ODE TO LOUISE

Falling in love

My love affair with Louise Bourgeois (LB) began in 2009 when June - a fellow student -  introduced me to her art work while we were studying art therapy.  I was immediately excited by LB's use of textiles.  As I read more about her work, I respected her tenacity and unapologetic creativity.  She was driven to create and only achieved fame when she was older. The business of sculpting was a man's world and it took a long time for her work to be recognised.  She continued to work into her nineties completing her final pieces of art only one week before she died.



Louise Bourgeois with her amazing hand

To Paris with dreadlocks

 In 2010 I  visited Paris with dreadlocks and my husband Rob. (As part of my felting obsession I wanted my hair felted.  I spent way too much money and time at the hair dressers fulfilling my passion for knotted fibres. Still it was quite a groovy 'do' for the Parisian sidewalks.)  This was my first time to Paris. The galleries, the public art and the appreciation of art was so inspiring.  On weekends people go to galleries - almost like we go to the footy. In fact the day we went to the La Orangerie to see the Monet water lillies was Grand Final day.  We rang to tell our kids that we were viewing a Monet water lillies painting and all that they could tell us was that there was a draw in the Grand Final and it was going to be replayed next week! 

Ahh the public art...bumped into a Thomas Moore on the street

 

Even the confetti was romantic in Paris!




but it was Vincent that stole my heart...the light he captured
 in his paintings seduced me

I expected to fall in love with Monet.....

   

I had to see this particular tapestry titled La Dame à la Licorne
in the Musée de Cluny.  I love this image when the Unicorn first sees himself.
This image was on the front cover of one of my favourite art therapy books.

 

 

 

The view from the apartment - gotta love those rooftops. Our
apartment was fabulous - to the left was the Eiffel Tour that
sparkled like magic on the hour!
 

 

Loved the exotic gum leaves in amongst the roses!

 

 

Louise on tap

My first gallery visit was to the Pompadour and I literally stumbled across a room full of Louise Bourgeois paintings and sculpture. I was struck by the strength of her artwork. I was attracted, repulsed and in awe of her ability to express her pain and her strength through her art. 

the breathing the palpitations the hot flashes...I could so identify with this

 

 

Big powerful and fascinating images. Phallic sculptures.

 

Louise  Bourgeois Cumul I, 1968 

 

Extreme tension - more hands

 At last I meet "Maman"

On our last day in Paris we decided to look in one more art gallery. I cannot remember the name of the gallery.  We were in between exhibitions and there was not a lot on offer.  Still they suggested we might like to look at some of their permanent art collection.  As I walked down a flight of stairs my heart missed a beat,  there stood a Louise Bourgeois spider. 

The setting was terrible but it did not distract from the haunting nature of
these sculptures.  Once again I could belong to the landscape of the sculpture.
I could walk around and under and see it from many perspectives.

 

Large, hunting, disturbing, lurking.

 

It was ominous and terrifying - I felt like it could devour me.

I was hooked.

I returned from Paris a passionate fan of Louise Bourgeois work.  I was delighted to see an exhibition in February 2013 at the Heide Gallery Melbourne.  This highlighted her fabric works. For my 49th birthday I went to see the exhibition.   I was once again taken on a journey that thrilled and disturbed me.  I visited 4 times and each time my curiosity was inflamed. I came away feeling unsettled.  What is it about her artwork that connected so directly with my emotions?   (Stay tuned for another blog on this very question)



This is an article from an ABC journalist who captures the essence of this exhitibition(http://www.abc.net.au/arts/blog/Collins/Louise-Bourgeois-Heide-review-130215/default.htm, July 29th 2013)

Louise Bourgeois, late works and Australian artists

Courtney Collins

Posted: Friday, 15 February 2013 at 1:38pm

French-born American artist and sculptor Louise Bourgeois (1911 –2010) continued to create provocative works well into her 90s. Heide Museum of Modern Art presents an exhibition of her work focusing on the final fifteen years of her career and another exhibition that looks at the relationships between her art and 10 Australian artists. Courtney Collins finds living traces of the woman, nick-named ‘the Spiderwoman’.
‘I pick on everyone, dead or alive.’

