Lost in space…and back to earth

Cropped detail of mixed media Dungeness artwork

I’m steadily getting used to the new studio. Since my previous post, back in early October, I’ve made myself spend a lot of time in my new big white space, even on the rainy depressing days when I didn’t want to. And I’m steadily developing a new series of mixed media works on paper, inspired by that Dungeness visit a few months ago. So the painting is going pretty well, considering, and that’s helped with my apprehension and sense of being ‘lost’ in the space.

Cropped detail of mixed media Dungeness painting

I also rediscovered a book full of images of artists’ studios and spaces which reminded me that, being a bit of a magpie at home (it’s full of vintage/collectibles), I could spill my collecting over into this place and I’d feel more comfortable and hopefully inspired by being surrounded by stuff I love, whilst at the same time reducing that expanse of white!

There’ve been teething problems naturally – the building, like a lot of the airbase, has been basically neglected since the 1980s when the MOD left. Fortunately I have a very practical, patient and helpful other half, so rainwater leaking in from the glass ‘lantern’ in the roof, draughts, problems with getting the log burner going, are sorted or in hand, thankfully. It’s not easy to heat either, so the padded overalls I bought several years ago are still an essential.

Cropped detail from mixed media Dungeness painting

Meanwhile, I’m loving working on the latest paintings – gouache, ink, acrylic etc on paper and newsprint. As with much of my work there’s an element of serendipity involved in the process, of seeing what happens to that ink when I wet it further, of obscuring and revealing, planned and accidental, layering, veiling with gesso, scribbling and scoring, and so on.

Cropped detail from Dungeness mixed media painting

Several works from this series need to be kept under wraps until early next year, but you can see a few cropped details in this post.

Cropped detail from mixed media Dungeness painting

Work space: new studio syndrome

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Dungeness series. Small mixed media on paper.

How perverse the creative mind can be. If we’re lucky, we may get to a stage we’ve worked for, strived and hoped for for some time (with me it’s my ‘new’ larger studio), but then frustratingly we can find it difficult to accept the new (improved) situation without a sometimes lengthy period of mixed emotions: imposter syndrome; guilt (‘I’m not making the most of the new whatever-it-is’); bewilderment (‘where do I go from here?’); ‘I’m supposed to produce great stuff now… what if I can’t?’. And did you notice that word ‘lucky‘ near the start of this paragraph? Of course, there’s an element of luck in everything, but still… giving ourselves some credit is never easy.

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Dungeness series. Small mixed media on paper.

I’ve been working in my large new 1930s airbase studio for a few days a week, for the past month and, when not actively engaged in painting (a few examples here in this post), I find myself floundering a bit – the space, the extra storage (where do I put stuff… and then find it again?), the light’s different (it’s often very good, great natural light, but it’s late in the year and I don’t have my daylight tubes in yet, so when daylight fades the lighting is a bit ‘yellow’). I feel like one of those rescue hens which, when first put out into lovely open space, huddle close to their hut for safety, as I seem to have gathered my easel and paints etc around me in the middle of the room, a bit like a wagon train under siege. I’m not looking for sympathy. I know many artists would give their right arm for a space like this. But it’s still disconcerting.

I’ve read that artists can often take quite some time to get used to a new space, and that it can inevitably affect their work. So I was anticipating this stage somewhat before I moved in. And I’m fairly sure a big part of it is my usual S.A.D. syndrome kicking in with the shorter days and the current murky wet and windy weather.

The answer, I know, is to go to the studio as often as possible and get working, and keep working until it becomes second nature – here, working, in this strange new studio, with its different light, different sounds, different surroundings.

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Dungeness series. Small mixed media on paper.

ochre clay, pale stones, rusting metal…

Coastal erosion abstract, acrylics on paper, 18x18cm. © Mari French 2018

Almost chickened out of going to the studio today seeing 2 inches of snow outside and plummeting temperatures. But I’d been looking forward to painting having been busy doing other stuff for much of the past week.

So, quilted overalls on (of which my hubby is very jealous) and calor gas heater going full blast I actually had an enjoyable few hours working on 3 small pieces on paper I’d started last week. When fingers got a bit frosty I blasted them with the hairdryer I use for drying off acrylics.

Coastal erosion abstract, acrylics on paper, 18x18cm. © Mari French 2018

These three works continue the series I’m currently developing in response to coastal erosion on the North Norfolk coast (mainly around Happisburgh), which I wrote about in my previous post. I’m attracted to the colours of the crumbling cliffs and broken structures littering the shore – ochre clay, pale stones, rusting metal, concrete etc, set against the shadowy land slips below the fields above. For these small paintings I used acrylics, gouache and inktense pencil on watercolour paper – I sometimes use a smoother paper or board support, but here I like the grain exposed by the dryish edge of the dragged paint.

Coastal erosion abstract, acrylics on paper, 18x18cm. © Mari French 2018

My solo exhibition, from 24th March for one month at the Grapevine Gallery, Burnham Market, North Norfolk, will feature these three works alongside other larger pieces in the series and several new reedbeds paintings. Below are a few of the earlier stages of these small paintings.

Early stages of painting, coastal erosion works. © Mari French 2018Early stages of painting, coastal erosion works. © Mari French 2018Early stages of painting, coastal erosion works. © Mari French 2018