A History Of Sorts
When you study art at degree level, you're supposed to know your art movements inside out. There are trends in contemporary art, and currently looking at all the call for submissions advertised lots of people want sound and video. Which, truth be told, I struggle with. Some things, such as Tacita Dean, I almost really like.
Please do not confuse my saying I don't like it, with I don't understand it as a piece of contemporary art. I understand, I can see their inspirations and identify styles and movements within works. From minimalism, which I love and the emptiness that appeals so much to me. Struggling as I do with emotional and sensory inputs, I am so sensitive to too much of anything. Yves Klein and Robert Rauschenberg were probably two men I would have got on with, they were part of the end of art, Dada and the 1950's . Technically this was around the time of the deconstruction of painting, (we know Marcel Duchamp started the readymade ), although it is argued that that movement started before. Yves Klein even coined his own colour. (Honestly, the man was a genius).
In relation to the garbled above rumblings, I think I would align myself somewhere along the questioning of materials and what those materials mean to us. Also, I know I am liable to using the natural forms, which again has it's own connotations, Romanticism (and it's philosophisers) saw the sublime in nature and it's beauty, whereas in the 20th century things moved, and surrealism saw the sublime in primitivity, think of Dali's The Temptation Of St Antony, there are so many sexual over tones in one painting.
Knowing all this, which is as much art history as contemporary art, the themes that run through allow me to place my sculptures, my installations in context. After reading a good portion of Being and Time by Heideggar, and being utterly confused in the process, I then re-read pieces that I knew had spoken to me, his idea of Dasein especially is what drives a lot of my pieces, it drives me too, Dasein is the experience of being, peculiar to us, we must confront our own mortality, identity. Paradoxly we must live with others, have relationships with those around us, but still we are alone.
You can only be sure of your own thoughts, and that you think. I used to get caught up in thinking that I was the only one alive ever, and it terrified me. I didn't believe that the family and friends I had were real, photographs and any history before me was just pretend evidence my brain had made. I used to believe I'd cracked the code, that really nothing else existed, and I didn't really exist either. I was dead without being dead. It's really no surprise I'd overdose on a regular basis when you believe that. Self harm makes you feel almost ok.
And so, I made art, I made installations, I looked for the feelings, the emotions we can relate to, I looked to some, any evidence it wasn't just me. This was supposed to be a diatribe on not following the crowd, not doing what everyone else is doing because it honestly doesn't fit you, and honestly why I will never do any video/sound art again, as much as I respect those that do it, and do it well. When I really feel like I'm making art is when I have something mouldable in my hands, when I am making.