- Louise Bourgeois in What is the Shape of This Problem? (1999)

There is a portrait of Louise Bourgeois taken by Robert Mapplethorpe in 1982 of the artist carrying Fillette. Bourgeois has tucked Fillette (1968), a penis-like sculpture, under her arm and she is holding onto it with one hand like it is both a weapon and a trophy.

I am moving into the exhibition Louise Bourgeois: Late Works at Heide Museum of Modern Art and despite how striking an object it is (you can see it for yourself in the catalogue) I am now not thinking at all about Fillette. I am thinking about Louise Bourgeois’ hands. Room to room, there is no escaping their concentrated presence.

Late Works is an exhibition of thousands and thousands of stitches, hand-sewn by Bourgeois, the cutting and stuffing of fabric to form human heads and hanging bodies. There is a feeling of the artist’s instinct for repair but then the feeling is swiftly disturbed by some deliberate decapitations such as Couple IV (1997). Throughout the exhibition, the first survey of Bourgeois’ work in Australia since her death in 2010, there’s the compounding and repeated drama of bodies missing heads and heads missing bodies.

I think I am taking a break from such drama, facing the ocean-coloured tapestries of The Waiting Hours (2007). At first look, the individual abstract works seem pretty and benign, so much so I imagine them all sewn together as a patchwork quilt covering a big old bed. But as I train my eyes over each delicate panel I do not realize each one is gently tipping me up until I am tipped over. They bring on crying.

I’m moving further in, taking in sculptures, fabric drawings, watercolours and embroidered texts. By the time I reach Spider (1997), a vast, five and a half metre-tall steel and mixed media sculpture, I am so convinced of the power of Bourgeois’ hands I cannot think of her dead, even at 99. She must have installed this work herself. She must be responsible for the fine weave of webs I can now see trailing these gargantuan spider legs.

I ask the guide with the peacock earrings who is responsible and she said, ‘That’s our resident wolf spider. She’s been very, very busy making webs.’

Next door, in Heide II, is Louise Bourgeois and Australian Artists.

Del Kathryn Barton takes up the vision and in this case the needle, to thread together her own Bourgeois-inspired tapestries. Along with Barton, the second show features the work of Pat Brassington, Janet Burchill, Carolyn Eskdale, Brent Harris, Joy Hester, Kate Just, Patricia Piccinini, Heather B. Swann and Kathy Temin, all revealing the deliberate and sometimes unconscious influence of Borgeois.

Wolf spider or not, I take it all as proof that, even in death, Bourgeois’ hands continue to weave, repair and decapitate.

- Courtney Collins


Louise Bourgeois, 'Spider' (1997).(The Easton Foundation, New York, NY Copyright Louise Bourgeois Trust / Licensed by VAGA, New York / Viscopy, Sydney)


Louise Bourgeois, 'Couple IV' (1997) (Courtesy Cheim & Read and Hauser & Wirth. Copyright Louise Bourgeois Trust)


Louise Bourgeois, Knife Figure (2002) and Untitled (2002) (Courtesy Cheim & Read and Hauser & Wirth. Copyright Louise Bourgeois Trust / Licensed by VAGA, New York / Viscopy, Sydney)


Louise Bourgeois: Late Works at Heide Museum of Modern Art is on show until 11 March, 2013

Louise Bourgeois and Australian Artists at Heide Museum of Modern Art is on show until 14 April 2013

FROM SELF HARMING TO SELF HEALING

A felted heart

 

Yesterday I had one of the most profound experiences as an art therapist.   

