A wise friend of mine uses the word recalibrate.

That is the key, she believes, to managing in this ‘year of wonders’.

She posits that we need to recalibrate the way we see things in the light of what has played out. We need to recalibrate what we call successful:  what is success at work, what is success personally. We need to recalibrate what we expect of others and of ourselves.

Were we to apply our current measures of achievement we would be very likely to fall short. ‘Circumstances out of our control’ have rendered the terms normal and usual foreign for a time. Heights we would normally reach, tasks we would usually complete, are no longer appropriate yardsticks for this year. We need a new view which takes into consideration the disruption and change that has, and is, occurring.

I was in line to achieve my goal for 2020 of a solo exhibition in a capital city. My recalibrated aim is not to allow any disappointment to diminish enthusiasm for later shows. I was planning to establish gallery contacts with regard to future representation. My recalibrated timeline is to tackle that in 2021 when such bodies are back on the level. I was pushing myself to develop a vibrant and growing studio during this year. My recalibrated goal is to maintain a regular art practice despite the lack of outlets for the work. Different times. Different measures.

It is not the year to be criticising ourselves for functioning differently. We can’t expect the same pace in our lives without the same drivers and rewards. We have been thrown back on our own resources which are rich but, perhaps, inconsistent and we need to take that into consideration when tallying up the year’s numbers, either at the end or during the current disorder.

2020 is a remarkable year. We have not encountered anything like it before. This pandemic is exposing rough and uncharted territory. It is, as the world likes to say, ‘unprecedented’. Looking back, we will perhaps forget the frustration of thwarted attempts and under- or different achievement. At the moment, though, we need to recognise that they are inevitable and embrace them, if not warmly, at least politely.

Until later,

Kirsten

I have a professional artist friend who had one work hanging on the wall in his home for a whole year before he decided it was finished and ready for public consumption. This same artist would say that, in his studio, he spends more time looking than he does painting.

Both those things are, for me, a salutary reminder. My tendency is to rush to get things finished because I like the completed item.  At this time, however, with few deadlines, it is eminently possible to slow down and really contemplate where a piece is at, what it still needs and what would give it that ‘final 2%’ to lift it to its best possible being.

I think it extends beyond art. I think our default position in life is to hurry. The concept of ‘smelling the roses’ is not our natural state. Indeed, it’s a concept of which we need reminding via affirmations, inspirational quotes and the like. We have apps to help us remain calm, we have posters advocating a peaceful existence, some have Netflix to give them an excuse to stop.

What would our world be like if we spent more time looking than doing? More time thinking than acting? I find it hard to imagine. There would be a slower pace, I suppose. More consideration would be given to undertakings and perhaps there would be fewer mistakes made.

In some ways, the current pandemic has caused just such a slow-down as both the capacity for our output and the availability of input has been compromised. COVID-19 has interrupted the commonplace bustle of life with a more relaxed rhythm, enforced and not desirable, certainly, but our daily reality nonetheless. Target has sold out of jigsaw puzzles, my daughter has taken up cross stitch, online browsing and, inevitably, shopping has taken over from belting around the shops. People are making games in their houses, dressing up to put their bins out, taking their children for walks. Even those working from home, while the intensity of business may be heightened without the usual interruptions from colleagues and occasional informal chat, the commute is non-existent, the necessity to present in quite the same ‘work mode’ is reduced and the daily dislocation from one’s residence removed.

Many things are flourishing. Care for others, contact with friends and family and humorous offerings in all sorts of places now fill and characterise my days. The environment is breathing the fresh air of reduced traffic and industry. The speed of passing time is different and I wasn’t even particularly busy before. I can only imagine how some people are having to adjust. That won’t be easy for many, especially those forced out of work, and their memories of the pandemic may not be as generous as those of others. Frustration, boredom, desperation, fear and risk-taking are almost certainly heightened in some quarters. Such is our societal unaccustomed-ness to a slower and restricted pace.

