that got me thinking.

I went to Las Vegas last week, from Sunday to Thursday as it was Spring Break. I stayed at Angie Rizzo's dad's place with Angie and her friend Gabby. Angie is a photo BFA3, and she's really nice. Very mature, but funny too. We work on CAP together. We mainly chilled, but also went for a swim in a casino/hotel's fancy pool and joined Alexis, Calvin and Grace, Alexis's room mate to watch them give large amounts of money to the casino. I did not partake in any of the gambling business, because that whole risk thing has no thrills for me. Instead, I want and blew a small amount of money on eyeshadows I don't need from MAC, because they look so cute.

Angie's step mum got us a great deal on tickets to see 'Jubilee' - the longest running and most classic showgirl show in Vegas, its been going for years. It was amazing, such a spectacle. It was a song a dance thing borrowing heavily from ballet and Paris music hall. I loved it. Formation dancing and sequins and ostrich feathers just warm the cockles of my heart. I needed more. I came out from Jubilee at 9.30pm and went straight to the Folies Bergere, the only other classic showgirl show. I saw so many showgirls in one night it wasn't true. And only one had a boob job. In showgirl shows there are topless girls who move around less, have to be at least 5ft 8 and wear the taller headdresses. Only small pert breasts that don't jiggle to much are allowed. The other dancers, the 'ponies', don't have to be as tall and they do the more turn and jump moves and have smaller headdresses. They are the best dancers. The boob job stood out so much as it seemed to be the ugly detail that stuck out to unpick the suspension of disbelief that goes on with the whole spectacle. Topless revues go back to the Folies Bergere and Windmill in London and other music halls, that justified using semi-nude women by relating them to sculptures. They created classic scenes that the women just stood in, unable by law to move. Looking at dancers is a salacious business, even ballet has proved an excuse to look at young women's legs. Overt sexuality interrupts the constructed innocence of the pleasure of watching a nice girl dance. As you can tell, this boob job really got to the heart of my interests in my work.

We went in Angie's car. Although I have a car now. It's all a bit funny, I am renting it from a man, a private rental. His insurance only covers me within 100 miles of Santa Monica. Which is great. I have a car. But no road trips for me. Doing it this way has meant that I have circumnavigated registering the car, getting it insured and means that getting a California Driving License (I need to take a written test and an actual, real driving one too) is less urgent as I am not a car owner. Getting a car has totally transformed my life here and I now feel I am just begining to get LA and figure it out. It makes me wonder if I wasted last semester by being here and not having a set of wheels.

One of my first trips was with Dana to Burbank. I posted a request for burlesque ostrich feather fans on Craigslist, for a photo-shoot and woman replied with the offer of renting me some fans. I went with Dana to her house. It was awful. Her entire yard and garage was stuffed full of atrophied crap. She had bin liners full of showgirl outfits not used since the 90s - it would have been great stuff back in the day, but now, they were rotting corpses. Her garage stuck of mould and cat poo. She thought she could set up a business renting this stuff out to dance troupes, she thought she was sitting on a gold mine. I thought she needed the 'How Clean Is Your House?' team to come round and sort her life out. There was a very creepy atmosphere about the whole set up and me and Dana had to make our apologies and run as she started to argue with her very dodgy looking partner. Incidently, she's been campaigning for Hillary. She rings round numbers and talks to them about how great the Clinton woman is.

And I'm the proud owner of a Mamiya R-Z 67, which I keep pronouncing R Zee - because thats what everyone here calls them and I forget to say R Zed. I got it second hand from one of my class mates. I'm so dumb, she said she'd sell the whole kit for $1000 in December, but I didn't get round to paying for it til February, and I offered her $1100 then. I just found the original email now, doh! I'm so bad at getting deals! (BTW, more evidence that I really am a real photographer now, not just messing about)

I'm half way through Buffy Season 4 and Angel Season 1. It's the only thing I do when I have a spare moment. Which is great, but I think about it way to much. The other week CalArts held interviews for the Art and Photo MFAs - the first time they've done that - I got in on portfolio only. Current students toured the interviewees round the facilities. I had 4 to take round. One of them was an English woman, my age. I can't say any of this without coming off as absolutely petty, but here goes. She went to Goldsmiths, she has a place at the fully funded RCA, she is currently an artist's assistant in London, she is into 'Grime' music and her accent is more Northern than mine. I'm sure, reader, that you either get how these facts relate to me or you don't. But let's just say, I was Buffy when Faith came to town. Someone was stealing my act. And she's got a better act.

