Over the weekend, after the RCA open day, I decided to go down to the Jerwood Space to see an exhibit by artists with Array Studios, a Belfast based arts group which used Irish mythology as a means to talk about issues of abortion law and queer identity in Northern Ireland, which is interesting to me in relation to the way that beasts and folklore can be politicized/reinterpreted in a socio-political discourse.

The exhibit was set up with three separate screens on a wall, each accompanied with a banner/flag of some sort. Each followed a person, walking in a different location–dressed in some sort of glitter/costume, with overlaid video and audio from the news or interview. One was talking about the difficulty that women in Northern Ireland have in coming over to England for abortion care; in another there was a duel dialogue of a man followed by a version of himself clad in golden streamers, talking about his split identity; I can’t remember what the third video was about.

In the center of the room, there was a little library space, with shelves that had poems printed on them, and inside, there were political pamphlets next to books about Irish folklore. In the middle, there was a table shaped like Northern Ireland, with iPads that contained ‘home movies’ of video references that had been woven into the larger video pieces playing on the TV screens on the wall.

I was fascinated by this collage of commentary about the political discourse in Northern Ireland. I thought that the use of mythology and the beast, imbued with these fabulous elements of glitter and golden streamers was an interesting way of characterizing people that had been put on the fringes of society in this political climate. They were pushed into a non-existence, but at the same point, they were hyper visible, and mythology is woven into the cultural fabric of Northern Ireland.

I am not sure if I took away one solid message from the exhibit, but it certainly communicated a complexity of the subject, and the juxtaposition with folklore and mythology brought a level of nuance to the whispered discourse of the stories of a people who have had to celebrate in the shadows or go to other places to confront their reality.

On Thursday, I attended an artist statement workshop to work on one of the writing outcomes for ADAS on the Artifact project.

I hate writing about my work. I could talk about my work all day long, but it becomes a little disorganized because I can grasp at so many different words and descriptions. Writing forces you to pick and choose and to be precise yet descriptive with these intentions.

We did an exercise by which we broke our work down into a couple of specific elements and questions, which really helped. I am a little conflicted as to who I am as an artist because I have this practice of cartooning, which I haven’t really incorporated into my work in the Graduate Diploma thus far, but which I consider to be central to my identity as an illustrator. However, talking to peers about this concern really helped me to organize my thoughts around creating joyful experiences in illustration and unearthing intersections between words and visuals.

We also found a list of action words that will help us to organize our actions and description of our practice in relation to key ideas rather than just methodology.

Finally we ended with some questions and artist statement examples, which helped to make us further consider where we want our work to go, and it helped to see examples from other practicing artists in relationship to their work to situate how they see their work and context.

I think I now have a clearer idea of where I will be going with this artist statement, but now I just have to write it.

On Wednesday, we had an introduction to the risograph printer, which is so exciting to me. I love the physicality of layering color, and the potential for creating soft, hazy layers of color in illustrations. Normally, I just do my color as pre-mixed batched, but being able to mix like layers of print offers a whole new exciting possibility.

In addition to looking at the Riso, on Wednesday, I started experimenting with linocut printing, thinking that I could make some layers of linocut and eventually translate them into prints on the Riso printer.

Additionally, I was interested in linocutting because it is a way of engaging with carving, like the wooden objects I am working with, but it creates a two dimensional outcome. I do like this idea of translating that form from one space to another while using a similar physical technique.

I decided to start my experiments off very simply, and do a similar derivative of the Dacre Beasts using linocut and black ink–maybe I will experiment with color later by editing in photoshop and revisiting with the Riso printer.

I decided to work with the elephant holding a version of the American flag, as the elephant represents the conservative party in the US right now, so it seamed appropriate as a political beast. I thought about doing a donkey as well, to provide a representational beast from the Democratic party, but I decided to focus on one for now.

After I created and printed the stamp, I started to play around with ink layers, orientation, and different materials. I put some into stranger configurations as well in order to create more abstract beasts, in a manner inspired by the sculptural collage spin offs created by Paul McCarthy, but I want to continue playing with these forms.

Additionally I worked with playing with the word ‘beast’ itself for another small, graphic experiment. In the process, I ended up cutting my finger, which was shockingly painful, and a reminder of the physicality of the process, but all the liquid associated with these solid forms of block prints was an interesting contrast. This was also interesting to observe when I went to wash my ink trey in the sink.

I loved seeing how the ink moved around in a pool to create something of a dark forest. Perhaps this will become a part of the setting for the beasts that I create.

On Wednesday, I went to the Cutty Sark on my own as further exploration of the boat that I fell in love with at the V&A (the nef with the hidden lizards). Though this ship was of an entirely different scale and a different era, I was excited to explore and navigate the compartments to see if there was any actual substantial history of lizards on British Ships.