This is our chance to smell the roses. This is our chance to take a moment to look and evaluate. This is a time to think about what we need, what will make our lives better when this is all over. I suppose most things will ramp up to their previous rate – so many things depend on that now – but there may be some imprint left, some leftover sense of quiet that we keep for a little bit longer.

Until later

Kirsten

I recently drew together a collection of images of new-ish artwork to see how I was tracking for an August exhibition. I was surprised to see that almost all the works employed basically the same colours – blues, turquoise, muted violet, a muted green. To a casual observer, some of them may have been largely indistinguishable from the others. I knew that those colours were my favourites, and certainly, being cool colours, they fit the bill for backgrounds, but I hadn’t quite realised how prevalent they were in the body of work. Not just prevalent. Almost overwhelming.

Obviously, in my mind, these colours are safe. They blend well, they are analogous, they allow the warmer colours of the trees to come forward, they are, simply, lovely. I suddenly discovered that, en masse, they are also boring. Where is the vibrancy? Where is the variation?

I would never suggest that safe is necessarily boring. In this case, though, it is true. Although my colours are strong, there is a lack of experimentation which is rendering all the works too much the same. Perhaps that is the key. Safe is not necessarily boring but, maybe, same is.

At the moment, with the restrictions placed on our lives, there is a danger of the days becoming the same. Routine is promoted as a key to keeping up mental and physical health – but routine can also become drudgery. It is vital to also keep some vibrancy in our lives, some variation.

But where do we get this vibrancy and variation? We are thrown so much back on our mental resources now, whether working from home, not working at all, experiencing a great change in lifestyle or a less dramatic one and sometimes those resources can waver, or wear a bit thin, or become too narrow.

Vibrancy and variation come to us, not through our output, not through what we do or can’t do, but from the input we take on board, what feeds into our souls. Our vitality comes from what we read, what we see, what we learn, what creates a laugh, what gives us energy. It comes from contact with others, something that we now manage in new ways. It comes from books, newspapers, online offerings, unfolding opportunities that didn’t exist before. It comes from the larger world entering ours.

It is relatively safe in our homes. It can also be a bit too much the same. To prevent decline we need to sop up, to suck in every inspirational, intellectual, enjoyable, life-giving moment that we can. We can build vibrancy and variation. We can actively seek it out and cultivate it. I believe we need to do that, even in the best of times, but particularly now when the usual distractions or demands of activity and doing are limited.

Until later,

Kirsten

I am making a collection. This collection, saved on my phone, is mainly made up of screenshots of items that float past, bits and pieces that relate to living through a global pandemic. It’s not an exhaustive collection, by any means, but I figure that, in a year, or five or more, I will want to remember.

History is being made. History is, of course, always being made at all times and in all places but it is rarely that the same history is unfolding the world over. The artefacts of that history are being generated by the minute. With the incredible amount of information that flies around we are bombarded with the true and the false in equal measure. What will survive through to the end?

News, official documentation, government releases, cabinet papers, medical records, photographs and the like will become vital sources for future historians. They will explain what happened. They will allow us to piece together the events, the procession of circumstances that currently seems to swirl in all directions around us. They will tell the basic story. They will provide, once the dross is removed, the naked bones of the matter.

Writing, art, music, theatre, dance, and other creative outpourings will tell further parts of the history. They will provide information about the feelings the pandemic generated in the population. The results will be the response of those who are willing and able to make a public statement. Some of these pieces will be permanent, some transient, but each will speak of an understanding of the human condition throughout this crisis. They will provide the flesh on the skeleton.

What I am most interested in, however, is the ephemera. The utterly disposable. The posts on social media, the funny quotes, the clever memes, the pleas for compliance, the taking of a stand by everyday people, the witticisms and the stories of generosity and humanity. These things are born of the resilience of the community. They are the support networks. They are apparently fleeting – we see them one day and they are gone the next – but they add to our lives, they give hope and light, they communicate essential information, they make us laugh, they paint a picture of our will to survive and our determination not to lose our collective senses of humour. These things are the soul of the being.