At the last Buffy class we watched 'Once More With Feeling', the musical episode, I love it. If you haven't seen it, check it out at: http://www.surfthechannel.com/info/television/Buffy_The_Vampire_Slayer/1152/S6E7.html - it really is worth watching.

On another note, that day Natalie Bookchin told me that if they had interviewed me I would have got a place at CalArts much sooner. I applied 3 times and was wait listed once so I sent in 4 portfolios. Yep, I really wanted to come and I'm stubborn as hell. And 'no', means nothing to me.

Dana is in a directing class and the other week I was her performer. It was only a thing for her class, but it was site specific so it was set in the car park. It was an improv piece that I did with an actor in Dana's class. We had to have an argument, that resolved with me unable to speak and finally having to say 'I love you'. All the actors couldn't believe that I, untrained person that I am, could get into character so much and make it really sad. So that was a nice little exercise. You only get that kind of opportunity at CalArts. I think I'm going to do another thing like that for Dana next week.

Last night I went to a viewing of some of Allan Sekula's films in Hollywood. The final film of the night was from 1973 in which Allan himself starred. It was a 20-minute improv sketch were he and his collaborator were miming making pizzas in a restaurant. It was so funny. Allan had shoulder length thick brown hair, wore a bandana, baggy jeans and oversize t-shirt and spoke with a street New York accent. It was hilarious. Really.

I'm feeling the end of the year coming. And I'm scared. I really am getting it at the moment, I don't want to stop for Summer break. I'm worried that the second year will go as quick as this year and that means that it will be over in 5 minutes. I'm just getting to really bond with the graduating second years so I gutted to have to say goodbye imminently. Liz Glynn, Lesley Dick's teaching assistant (who I really like but never get to hang out with and who went to Harvard) is a second year and I don't want to see her go. She is so smart and says such clever insightful things in class. Imagine my surprise when she drunkenly told me how impressed and intimidated she is with my comments in Buffy class, she said she just didn't get film like I did, she couldn't see the things I see. This makes me happy. Low culture, vernacular, television and other general trash are the things I can get and unpick, and my getting them is my admittance into higher more learned debates. I'm only really high-minded if principles can be related back to The Simpsons. But don't tell anyone that.

I'm feeling good

I went to bed at 3am last Thursday, rather worse for wear. Its the first time I've been drunk since New Year's Eve. I had a lot of fun, I found myself dancing to vintage hip-hop and house in a tiny art studio in the annex, with lots of lovely art people. Alexis was there, she was a bit drunker than I thought as the next day she did not stop throwing up until 3pm. I was there, in turquoise sparkly dress and with bunch of flowers in hand - it was my show opening and the culmination of a 2 year project. I deserved a drink.



The show was entitled 'Wish You Were Here, Real Photographs, Series of 9'. The project hinges on my recreation of 10 photographs that I bought at a car boot sale, however despite being 1 photograph down (due to not being able to find some burlesque fans I could borrow - I have an interesting story involving Craigslist that I'll leave til next time), I felt like I had completed the work. Much more than before. I feel I have researched and read around the subject so much more extensively, that my printing, hanging and titling really brought it together and said what I wanted it to say. I want to go on to do some more experimental (dumb) stuff, that I won't get so invested in. Not that I think its bad to get heavily invested in your work, but I need a break. Interestingly, I feel at this stage, I really occupy the role of the photographer in this work. As my technical incompetences get ironed out, I really need to drop my defensive 'I am not a photographer, I am a photo-theorist' line. Not that I am not a photo-theorist any longer, but I am starting to be disingenuous.