Let me introduce my client to you.  He is around ten years of age and attends Primary School.   He is a fairly serious child with a worried and sometimes withdrawn expression.  Occasionally I see an infectious smile that lights up his face.  His sense of humour is sophisticated.  He is smart. His eyes are soft and brown.  He appears awkward in his body.

He has experienced terrifying episodes of family violence by his father and step father – having been physically assaulted and witnessing his mother being injured by his father, step father and his brother.  It would be fair to say that he has experienced terror a number of times and feared for his mother’s life and his own many times.  He has been subjected to repeated experiences of terror and powerlessness.

His relationship with his father has been a source of pain for him.  A year ago he rang to say hello to his Dad on Father's Day.  His father responded by saying he did not know anyone by his name and hung up. My client responded by hitting his head against the wall and drawing an image in grey lead pencil.  The image was set in a graveyard with his father as the grim reaper.  He was kneeling before his father who had stabbed him through the heart with a knife.  This image described the impact from his father’s rejection and cruelty. 

Unfortunately due to the family violence they have had to move home many times to ensure their safety.  He has changed school a number of times.  He started at the current school at the beginning of the year.  He has generally been a popular child and at previous schools he made friends easily.  He has struggled to fit in at his current school which is in an area of disadvantage. He explained that he had to wait to be invited by children to participate in their games.  He often feels alone. He is struggling to survive in the playground at lunchtimes and recess with repeated episodes of bullying, exclusion and loneliness.

When I first met him he appeared sad and withdrawn.  He struggled with eye contact and would occasionally look at me from under his long fringe.  Despite this, when I addressed him directly his responses displayed a sense of warmth and openness. He displayed an avid interest in the world and showed an intelligence well beyond his years. He is a talented musician and artist.

His mother is a supportive and strong parent. She has experienced childhood sexual abuse and trauma from familv violence.  Addiction has been an issue since she was in her teens.  Despite her own trauma she has maintained strong relationships with her children and is a protective, warm and creative parent.  She has made big changes over the last few years that have improved her mental health and safety.  She verbalizes her own personal growth and states that she loves ‘the feeling of healing’.  She describes healing as similar to putting together the pieces of a jigsaw.  Each time she finds a piece of the puzzle she symbolically adds it to her story and feels a deep sense of relief and healing.

I have had 5 sessions with this young man focusing on developing a trusting therapeutic relationship and exploration of different art materials.  He is a very competent drawer and at the beginning said he preferred working in pencil.  Due to his level of competence and confidence with art I have offered him a range of materials.  In his second session he requested clay and enjoyed using the therapeutic space to explore the material.  He often invites me to create my own art alongside him. 

At the beginning of the session he often looks sad and withdrawn.  He gradually relaxes and emotionally opens up after playing with the art materials.    When we were using clay he struggled with the material.  I was also having a particularly difficult time with the clay and made an oval object that he named the ‘holy potato.’  It was such a dull piece of work that I pretended to be an art critic and acclaimed the miraculous nature of this art piece.  He joined in the play and extended the silliness of the drama until we both were laughing heartily about the ‘holy potato’ artwork.  He seems to enjoy laughing with me and after this session, he uses humour in most sessions.

He has the ability to intuitively know what materials he needs to use.  I encourage him to request the  materials and art activities that feel right for him at the beginning of each session .  I introduced him to felt in the third session.  When I have attempted other interventions with paint he has refused and asked me to get the wool so that he can make felt. 

I have enjoyed watching him make his felt pieces.  He has learnt to manage the resistance of the wool fibres when he lays out the wool.  He articulated that the harder we pulled the more the wool resisted.  He has learnt to gently pull the wool from the fleece tops with minimal force.  We were able to talk about letting go of the desperate longing for connection and to accept that often in relationships people can feel consumed and pull away from this type of connection. He states that he likes the gentle nature of the wool and how it responds to his gentleness.  I imagine it is very different to a lot of his relationships that have been based on violence and coercion.  He is always gentle, considered and calm as he lays out the wool.  He chooses colours carefully and wets the wool and invites me to help him massage the fibres. 