My collection is a tiny sample of these objects. It is a minute, digital, modern-day scrapbook.  I have notifications of state border closures. I have jokes about introverts, a coronavirus quarantine sign, a photo of a video conferencing lunch, memes that distract from the seriousness of our situation and instructions for staying home. These make up the third layer of colour that is no less important than the other two.

And so the history of the pandemic will be told in

the events OF it,

the response TO it and

our humanity THROUGH it.

I think we will come out on top. I also think the stories we tell about ourselves and the way we negotiated the path will make the most interesting part of the history. We have the chance to preserve it if we do it now. Hang on to a little bit and, collectively, we will be able to paint a magnificent portrait when we come out the other end.

Until later,

Kirsten

They say that Italy’s greatest strength is family. It has also become its most destructive element as multi-generational families living together are struggling with ‘the virus’. I can understand the need to keep close and here, in Australia, we are having to find different ways to do that given extended groups don’t reside together as a rule.

I have never known so many WhatsApp messages flying around on my family and other chats. Text messages flick backwards and forwards for the most tenuous of reasons. Wonderfully silly memes, photos and ridiculous comments are populating the satellite-waves, not just amongst those near and dear to me but across the whole community. I have used FaceTime and video conferencing for the first time in my life. It’s hard to imagine keeping in touch to such an extent without the technology that we have at our disposal. I wonder if the inventors or developers of these platforms ever envisaged they would become such vital survival tools.

We are mentally and emotionally and virtually gathering the clan, calling in those who are familiar and make us feel secure. The dings and bongs and dit-dits of the phone promise contact which, for those both strictly in isolation and those in stay-at-home mode, is connection with the world that we so desperately need at the moment. Hugs and shaking hands, even standing next to someone, are out but phone-calls, emails and messages are the heroes of the hour.

And blogs. Who would have thought?

Until later,

Kirsten

Due to current circumstances surrounding the COVID-19 pandemic and my primary concern for the safety of my readers, this week’s blog post has been cancelled.

(Hahahaha!!!! We all need a laugh.)

Until later,

Kirsten

These are uncertain times. Strange things are happening in our day to day lives. Sometimes it feels like strange things are happening to the usually civilised nature of the community. The concern over the illness in question is almost less than the concern over potential isolation – preventative measures loom larger than the real deal.

These are confusing times. As an inveterate list-maker, planner and organiser, it is unusual for me not to have a clear picture of how things in the next weeks and months will progress. While that is very unsettling (there are times when it is certainly frustrating), strangely, there is also a tiny sense of liberation, or enforced irresponsibility, in having to make the best decision one can make on any given day and then letting it go.

I feel up in the air. I am sure that could be said for almost everyone. With us all floating a little aimlessly, we lack the grounding that usually keeps us safe, and sensible. We have lost the security of knowing that tomorrow will proceed as expected. Things are changing so quickly it can be hard to adjust. We are dislocated.

Keeping our head is key. I am finding phone, email, text contact with special people, especially across distance, increasingly important. I guess they are the people to whom we turn when we feel uncertain, confused and up in the air. They are the people that keep us who we are. They are the people who reflect us back to ourselves and remind us that we are still as we were before ‘all this’.

I am in the café writing, as is my usual modus operandi. I have been to the post office to check the mail, picked up the dry cleaning and dropped some works at the framer. It is a deliberately normal morning during the most un-normal of times. I am using routine to keep a lid on those feelings that can derail.

Perhaps another coffee would be a good thing.

Until later,

Kirsten

Admittedly, I do tend to subscribe to erudite things that I don’t always read (the irony will become evident) but there seems to be an absolute bias in the articles that get delivered to my inbox. For example, here is a miniscule selection from the last couple of days:

 

“’12 Habits That Destroy Your Focus And Productivity’

‘How To Get More Work Done In A Day That Most People Do In A Week.’