I was drawn to these carved figureheads because they reminded me of the Dacre Beasts and the puppet caricatures at the V&A that I had seen before. However, their use was something entirely different. They were used as a symbol for the spirit of a ship. The figure itself was relatively anonymous, to be imbued with meaning.

Throughout the ship itself, there were all sorts of wonderful objects that were created to accommodate people, who were wildly out of context at sea.

Because space was tight, each object had to absolutely justify its reason for being there, apart from a few whimsical items to try to preserve a sentiment of life on solid ground. I particularly enjoyed the image of chickens and pigs wandering the decks–evidently they were kept in order to bulk up the men’s diets while at sea.

Unfortunately, I didn’t find anything about lizards, though.

On Tuesday, we went to the Victoria and Albert Museum to gather objects that inspired us.

I had never been the V&A before, but I had heard from multiple people that it was an incredible museum. The first time a person goes to a museum is such a precious experience. There is so much wonder in the way that the space transforms and the physical juxtaposition of these micro worlds as you turn a corner. That level of gross amazement can only happen once, but then, comes the surprise from the details.

Unfortunately, the day that we visited, the rapid response room, which is where the communications students were meant to go, was closed, so we ended up just skipping to getting lost in the museum.

What a wonderful place it was to get lost in, and my experience was a little bit of that of the museum, a collage of wonderful things that I allowed myself to be drawn to for no particular reason.

This is a musical instrument incased in a sculpture of a tiger attacking a soldier from the East India Company in response to Britain’s colonial occupation of present day India. It is just a wonderful, strange object. However, it’s presumed point of view and audience sit a bit strangely in the Victoria and Albert Museum.

I was drawn to this necklace because it had proportions that were a bit strange. To me, it looked like a piece of jewelry that would be drawn on a Disney Princess, or something of the like. Too, the images that are set in the necklace had a bit of this characteristic nature, even though they are quite realistic depictions of shells.

Too the necklace has an interesting history as it probably belonged to a Queen of Naples, so it has a trace of the personality of the person who would have worn it–like some sort of sea queen. I love the way that the brain tries to fill in the person on which the jewelry would rest.

Around the corner from the necklace, there is an impressive displace of European gold and silver. Normally, I am quite bored with this section of museums. However, there was a small, golden ship which caught my eye. I was drawn to it for similar reasons as to the necklace. The proportions were a little off–it looked almost like what a toy ship with plastic sails would look like today, with exaggerated details and figurines that were just a bit too big to be realistic. It was much more concerned with narrative than with accuracy. I would have passed it up had I not read the description, however.

According to the description, the hull can be lifted up to reveal a lizard, which is an amazing surprise that we as viewers do not get to see. I thought this was absolutely delightful–particularly if the ship did indeed date back to medieval France, as lizards seem to be a bit out of place with the reverent nature of the piece itself as a display piece or an impressive vessel. I enjoyed this playful juxtaposition.

I started to notice a pattern in the things that I was drawn to–objects that seemed to have a life to them that were strangely out of place in their tone, or perhaps to their tone prescribed by me. I found these statues, which I suppose are objects, to be absolutely marvelous. At first, I found them to be horrible, but then I found them quite funny. I loved the expressions on their faces, particularly, of the sheep and the fish. To me, they just looked like they hated their jobs. They had been plucked out of their ‘normal’ environments and cast in these wooden forms as frozen caricatures of their original forms and put up to guard Naworth Castle in Cumbria. Then, the same thing had happened with their removal from their location to be placed to act as an intermediate between rooms at the V&A.

In addition to these caricatures of the beasts, I found myself drawn to these object caricatures of other forms, particularly recognizable people in Britain. I loved the color and the apparent humor of exaggeration.

I was also drawn to the the creation of space and props as created by these set mockups in the theater section of the museum. I had a sort of theater mock-up in mind when creating my last installation for Navigators with the hanging blind contours of Borough Market and Trafalgar Square.

Interestingly, next to this exhibition, there were certain theatrical pieces from my own home, New Orleans, Louisiana, which were situated in a hall of tapestries.

These costumes are very familiar to me as something that is seen in Louisiana for each carnival season, but they are a tradition of a very specific population in Louisiana, which is passed down in families. I am not a part of the population that engage in creating and wearing these costumes, which are largely mobile multi-paneled narrative illustrations laden with symbolism of the wearer’s personal history. However, it still gave me an intense sense of pride to have a part of my culture celebrated in this museum, which is perhaps and interesting modern recontextualization of the museum, as opposed to the stolen history of many of the other objects.

There were also many other objects that I loved:

Overall, the museum was wonderful and astounding, and now, the task is whittling down all of this material.