Section Reflection.

This section has been a classic example of my working method. I’ve started it, and I’ve got involved with the methods and techniques that are mentioned. I’ve then made them my own by creating projects that utilised them. I’ve over-complicated them by my drive to make useful or sculptural works. Then, I’ve spent a long time on them and off-shoots from their ideas (in this section, see the way my gold box linked to my gold bug). I’ve become afraid of spending too much time on the practical work, and not long enough in thinking about it’s meaning, or coming up with new designs. Feeling defeated, I’ve become despondent. Then suddenly, the comeback, and I’m finishing making things, I’m generating new ideas, and I’m setting myself proper work goals. Yes, I’ve got some excuses as to why this section has been slow going – I’ve started a new job, meaning I’ve had to cut my course hours by about a fifth; I’ve been exploring new art fields and thinking about the future, as well as trying to keep up with my still recently-acquired skills, like painting and ink illustration; I’ve been trying to keep some projects and techniques aside as personal experiments, so that I can have moments where I try things just because I want to try them; and I’ve had a good long period of very complicated relationships turning rather painful. However, I’m feeling more confident now I’m the other side. I’m beginning to realise there are links between the different disciplines of art, and that there’s nothing I can’t turn my hand to and try to learn because it’ll be too difficult. There is almost nothing that can’t contain an idea. Perhaps I’m growing up at last. In the next section, I hope I’ll be exploring (with a couple of extra-curricular essays) what new fields of art are opening up to a less timid version of me, and how I think they can be combined, in particular with textiles. So for now, I’m leaving my artistic-temperament quagmire, and stepping forward into new techniques.

Mini-Essay. Careers in Crafts Philosophy Research Point.

The idea behind this essay has been a little difficult for me to grasp, but I think I understand what is meant now: this should be an essay that addresses the motivation behind artists and craftspeople, to see how they would word their 'statements', and to reflect on what it means for my own opinions. Why do artists and artisans do what they do? Well, I've done a little research, looking at contemporary sources mostly, and it's been quite interesting. At the heart of the matter, it seems to me, is the compulsive nature of the opinion. I'm quite sure that everyone wants to make something, because they are sure their ideas are worth expressing (I'm sure they are too), and that certain things they've seen inspire the either of these responses: "well, I could do that" or "I could make something much better than this". It's mostly a matter of finding out what that thing you want to make is, and then to overcome the fear of rejection, either from yourself, because what you've made isn't what you imagined, or from the zeitgeist, because you don't exactly fit in with the fashion. And if everyone wants to make things, surely everyone can generate an opinion on what a good thing to make would be. So, if we put aside the motivation of many an historical artist - that of "work or starve", as a necessity, rather than a 'personal philosophy', it frees us up to take a look at some more specific issues. I started my little research session by looking at some artists who I admire, and are still working today. They work in a very old medium, making wooden sculptures to serve as icons and altarpieces in Catholic churches all over Spain. Their motivation, I reasoned, must have been the motivation of many great artists for centuries. That of art as a form of religious devotion and expression. I was surprised, therefore, to find a very familiar name as the quote on motivation for one of my sculptors.

In the workshop. Credit here.

His name is Dario Fernández, a Spanish sculptor who creates life-size images of biblical figures for churches in imitation of the 17th century Spanish masters. To summarise his motivation, he had used a quote from David Hockney. It was in Spanish, and I've translated it as best I can, then gone looking for it in English - I believe it goes like this: "It is very good advice to believe only what an artist does, rather than what he says about his work.". I find this is true of my own philosophy. Take a painting, for instance, that is both beautiful, and a technical marvel - like Holbein's Ambassadors. It is obvious, after a few moments, that it is beautiful. After a few moments more, that it is marvellously complex. There are plenty of symbols pointing to the professions, habits, and wealth of the two gentlemen depicted, but you needn't know more about them to understand what makes it a great work. In this respect, I can see very few exceptions to the rule that if a 'work' has to be explained, it has not done it's job. Whereas, if you look at something that is supposedly deep, but that without explanation is without imagination, like the most famous 'paintings' by Rothko, you can look at them and say 'they are red oblongs, painted unevenly'. There is nothing of substance to them whatsoever. They display no skill, and they are not beautiful. I think this is very much the centre of what I would call my own philosophy. This is why the beauty of things is far from being a vanity, suited only for the 'apprentice' of art. It is an absolutely necessary part of existence, and without an attempt at the beautiful, what is the purpose of art? Without it's standards, the modern 'art' world has become a laughing stock, and rightly so. I am certain that this is why I find myself much more accepting of the 'craftsperson' than the artist. They are not trying to shock, to create headlines, or, for the most part, to change their vision for the purpose of making it sell. They also seem to hold themselves to far higher standards than the usual 'modern artist', and perhaps most importantly of all, they literally work for themselves and don't apply that sickeningly patronising term 'my technicians'.