‘The Most Productive Thing You Can Do With 10 Free Minutes Alone’

 

These articles are all interesting and contain fabulous material. I don’t mean to diminish them at all. What they do seem to point to though, when seen en masse, is a fascination with, or an obsession over, maybe even an expectation of, total and consuming productivity in all aspects of our lives. There seems to be a need for us to be, or be seen to be, or feel as if we are using every minute as effectively as possible in order to get ahead or make the most of the time and resources we have at our disposal.

There is also research, however, into boredom and down-time. Some say that these things are essential for creative ingenuity – particularly boredom as it is the brain’s desire to get out of this uncomfortable situation that leads to new thoughts and innovative ideas. The believers in this line of thinking would be concerned if every moment was already productive. How could we then, in this replete state, create anything new?

Amusingly, though, even the boredom researchers are using that apparently passive mode to create new productivity, thus effectively destroying that very state of boredom or that down-time. What about those genuinely unproductive periods that we all crave. Are they not important in their own right, too? I often have times when I watch a great deal of sport on television. There is no advancement of me or humankind. Nothing physical or intellectual is produced. It is simply lazy time. Holiday time. An opportunity to intersperse something with nothing.

Being productive is great. I think we get an enormous amount of satisfaction and worth from being that way. I also think the times we just give in to reclining on the couch and taking in the surroundings, or a movie, or a book, or whatever, are important punctuation marks in our day of dialogue and commentary.

So, to an unashamed cup of tea and a lie-down …

Until later,

Kirsten

I have been spending a great deal of time at the framers. There is no doubt that a work is enhanced by the finishing touches of a mount and moulding. Sometimes I think one can get away with a secondary work, as long as it is framed well! But it was only today that I realised what the process actually meant.

Many of my works begin as a bit of a musing – make a mark here and there and see where it leads, pull out a colour and see what it inspires. There is, initially at least, only a faint outline in my mind of where a piece is headed. It is about exploration, about vague ideas and shifting inclinations.

After a little while the musing becomes a thought. It begins to be formed, to have some sort of structure, a little bit of logic. There is still nothing fixed, so happenstance, and errors, can profoundly affect the direction but there are judgements made and some conscious decisions about design and process.

Gradually, the thought becomes a statement – something with a personality and an opinion of its own. The piece distinguishes itself from others and takes on its uniqueness. The path has been taken, for better or worse, and the trail is being trodden deliberately. Indeed, the destination itself is within sight.

A frame, the final acceptance of ‘finished’, does more than just present the art in its best light. Framing takes a work from musing, from thought and statement and makes it a declaration. A painting, once framed, celebrates its message in a way that it could do only inadequately in its naked state. It now claims space, it claims time. It gathers all the mental energy and creativity in its being and trumpets it to, moreover, impresses it upon the world.

Until later,

Kirsten

Layers in painting can be a good thing. They can add warmth, or coolness. They can add depth. Under-layers can shine through, either explicitly or more subtly, bringing texture, sometimes visual or even tactile. Many artists will automatically paint a colourful under-layer in order to get rid of the white of the canvas. At times this will even be done in opposite colours to those of the planned piece in order to create vibrancy and interest.

Sometimes layers aren’t appropriate, though, or even possible. One example of this is when working with transparent media. Overlapping coats of ink simply become darker and, while this may be a desired effect in its own right, actually changing a colour isn’t very easy. Neither is blotting out a change of mind.

So, I applied a swipe of colour on a painting. It was a calculated risk – I was trying to match another such patch elsewhere – but, this time, it was a mistake. All I can see now is the addition looking like a clumsy token gesture in the top-ish, left-hand-ish side.

Oh, for an undo button. It is such a presence in our computer-centric lives now. And what a wonderful thing it is. Try something out … no? … simply undo. Delete a paragraph in error? …. undo again. Early computers and associated programs didn’t have the undo option. One had to be careful but now, cavalier as you like, we can always retreat.

But we can’t undo an application of ink. Neither can we undo our words, or our instant facial reaction to something, or the fact that we were neglectful at a particular time. We can try to mitigate, or recover, or redress but there is no going back to before. Thus, we need to tread carefully, measure our responses, think about the effects of the things that we do and don’t do. Not always easy, of course. A bit of an ideal to aspire to, I suppose.