He particularly enjoys the fulling of the wool which locks the fibres together.  I take him outside and encourage him to express his anger by throwing the felt at a wall.  He likes to take a run up and throw the wet felt as hard as he can. He has stated that the sound of the wool hitting the wall is particularly satisfying.  It makes a loud ‘thwop’ sound. I use my voice to encourage this expression of anger.  I say things like ‘Let it out’ in a directive but playful way. He takes this process very seriously. We continue till he or I say something funny and he feels relaxed.  I voice the importance of releasing anger and that we all experience this emotion.  We talk openly about the main ways that people express anger.  Following  family violence children seem to do this one of three ways.  The first is by bullying others, the second is by being the victim of bullies and the third is by self harming. He acknowledges that he usually chooses to hurt himself.

In the most recent session, he told me about an event that had occurred at school earlier in the week.  He had made a new friend and they were making some sculptures in the school yard.  Three children came over and wrecked their creations.  He felt so angry that he picked up a hard plastic stake and whacked it really hard on the ground.  When this did not fully release his anger he began to hit himself across the face with this stick.  He showed me the substantial bruising on his face that was self inflicted.

 I asked him about the materials he wanted to use and he gently requested wool.  He reminded me about a previous interest he had expressed in making a three dimensional shape like a felted ball.  I had forgotten to bring in the stuffing to go in the centre so we made do with wrapping bubble wrap into a ball that we then covered in tape to hold it together. 

(I have previously made these balls myself and know that they require a different technique than our usual process. It is far more challenging than the technique he is used too. However his measured response made me think he could manage this process.   I had imagined this process was possibly well suited to expressing pain, grief and loss.  The felted object is often about the size of a human heart. When the ‘heart’ is first covered in felt it requires very gentle massaging of the wool to join the cracks and crevice resulting from folding a flat piece of felt around the object. It is a slower process that involves repair and the heart is held in the palm of the hand and massaged very slowly, gently and carefully.)

I sensed he was wanting to express some of his internal pain – possibly sadness, loss and grief that lay beneath his anger.  I also sensed shame from his traumatic past and self harming behaviours. He slowly laid out the wool, choosing three tones of green and wrapped it around the bubble wrap parcel.  I took the opportunity to describe this as his heart.  I explained that he was holding his heart in his hands and that he needed to be gentle and loving with it.  I explained that the secret of this process was to immediately repair the holes or cracks that appeared by massaging gently.

He took the felt heart in his hands and diligently looked for every crack.  He used one finger in a circular motion to slowly and respectfully massage these wounds till they were healed and the wool fibres were meshed together and the surface smooth .  The room was quiet with only the sounds of our breath. He was absorbed in the process.  His gaze was completely focused on his heart.  His breathing was at first shallow but gradually became deeper.  He held his heart tenderly in his hands. Once he had repaired the wounds, one hand cupped his heart and the other slowly massaged it.  The soapy wool allowed his hand to glide smoothly over the warm fibres.  As his witness, the intensity of these moments was overwhelming.  I felt his pain and his desperate desire to heal his wounded heart.  I felt emotion wash over me and felt the need to shed some tears for this young boys pain.. I considered if I should acknowledge the moving nature of this by crying but decided that my tears could be a distraction.  I sat in silence holding back tears, feeling deeply connected with him and his pain.  We were seated on the floor and I was at right angles to him.  I occasionally spoke some words trying to name his feelings – the wounds, his desire to heal, his sadness and pain and the way he so tenderly held his own heart in his hands.  I named the sense of smoothness as his hands glided over the wool and soap suds.  I described how it neatly fitted into his hand so he could protect it.  I talked of his courage and how the bubblewrap gave his heart an inner strength.  He said, “it feels heavy to me.” At this moment he seemed to exude both strength and fragility.  I wondered whether this was the first time he was able to lovingly hold his painful feelings and to gently care for his own wounds and grief without hurting himself.

