2013 Christmas Cake

 

This year, following tradition of complete anti-tradition, I have iced my Christmas cake as a tribute to the doomed last voyage of Sir Ernest Shackleton's ship the Endurance.

It was crushed by ice and sunk during the imperial trans-antarctic expedition.

 

 

Endurance trapped in pack ice during the Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition (image from wikipedia)

Festivities

Merry Existmas

Perhaps you were lucky enough to get one of my Christmas cards this year, perhaps not

Have a look anyway

 

Merry Existmas, 2013, edition of 30, ink and despair on paper

Finally got round to photographing my bunting

 

Sorry For Your Loss, 2013, fabric, paint, seaquins

 

You Can Buy These, You Know?, 2012,  fabric, paint, sarcasm

I have been working

I've been making lists and checking them twice

I expect some bright spark will find a typo though...

Hair Update

It is beginning to drive me mad.

I am in two minds about having it cut, just to tidy it up so I don't look like a gorgon
I find my hair has a direct effect on the way I feel about myself.
Good hair days and bad hair are an indication to the way I will feel for the rest of the day.
most days are bad hair days. 

The texture of it is so fine that a mere puff of wind mats it into a felt-like substance, subsequent brushing leads to broken hair and knots in my brush. The sheer mass of it means that this isn't really a problem effecting the thickness, but I have a number of mad little hairs that make it look like I have had my hands on a Van de Graaff Generator... 

Father thinks it's wonderful, he doesn't like it when I wear my hair short because it is not a proper girl's hair cut.
He himself is going bald and refuses to shave his head and remove the little hair he has left, which in my opinion makes him look much more elderly than his years. He won't let go, he's always had very well presented hair; clearly there is a strong emotional connection with hair just within the family.

I have a number of silver hairs, which daily make me contemplate my own mortality. 
I can't deal with it
It does, however, keep my ears warm when I am at work. Which is nice.

 hashtag selfie

Hair

The significance of hair in contemporary Western society is not something that has roots in recent celebrity obsessed culture, it is something with a history that’s developed socially, emotionally and culturally along side humanity.
Hair is a more intimate signifier of the self than clothing, make up or other forms of body decoration as it is part of the body itself; cutting of hair is a Big Deal because in doing so, you are literally cutting away a part of yourself.
On a purely evolutionary level, hair is a barometer for the health of the person it belongs to - thick, glossy, long hair suggests optimal health - making them a more attractive prospect when it comes to finding a mate.
Social connections with hair have developed through human history, the bible, for example, uses hair to enforce a patriarchal society. 1 Corinthians 11 tells us that it is shameful for men to have long hair, but that women should keep their hair long for their glory and modesty; to keep short hair she is dishonoring her husband by denying the principle of male headship.
Social movements often use hairstyles to make a statement of solidarity, for example a punk rocker’s Mohawk, or a hippie’s long center-parted greasy strands are characteristics of their chosen clique. Hair is a symbol for these groups, detectable whatever they are wearing and wherever they are in their day to day lives.
Shaving of heads in women has especially negative connotations, linked with shaming or punishment, for example French women who fraternised with German soldiers during WW2 were punished by having their heads shaved.
As a woman, to shave your own head is to cut away your socially accepted sign of femininity and put yourself outside of the norm.
Western society falls back onto well formed stereotypes in order to interpret a shaven head in women -neo-nazi, lesbian, woman mid-breakdown, GI Jane, cancer patient- never reading a close cropped hair style as just something that a woman would do  because, say... it’s loads easier to look after than having hair down to your bum?

My hair is really thick, there’s a lot of it, it is very shiny and soft, on an evolutionary level I’m probably worth a punt.... but on a day to day washing and styling level, it’s a complete nightmare when it gets long. As such, I have never had very Long hair, it’s only ever gotten to shoulder length and that was when I was in secondary school, where I couldn’t be bothered styling it so it would be worn in bunches.
I started shaving parts of my hair off during college, initially to piss off The Man, but then I realised that it was actually loads easier to look after when there was less of it. It began with the back of my head, then the back and one side and finally I went to a cockney skin head, with just a tufty fringe at the front.

I’ve worn a skinhead cut for long enough to be mistaken for a boy, accepted as a neo-nazi, people have assumed I’m a lesbian or a thug.
As a bouncer, having a skinhead gives people a first impression of me that suggests maybe it wouldn’t be a good idea to mess with me, without me even having to say anything at all.
Over the years my hair has certainly been used as a way for me to communicate a character to the world, be that a genuine one or not.

In the time between having a skinhead I had a bit of a breakdown (like, a two year one), interestingly, during this time, I stopped shaving my head. When I had long hair in secondary school I was in a very dark ‘don’t give a fuck’ place too, so to me having long hair is something synonymous with me losing the will to look after myself. I see it as having given up on my usually carefully crafted external representation of self. This is the complete opposite to what society expects, but highlights my relationship with my hair.

Last year, 2012, I decided to grow out my skinhead, just to see what would happen.

I will be documenting its growth until I feel it is long enough and commenting on the way in which it affects my life.

It may be some time. 

 

Time out, Scalpels, Stitches, Boxes

Recently, I have not been making art, not as much as I should and not as much as I would like to.
This is due to a few things, one of those being that I had a cosmetic procedure to make good some aesthetic issues caused by a childhood of obesity.

Another is that, due to my failings as an independent adult human being, I have had to move back into my parent's house; something I have always point blank refused to do. HOWEVER, if I am to save enough money to buy illicit drugs pay my way when I (hopefully) move down to London for a masters next year, then I must put into practice some cost cutting measures. The first of these is to sever ties with a blood sucking, dog-hating landlady, and all of the bills associated with living in a two bed damp shithole on my own.

Currently I am living out of boxes and painting a spare room white in order that I might have a studio. I was sold the lie of "everything will be ready when you move in", in reality I have had to move everything into the garage and sort through every cupboard in the house in order to find places for my belongings.

The logistics of fitting a two bedroom terraced house into two rooms is taking up much of my think space.
I did get to go to the tip yesterday though.
Which is nice.
Please find these images in place of finished work for the time being, I will have some horrible stuff ready to assault your eyes with very soon.
That's not to say some of these images aren't horrible

The drain

Morphine

 

 

they took approximately 400g of flesh and fat

I wish they had taken a pound

I have started a new cross stitch in my convalescence, then had to move house so it's come to a stand still

 

 

 

Found a collage about men I forgot I had made

 

I think this is not finished yet. I had forgotten about it anyway.

 

Serendipity is my lover

 

 

exactly what you expect to find in a biscuit tin beneath a load of paint 

 

I left this in an alleyway

 

that's probably what the smell was then...

 

sadness of white walls

 

Half-packed studio. Leave the porn til' last. 

 

It's my moving hat. 

 

Important objects

 

wait, what?

 

cheers to the front room

 new studio... pre painting 

 halp.