I’m not sure what I will do with the painting. The sadness is that it was good as it was. Taking it that step further may have made it irretrievable. We’ll see. Not time to despair yet. I will, however, be mindful of my interactions with the other elements in my life to ensure that a parallel event doesn’t occur.

Until later,

Kirsten

My car has potentially reached the end of its life or is, at least, concerningly ill. It is a Sunday, I am away from home and I have on board an enormous amount of baggage – mainly art materials with a few clothes – which has now been unloaded into the garage of a very kind friend so I am free to leave my vehicle with the unfamiliar (and, hopefully, not-too-busy) mechanics tomorrow morning. Goodness knows how many days I may be stranded. I won’t know until I get the report.

It makes me realise that I am totally dependent on my independence. Interesting juxtaposition. And my car is integral to that. I am used to having it double as a convenient shipping container or a comfortable waiting room. While not strictly being a restaurant, it has certainly acted as a BYO dining hall. I have changed my clothes, slept, written, hidden and sung in my car, not to mention travelled with it for hundreds of thousands of kilometres.

I need to admit that my car is, in essence, my security blanket. It is also the means to live the life that works for me at this time. Along with my mobile phone, which provides the absolutely vital link to home, my car is a lifeline.

And now, for a day, or several, or longer, I may be without it. I try to negotiate in my head how that will work, how long my reliance on other people will last, what the procedure should be if the car is, really, past its use-by date. Getting home becomes, strangely and suddenly, more of a priority than it was before.

So, it is not just a car. It is an on-ramp to a whole world. It is the avenue to almost every one of my opportunities. It is the route to nearly all my experiences. It is probably unwise to be in a complex and tangled relationship with an expensive machine, particularly when that other party is unreliable. In all great love stories, however, there is give and take. I just hope that tomorrow doesn’t bring too much take.

Until later,

Kirsten

Melbourne. Humid but overcast day. A Brunswick breakfast. Later, an appointment with a gallery to present images for their consideration for an exhibition in 2021. That feeling of showing up and bracing for a polite no thank you.

Vulnerability seems to be the catch word of the last five or ten years – what it means, what it requires and what the returns can be. Brené Brown, US writer and researcher, is, of course, the voice of the movement as the most well-known of its exponents.

Someone I know went to hockey training at a new club last night. This person knows how to play the game and how to find the venue but everything else was unfamiliar – the people, the routine, the culture. It required a strength to turn up there alone and find a way to establish new connections.

Putting yourself out there seems to require that strength. It’s scary sometimes and requires some degree of girding of the loins because the outcome is unknown and possibly uncomfortable or, potentially, downright deflating.

Someone else I know has learned to manage a significant anxiety. For this person, each step beyond the comfort zone requires an enormous battle with the self-talk and self-questioning. It is a strength and determination of the most extreme sort to overcome such obstacles and it garners my highest admiration.

Showing up, vulnerability, strength, putting oneself out there and stepping beyond are not compulsory and certainly not easy but, perhaps, probably, certainly, they are desirable for the long term.

Until later,

Kirsten

I guess we all have those little obsessions – those issues or objects that really matter. Maybe obsessions is too strong a word. Perhaps preoccupations, enthusiasms, passions might be less confronting. But essentially, we all have a thing, or several things, that we keep close to our hearts. Sometimes that’s good. Sometimes not.

There are preoccupations about things such as the status of apostrophes in the English language, the colour of clothes pegs used to hang out the washing or consuming needs like having to have the dishwasher stacked correctly. There are obsessions with cats, exercise, socialising. I am not, for a single moment, talking about obsessions that come as part of a mental health condition. That is never for a blog like this, written by the ultimate layman. I am talking about those apparently everyday foci that colour our days and rear their ugly or humorous or individualistic heads at varying intervals.