He looked up at me, concerned and said, “Are we going to throw it against the wall?” I said that this was his heart and we were most certainly not going to damage it by throwing it against the wall .  He was visibly relieved. I was pleased that he had made a choice not to harm his heart.  

Towards the end of the session, I told him that I had found this session very moving and an honour to sit with him in this space. I expressed that I had almost cried and he also said that it was very emotional for him.  I asked whether we could talk to his mum about what had occurred.  He agreed.

We were still sitting on the floor when his mother came in and sat on the couch.  I explained that we had made his heart and how he had lovingly massaged the cracks.  The heart held both his pain and his hope.  His mother covered her face and began to cry sensing the deep significance of this session.  As I explained I held his heart showing her how she too could hold his pain by massaging the heart.  When she recovered her composure, she took his heart gently in her hands and massaged it silently as the tears ran down her cheeks.  As her voice quivered with emotion, she looked at him and said she loved him deeply and would do anything to help him with this pain. 

We were able to have a conversation about the deep pain he experiences particularly at school and the ways he expresses this.  He said he wanted to stop hurting himself.  We made plans to meet with his school to discuss ways of keeping him emotionally and physically safer during recess and lunchtimes.

He left the session with his heart still cupped in his hands. As he was leaving, he used his hands as a scale testing its weight with an up and down motion and said ‘my heart feels lighter. ‘  

His mother turned to me and made a silent acknowledgement of this poignant comment by holding her hands in a gesture of prayer and bowing her head in my direction. 

Something profound happened today.

 A mother symbolically held her sons wounded heart in her hands.  She felt his pain and tried to help him to heal.

A young boy managed to feel his deep pain and then chose to self heal rather than self harm.

A FELT SENSE

Felt just warms my heart!



A felted figure I created in 2009

My interest in three dimensional work stemmed from my Masters Thesis which explored felt and trauma.  I consider felt a three dimensional medium.  Wool can hold form and even flat pieces of felt have a textured surface that makes them different to paper. 

The process of felting engages the senses.  It encourages tactile exploration of natural materials.  It takes individual fibres and transforms them into a fabric.  It involves laying out wool fibres in three layers which requires some patience and attention to detail.  The wool is then saturated with warm water and soap.  The fibres are then massaged until they join together.  This is a very sensual process that is warm and soapy and can sometimes involve squirting the therapist!  As a final part of the process I get the children to 'full' or lock the fibres together by wildly throwing their piece of felt against a wall or on the ground.  I encourage the expression of anger and deliberately stimulate the children and then request them to STOP.  This teaches them that it is possible to control themselves even when they are in highly aroused states.  This is a valuable lesson for the children I work with who have witnessed family violence. 

Wool tops or roving - wool fibres dyed and carded

Over time I have documented the effect the felting process has had on my clients.  Here are some example of the power of felt to express emotion and to self soothe.

Individually with children who have experienced trauma as a result of family violence

After I graduated from my art therapy course, I started work with an organisation as a children's therapist. To my absolute delight I was able to utilize art therapy. They were encouraging and bold in the way they accepted the use of art in a therapeutic context. I was working alongside another creative arts therapist who was insightful and intuitive.  This created a space to utilize my passion for felt and three dimensional art with a peer who intuitively understood my work and saw the benefits and magic of felt as a therapeutic medium.

Laying out wool fibres in preparation for making felt

Massaging the wool tops

 

I began to use felt in individual sessions. My young clients found some of the process challenging but by the end they were at the very least proud of their creation and at the most transformed. Two brothers made a separate piece of felt and were thrilled at the way they could use it to express anger. (As part of the ‘fulling’ process we would take the felt outside and throw it against a wall to express anger.) As little boys of three and seven years of age, they had witnessed years of family violence. Within their home, their father had repeatedly physically assaulted their mother as they looked on.  They had witnessed anger and pain as uncontrollable urges that were inflicted on other people.  They had only seen strength as something that was forceful and violent. Love was a struggle between a man and woman where the man always maintained power and control through inflicting brute strength and inciting fear.