But onto my research into other philosophies, before I get bogged down into a personal rant. One of the sources I've looked into most is a historical source, and one with very strong opinions: I read a lot of works by the 19th century designer, architect, and (he would probably say) theologian, A.W.N. Pugin - I'm sure I've mentioned him plenty of times before. A key belief of his design was the idea that painting was an inappropriate medium to replicate a 3D object, and that you should not attempt to do so - save that for sculpture. He felt it was deceptive, and therefore unchristian. He mentions this in a few of his books, but as I'm writing online, here's a link to a V&A article that has this quote on his designs: "In the design of wallpapers he too deplored the false illusion of depth and the use of trompe l'oeil shadows, and argued instead for flat patterns composed of simple forms which would confirm the wall as a flat surface rather than disguising or contradicting it. Pugin was one of the first to promote the idea of 'honesty' and 'propriety' in ornament and design, thus enlisting ornament as a moral influence in society. He practised what he preached, designing wallpapers with flat, formalised geometric patterns such as fleurs-de-lis, quatrefoils, heraldic motifs, and flower and foliage forms adapted from medieval art, architecture and textiles, printed in the rich colours of a 'medieval' palette."

Wallpaper designs by Pugin.

I agree with him on so many points, but not this one. His point was that to paint in a trompe l'oeil style was morally wrong, as it pretended to be something it was not - it was therefore, deceptive and sinful. I disagree because even if you follow, as Pugin did, the catholic tradition, it is obvious to anyone that the most sublime art in all Catholicism must therefore have offended him. I wonder if he ever stopped to think about the four-fold service that art did. Firstly, I'm sure without it's influence, fewer people would have been educated and entertained by the stories of the great works of the ancient world, whether Judaeo-christian religious themes, or the legends and plays of polytheistic or 'pagan' cultures (scenes such as these have been painted for thousands of years, long before even the smallest fraction of society could read the stories of their ancestors, and therefore, it was in pictures that the works lived on in the culture, whereas, had they been confined to the page, society would have been so different. And the weaker for it, I dare say.). Secondly, it inspired people. Sometimes in small ways, such as to see a painting, and to compare the colour of the sky in it with the sky you see as you walk home. Sometimes in larger, or more 'pro-active' ways, such as to wear a different colour after seeing a new shade of cloth at a market. Sometimes seeing the right work at the right time could induce a life-changing decision - there are plenty of examples of this.

Last Judgement, Rogier van der Weyden. Around 1445.

Thirdly, it has also been used as a moral tool to keep the people from committing crimes, whether in the terrifying Mediaeval visions of hell so popular in hospitals (one imagines to give you some perspective on your own situation) and churches in those times, or in the Victorian visions of the happy home in which the family are content because of their moral character, versus another home destroyed by drink or adultery.
Lastly, I truly believe that art can literally heal you. After all, we all know that the things that, generally speaking, will keep you well are good food and drink, the right amount of sleep, and few things to worry us. But contentment isn't enough. We also want to experience things that make us happy. This is obvious: given the choice, when we can, we go somewhere pretty. You wouldn't hang an ugly picture in your living room because it wouldn't make you happy. This is the same reasoning that tells you not to paint a hospital room black, and to use a small window, even if it were more cost-effective. There is, after all, a difference between being fit, and being happy. But each helps the other. If you compare two cities with the a similar population, a similar climate, and expense, and were offered a trip to each, you'd probably be more likely to pick, say, Prague (population 1.25m) over Birmingham (1.07m). Even if you've never been to either, you'd judge them on what you'd heard of them. And you'd pick the one that is, in your mind's eye, the more beautiful. You know you'd feel better while you were there because of it, and you'd come back feeling well. Because the two factors work together. If all you see is ugly, you will produce only feelings, thoughts, even objects and actions, that are ugly. Imagine a film that replicated something like the idea of room 101. Say that one person was kept in a box with only German Expressionist paintings on the walls - Kokoschka, Grosz, etc. and had Schoenberg played at them for just an hour. That could easily be made into the room in a horror film that sends someone mad, and that makes them hurt others. It's literally a traumatic assault on the senses. But imagine if you sampled the quintessential art of another era - like filling a room with Dutch Golden age paintings, and playing them Dido and Aeneas. Or with Rococo portraiture, and playing them Handel or Bach. Or Mozart. Surely it would be impossible to make only the exposure to the art, with no outside factors, upsetting? Well, beside the drama of the music, of course.

Prague and Birmingham.