But what happens when we suddenly realise that one of our obsessions has completely drained us? What happens when we wake up one day and think ‘I am so bone weary of this being on my mind’? Are we able, in a moment of clarity, to manufacture an end? To let go of the string? To free ourselves? Are obsessions intrinsic to our being or are they adopted? Maybe they are some of each. Can we, by force of will, slough them off like a heavy coat and swan off into the sunset. I believe we can, with a resolute approach. One must rub against the direction of the velvet to change the nap and, similarly, we can push against those automatic reactions that manifest when we drift into all too familiar territory.

I have given up an obsession. Just like that. I tell myself it’s a trial separation but I don’t intend to go back. I falter, of course, but the effort has already liberated me. It’s not a cure for all ills – I still have my apostrophe preoccupation, for example. I am still obsessed with art materials and stationery products (the peg choice and dishwasher-stacking, being somewhat in the realm of household chores, have never been a problem). I still obsess about many other things, but I. Have. Let. One. Go.

Again, I stress, this is not deep psychological stuff. This is surface behaviour. Do not read into it more than is intended. It was simply an interesting experience to realise that perhaps this obsession no longer served me so the time had come to jettison it. Jettison away, I say (to myself). What’s next on the list???

Until later,
Kirsten

P.S. Actually, the last sentence is funny. I wrote it quite unconsciously, but lists are probably my biggest obsession. Ha! Sometimes, despite all I’ve discovered, there seems to be no escape!

I went through a period recently when I was reluctant to get into the studio. I felt unmotivated. I had that ‘maybe I’ll have the day off’ feeling for a significant time. A version of this crops up occasionally but, in this instance, the feeling was quite strong and long-lasting. I couldn’t work out what was wrong. Perhaps I’d ‘gone off’ painting? Perhaps it was just a hobby and had reached its use-by date?

It was a few days before I managed to get myself down the stairs and into the action where I came face to face with a painting that was not going well. All became clear. This painting was a stopper. It was a block to any creative flow or inspiration. The frustration with it, or perhaps the disappointment, prevented progress.

I had two options. The first was to push through, which was what I would normally do in an effort to solve whatever problem was occurring. The other was to step around it or, more accurately, move it firmly out of the way so I could see, once again, the opportunities behind it. The latter is what I did. Perhaps it was postponement. Perhaps it was abandonment. It didn’t matter at that stage. Either way, the physical and mental act was effective in clearing the air and reinstating momentum. In fact, like a dam wall being breached, the rush of enthusiasm was heartening.

It made me wonder what other stealthy blocks occur in different parts of life. Are we reluctant to go out because, really, we don’t feel comfortable in our dressed-up clothes? Are we negative about work because, in reality, it’s difficult to find a car park? Are we slow at taking medication because, deep down, we are resentful about the reason?

We may struggle with these experiences daily. Recognising what is the actual block, however, may make that easier. Focussing on the real problem and either solving it, or stepping around it, may remove the angst and that dragging feeling that can make aspects of living more difficult than necessary. Much of the time, we can’t remove the blocks entirely, but perhaps we can mitigate them or think about them differently.

Until later,

Kirsten

What is home? Is it the bricks and mortar? Is it the location? Is it where your people are? Or some of your people? Is it the stuff and treasures? Is it safety, or not? Is it where work is? Is it where one grew up? Is it simply one’s official address?

I imagine it is parts of all of those.

And so, what does it mean to go home? To be at home? To have time away from home? To leave home? What are our assumptions about what home offers, or can no longer offer?

Homes change as we move. Homes can be layered over time as we grow. Can there be only one home or can there be two or more? Do we have to spend significant time in a space to call it home? Can home be a memory?

What is homeless? If one is homeless, is one also placeless? And if one is placeless does that mean, by definition, one is homeless? What about when homes get destroyed? What remains? Is the location still home or has the destruction been comprehensive enough to sever the ties?

Is home where our roots are? If we are bereft of roots, are we necessarily drifting? And if we are drifting, is it because our sense of home is uncertain or shifting? Are there roots buried elsewhere to which we might reattach? And is drifting a bad thing, anyway?

Today is going home day. Food for thought.

Until later,

Kirsten