Castle Market's treasure

Having to put on an exhibition, I have learned, is a pretty tricky business.
However, after you've got your venue, moved past any disagreements and bought a lot of alcohol for the opening, everything seems an awful lot easier.

I haven't made an update yet on how it all went, but I'd like to keep it fairly simple (even though it wasn't quite so simple at the time).

In the end, the venue we landed was a derelict carpet shop - in essence, paradise for an enthusiastic artist who never gets the space to be a little messy. The place is located in Castle Market but may not be there for long. With demolition plans underway, that spot in Sheffield will soon have disappeared. It was a mix of these factors (and sheer desperation for anywhere to exhibit) that created an interesting backdrop for the work we were to make.

The 'we' consisted of: myself, Jenny Morgan, Sophie Webster, Kathryn Davis and Bimal Rana. It was just as well we five haphazardly formed our group because, as we soon realised, objects (in a variety of senses) played a large part in our practices.

The Object Group became Doodah, and the rest is history.

Guarded, 2013

What function do you serve?
No, really - I want to know.
You stand there, no higher than my weak knees,
Sentenced to gaze at the feet of strangers
And breathe the thick suburban air.
You have lived here much longer than I have,
So I was wondering why you stayed.
I see that you are a little broken these days
But I remember how you held me fast,
That one time,
When I took that awkward phone call out the front.
I'm sorry if the weeds at your base make you think
That I don't think about you -
You are a part of my home.
Maybe you think you could protect me,
But I'm not sure that that's what your job is.
You look more like a territory marker
And I am king.

Pastel perfect

Karla Black - Brains Really Are Everything
By Briony Fer

My mum is such a gem when she sends me beautiful artist books.

Material memory

Sometimes, I think I handle two art practices:

1. The first is a material driven, playful experiment. Something in the physical handling of objects; the way they can be transformed, copied and manipulated. The work that is seen.

2. The second goes on secretly. It happens every moment I'm breathing; it winds its way through the first practice and permeates the everyday. Sometimes it is unknowable to even me.
This practice is my investment in thinking.

That isn't to say that I am not thinking when I physically make work. In those moments, I believe that thoughts become translatable as actions.

But there are still pockets of each 'practice' that remain hidden to one another.


Recently, (for a while now really) I have wondered about our memories.
'Our' memories.
The reality is, I can only ever speak from where I am now, with all the experiences I've had, that some how amalgamate to make me the person I am in this very moment.
I can only speak from my position in history; from the places I've lived and visited; from the cultural heritage that is my own and from the knowledge I've adopted.
I could only tell you what it was like for me; I can only show you - or try to show you - what I dream about at night.

I can only use the word 'I'.
But I am not the first 'I'.

I am because of my parents, and because of their parents, and because of their parents.
I am because of women before me.
I am because of history past.
I am because of the teachers who taught me to read.
And because of the friends who kept in contact.
I am because of every forgotten stranger who smiled at me in passing.

All of these little things that ensure my highly subjective view point.

What is it for me to see an art work?
What is it for you to see the same thing?

Do we even see the same thing at all?

I've been thinking

At the moment, I feel as though my biggest work problem is trying to navigate the line between concept and material.

I've always been one to think very deeply about the process and concepts within the way I make work. However, it seems that I may have been overlooking a very important element of my practice, without even realising it: the materials themselves! When this was inadvertently pointed out to me, I could hardly believe that I'd not noticed for so long - my process has been (visually) almost completely dependent on how I use materials. If you've glanced at any of my previous posts, you'd find out quite easily that I've had an affinity with tin foil for a good while now.

I was of course aware of the decisions I was making regarding materials, but I was continually trying to justify though choices with an abstract concept.

When one of my tutors asked me, "Why isn't having the material as a starting point enough?" I felt something click. A weight had lifted and all of those concerns caused by my terrible over-thinking habit instantly dissipated.

Rather than getting hung up on a philosophical stance, I think I'll just talk to my foil for a while.

Shadow play

Studio tests

Studio etiquette

I'd say these were the tracks of an art student...

Let it all out

Onion Cry, 2011

Even a year and a half later, this still makes me cringe like crazy.

Primarily because, when I see it, I feel like I'm reliving the pain of that onion burning in my senses.

I thought I had to blog it when I remembered I'd Youtubed it a while back.

I haven't worked on a performance at all this year - my life seems to now revolve around tin foil. But I wanted to recall the leap I made in my first year at university, by choosing a live art module. 

I'm sure I'll do something performative in the future - I really felt like it helped to feed my thought processes in a completely new way.

This video actually led onto a live performance that I did in one of the lifts at university - 'Cry Wolf, 2011' There are some images from that piece on my 'professional' website, in case you were wondering:

sarahlbotha.wix.com/sarahlbotha

How beautifully mundane

Foil, paint, expanding foam

50 Shades

Studio shoot

I honestly can't get enough of this. 

I took my newly formed concoction of materials into the studio to have a further play - it just so happened that no one was around in the bookable spaces and I managed to nab ages by myself, and took some shots of the objects. 

I've taken to spraying over the foam with a silver paint can - I tried painting it previously but it was just too tedious for the quick tests I wanted to do. I'm not sure which I prefer though, as the spray paint gives much denser coverage than the light sheen from the acrylic paint I was using earlier.