My reception went fine/great. A lot of people like my work, even outside the art school. However, I find that I am resistant to some of that love because not all reads of my work I am comfortable with. Some people love that I can actually print 20" X 24" black & white fibre based prints (but really if you spend 6 hours on each print anyone can produce good results). I am not comfortable with this point of view as I feel I need to do what I have to do for that work, I am not insisting on a kind of craftsmanship in a political way. I am absolutely comfortable with presenting slap-dash work where a project calls for that approach. Others see a beauty and glamour in my work which I feel I am only borrowing codes from, not full-on subscribing to. The contents of my photographs (subject I mean) is incredibly DIY and thats important. Nor am I putting forward an ideal beauty. I had my yearly review and Grad Crit last week too - both in my show. In Grad Crit someone in my class who had serious problems with my work told in and out of class that she thought I was really successful in my resolutions of the project. This meant an awful lot to me and her approval was something I never imagined I would gain after some of the discussions last semester, so her comments moved me a great deal. She said that the weight I have gained helped to clarify the work and my insistence on continuing the work was a very strong element in the work. My teacher talked about how subversive it was of me to approach the male gaze with such a joyful light-hearted touch.

I'm glad my labour paid off. Like I said before, each print took 6 hours and due to a power cut and starting my Saturday teaching assistant post for CAP a week earlier than I thought, I was so pushed for time that I was in the darkoom from 9am-2am for 4 days with other slightly shorter stints. I shot 3 new photographs for the project at CalArts and those photos bring a lot of clarity to the whole thing (I think). Alexis helped me a lot (along with 2 other women on my course) and her loyalty and support really touched me. I have to say, that Alexis is a huge part of support network here I would have a lot less fun if she was not my friend. But she is, and I am very very thankful for her.

Another pivotal moment for me last week, Leslie Dick came to see me to talk about my show and hugged me when she came in the room. I am taking a class with her entitled 'Conversations with Dead People: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Sex, Death and the End of the World', and Leslie is grateful that I am in the class because of my comments. She came in the room and said, 'You're so articulate! I'm so glad your in the class! I must give you a hug!' That was a real high point, as I love Leslie dearly. Amongst other things, she reminds me of my late mother. But less emotively speaking, her brain is as sharp as a tack and her wit is utterly British (years spent in London have left their mark).

I'm enjoying all my classes, a mixture of critique and discussion, lecture and technique are represented in my timetable, which I took more care in composing. I'm doing:
Advanced Studio Lighting with Joe Schmelzer (an adjunct, commercial photographer and CalArts grad) www.joeschmelzer.com
Direct to Print, how to process RAW images, edit, file, store and print work with Shari Bond
Buffy (see above)
Fuzzy Pictures with the very lovely Ellen Birrell who I am also desperate to hug (its a strange thing, the teachers here are so like parents in terms of age and extensive knowledge and experience that I find myself really wanting to hug them, is that weird?), which looks at the theories of Batchen, Barthes, Krauss and others and applies their ideas to actual artwork, artists out there and ours, its a lot of fun,
Let's Twist Again, Performance and Documentation with Carola Dertnig, a visiting artist from Vienna, another great class
Grad Crit with Natalie Bookchin, who I love, who makes us sit in a circle and speak in turn - first time descriptive comments, second time round with our read of the work. It sounds remedial but works amazingly well,
History of Photography with Allan Sekula, which bares very little resemblance to any other History of Photography. It is really Allan discussing the contexts of photography and showing various images which he dissects for us. A familiarity with his writing is really essential as it is very hard to follow his thoughts, as his goes on so many tangents. However, he is so smart and I love the class.
View Camera - this class starts in a couple of weeks so I will tell you more about that in time.

I'm feeling really comfortable here now and I am forming strong friendships with some lovely interesting people. I'm having fun! Keeping in touch with husband seems easier since his visit. Time is racing so fast that it really isn't long now before I'm home for the summer.

On to new work now, I feel I've tied up my loose ends. I'm off to go watch some Buffy - for class I am endevouring to watch the entire thing - I'm half way through Season 2.