In summary, Hockney's quote is a good one - the idea that art should never be deeper than surface appeal is not always the truth, as even the most luscious and original artwork will inevitably have little parts where the influence of others shows through - and you may learn more about the artist, and the motivation behind their work, by understanding these. Similarly, if we go back to painting for a moment, in many Religious and historical works, it may be of use to know the background of a story (Athena and Arachne, for example, or The Agony in the Garden.) in order to better understand the emotions conveyed by the characters depicted. But if a work conveys nothing without explanation, it is inadequate to it's purpose, surely.
Some of the quotes supplied to me only reinforced the points I've already discussed, which makes me feel partly confirmed in my suspicions, partly afraid that I haven't challenged myself enough. Here are a few of my favourites. I should add, though, that as I have sourced these from online research, the wording may vary. However, if they convey a meaning that is insightful, does that matter much?
Here is a quote from a somewhat controversial artist, one that did rather push the boundaries. It's quite surprising when you consider his artwork.
“In our time there are many artists who do something because it is new; they see their value and their justification in this newness. They are deceiving themselves; novelty is seldom the essential. This has to do with one thing only; making a subject better from its intrinsic nature.” - Henri de Toulouse Lautrec, who I would have considered a modernist, and certainly someone who shocked the public. His quote seems very apt in this era, though. It's interesting to see how much it has endured, and how people were perceiving works at the end of the 19th century. 

That's not to say that I haven't had a look at the work of contemporary artists/craftspeople. One of the short films that I've particularly enjoyed about a contemporary artist, their work and motivation, has been this film about Emma van Leest, an Australian paper-cut artist. In the film, she defines her motivation as a life-long love of creating imaginary worlds, and the reason that she enjoys her current method as "the sheer minimalism of it - all you need is paper and a blade". And that's something that we can all relate to. There's always something to love about an opportunity to dream, and to use your imagination without forcing it into a product. And there are many little repetitive acts that have their own satisfaction involved in them - knitting plain rows, filling parts of a drawing with colour, even organising books or records. That's not too far removed from paper-cutting.

I also thought it might be a good idea to have a look at what Grayson Perry would have to say on the subject, as he is so often interviewed, and has so many opinions. Here's a video of him talking to the V&A about art versus craft. This would be a good one to revisit and look into a bit deeper later on. 
It's interesting that at the start of the video, what he defines craft as 'a skill that can be taught and passed on' and art as 'the individual vision, something that can't be explained or taught'.
I think that if I accept this definition - and I certainly think there's something to it, that it's a good one - then my 'art' must be about 80% craft. But I don't feel that is the wrong approach. 

Taking a step back to my earlier research point; finding quotes from famous artists, there were also some great quotes out there on a lighter tone. Here are my top three. 

“If people knew how hard I worked to get my mastery, it wouldn't seem so wonderful at all.” Michelangelo - a reassuring idea for us all. 

“Life obliges me to do something, so I paint.” Rene Magritte - an artist who suited his work to his philosophy in a most truthful way.


Finally, my favourite quote of all came from the painter, Edward Hopper. Upon being asked why he painted, he replied, “If I could say it in words there would be no reason to paint.”. It's one of the great mysteries.

Theme Book: a Few Notes.

I think I've decided on the theme for my theme book. I'm still experimenting, of course, but for the moment, I'm focusing on the ways that architecture can be put to good use as inspiration for textiles. I've looked around, and found a few comparisons. The spire of Cologne cathedral is one of my favourite features, from one of my favourite buildings. Here's an image from inside.

Credit Here.

It's a very complex structure, obviously. But aren't similar shapes found in reticella lace? Even the crochet that imitated such forms that was popular in the mid-Victorian era could be adapted to stui the Gothic frames. Of course, getting the depth/thickness that could imitate stone would be difficult, but perhaps padded stitching with the same thread as used for the crochet could be brought in?

  

Credit Here.

A feature on many Victorian buildings is the decorative roof cresting. Here's a picture from an ironmongery catalogue of the period. 

Credit Here.

There are many kinds of edging lace, and some are made in quite bold shapes, such as this black trim. This could be starched and stitched into place very easily.

Credit Here.

In churches, there are often decorative tiles and mosaics on the floor, walls, sometimes ceilings. 

Credit Here.

These could be imitated with tiny dots of metallic fabric paint, or on a larger scale, beads and sequins. Though it has been done before:

Credit Here.

Even the most blandly coloured sections of a building can be made an interesting feature with a clearly applied texture. Take this basic irregular block wall:

Credit Here.

 Looked at from a historical costume point of view, there's an obvious parallel. The 18th century quilted petticoat was all of one colour, and plainly made, with narrow, recessed crevices and puffs of many shapes.  

Credit Here.

I've been working on the book quite a bit recently, and am going out to get more photos and draw more illustrations soon - this project is also helping me to keep up with my sketching schedule. More updates on this to follow.