With this method at least, the two materials seem to merge into one at a distance but, as you get closer, the undulating surface leaves a question of exactly what it's made from. (I quite enjoy some teasing.)

I even included some accidental shots of my hand that happened while I was fumbling around with the camera.

Hanging? On the floor? I'm not sure how I'd want these to be viewed.

"Hey there, Ninja."

So, after a little bit of trialing, I thought I'd do even more.

I love the way the expanding foam looks, in combination with foil. It never seems to look dry and people always seem so surprised by its texture when I request they touch it (in a totally normal way.)

There's still something quite organic about it, but completely foreign at the same time. 

The foam seemed to look quite obviously like a B&Q buy (which isn't a terrible thing), but because of the reflective qualities of the foil, I decided I'd put a silver sheen of paint onto the foam too. When I took it out into the sunlight, it became this strange, alien object that interested even Ninja, the cat. 

Domestic placement? Does this work?

U.F.O.

The exposure gave the object a glowing aura in some of the photos - what actually is this object?
What does it do in this environment? How would it look placed in: a gallery space? An abandoned building?

Unnatural habitat

These little creatures looked interesting against the mossy driveway at my house.

Foam tests

I think there's about to be an onslaught of photographic posts, as this is the majority of my documentation when it comes to my work and process. 

So.

I remembered, from being at college, that a girl (who I didn't know then and don't know now) decided she was going to use completely irrational amounts of expanding insulation foam to cover a huge canvas for her final piece. In the end, she painted the entire thing bright pink and my stomach churned at the sight of it.

But anyway.

What I did learn was how intriguing a material expanding foam actually is. It wasn't until recently that I remembered its properties and endeavored to get my hands on some (a lot, actually). 

What could go better with aluminium foil then a bit of insulating foam? I was curious about the way the two materials might interact, so I began a bit of hands-on research.

These images are a simple record of my playing with the highly sticky substance. (Unfortunately, I didn't find the enclosed plastic gloves until it was too late.)

I thought some of the smaller pieces of foam, that I inserted foil inside, looked quite oddly organic - like something I could have found growing at the bottom of my garden. Yet, they hold an unfamiliar, alien quality as well. 

Material marks

Accidental prints from leaning on a) my sofa and b) some scrunched foil.

Ephemeral tracings.

Tape

Little things inspire

I guess I'm being a little naughty, in that I'm writing retrospectively now. But before we were set our second exhibition brief, I completely hit a block. 

I've been working with foil as a material for what feels like forever now and I was suddenly afraid that it just wasn't enough. Thank goodness it was such a beautiful, bright day. I grabbed my sketchbook and a roll of foil and headed to this little green patch two minutes up the road. All I could think was, 'I have nothing except this foil. And I need to do something.' 

So I did something. Before I could even think, my fingertips were working a piece of the foil around the arm of the bench I was sitting on.

I just had to wrap something.

Sitting back, I surveyed the newly sparkling iron. I took a deep breath, put my sketchbook into my bag and decided it was time to go home. 

I turned to look as I headed back across the green and smiled at the glistening silver I'd left behind. 

Someone somewhere

A couple of posts ago, I recounted a really rather mundane moment, where I encountered someone who made me stop - if just for a second - and make a decision. On that occasion, my decision was to study art (it might not have been completely conscious, but nonetheless, something was stirred).
I've been thinking a lot about moments like that - when you meet someone, or touch on something that you think might be important.
I know, I know, I'm stating a fairly obvious truth. Because, in life, one thing leads onto another thing, which leads onto something else, which brings you to where you are right now. Is it valuable to examine the timeline? What does it mean to really retrace a train of thought?

Do you remember moments that you know have, well - not, 'changed you', but have done something? Even if you can't put it into words?

Yesterday, I went to get some photos printed and - just as I walked out of the printer store - a busker across the walkway started to strum his guitar and sing that Michael Buble song that always gets me; 'Home'.
I needed to give my phone a quick check, so I leant behind a nearby pillar. I ended up staying to listen to the entirety of the song. Music always has a powerful effect on my emotions and I could feel myself welling up immediately. I scanned round to see if anyone would notice me lingering uncomfortably. A man was leaning against the nearest shop wall. I assumed he'd be waiting outside for his other half, before I realised the shop specifically sold menswear.
It dawned on me that he might be leaning and listening, just like I was doing. I caught his glance a couple of times. As the song came to a close, the man turned on his heel and briskly headed towards the main shopping centre.
How interesting it felt to have shared that moment with a stranger. I wondered what it was that had made him stick around to hear the whole song.

I wondered if he thought the same about me.
Somebody, somewhere understands.

Artist name?

Boxy

Grid paper

I made these odd little paint tests a while ago - I'm not entirely sure why. They resurfaced while I was looking through old images, just as it seems everybody keeps asking me if I've been painting recently.
I haven't picked up a paint brush in rather a long time and I'm quite sure I made these with my finger.

I have an awful lot of blogging to catch up on - I haven't yet posted about my most recent exhibition or any of the build up! I think I was far too preoccupied to do much writing (which sounds terrible).

One day, I will learn to multitask.
(repeat to yourself as required)