Expressing anger towards fabric was a completely new experience. Learning to express anger without hurting someone was a revelation. Being capable of stopping in the middle of expressing anger was a novel concept.  After completing this part of the felting process, the boys were visibly excited.  Previously they had been pale, listless and disinterested.  At one stage the four year old had tried to strangle his mother to get her attention.  By the end of the felting session, they were flushed, laughing and engaged little boys wanting to proudly share their experience with their mother.  They were somewhat confused by these new concepts but markedly alive and expressive boys. These children came alive through an art process that involved body and mind.

Using the felting process to release anger

 

The following week, their mother told me that they were much calmer and more able to talk about issues rather than expressing concerns through violence or destruction. They were also pleased to see me.  I had been able to make a connection with them and they were appreciative.  They ran up to me and the youngest lept into my arms. I was aware that they were grateful but I felt a little perplexed by the significant change in their behavior towards me and at home.

 

A therapeutic creative arts group with children who had experienced trauma as a result of witnessing family violence

The next time I used felt was in a therapeutic creative arts group with children aged nine to twelve years of age who had witnessed or experienced family violence. One ten year old was very withdrawn and appeared anxious. It was as if he was worried that he may reveal his family secrets if he relaxed and enjoyed himself.  When he began the group his mother had separated from his father.  However in the course of this group they reunited.  Given that the other children were talking about the experiences of witnessing their father’s violence towards their mother,  it was extremely difficult for this child to reveal his experience when his father was still part of his everyday life. This child continued attending but was resistant and negative.  In his body outline he drew a face that was frowning and on discussing this with him he said he was stuck in the anger.  The following week we utilized clay. He stroked and massaged the clay and as he did this he said, ‘I love it! I love it!’  The following week we completed a piece of felt.  At the end of the session he expressed his pride in his artwork and wanted to take his felt home.  This was breaching one of the group rules and so we asked that he leave it with us for the final week when we were holding an art exhibition for their mothers.  Unfortunately my client was unable to attend this final session and we arranged to meet him at another time. As we prepared for this appointment we were very upset that we could not find his felt piece – especially as he had not wanted to leave it with us.  After a great deal of searching and self berating we went to the meeting ready to confess our failings as therapists.  When we described what had happened, his mother asked if it was yellow and black.  It was!  Relieved we asked about this tiny piece of wool fabric.  Our client had been so enamoured with the felt that he could not leave it with us.  He was unable to separate from it.  Instead he had taken the risk to ‘steal’ it.  His piece of felt had become his security blanket that he took to bed every night.  He would rub it against his check to self soothe.  I imagined that he may do this when his father was violent towards his mother and he would have to listen to her screams and cries. 

Making a group felt

The case of the missing felt

 

Emotional wellbeing group for mothers

In  2010 I established an art therapy group for mothers of young babies who were emotionally fragile.  The group was exploring the changing nature of relationships after childbirth.  The group involved a variety of artmaking including collage, masks, clay and felting.  After I left this workplace the group continued and was run by a maternal and child health nurse and a children’s worker.  I was invited back to help develop the group with some new therapeutic art activities.  The workers have kept records of the work of the group.  But the most compelling information was that the felting was the favourite activity.  “Everyone really enjoys the felting.” 

A great way to help new mothers relax, learn new
 skills and create a great baby toy or fabric

If you want to make felt with your children this website is a great starting point. http://www.waldorfmoms.com/2013/06/how-to-make-wool-felt-with-children.html

BUDDHA'S TEARS

The weather has been pretty average to say the least.  After coming back from the warmth of Sydney, there has been nothing but rain and wind.  No Spring sunshine at all.

The other day I was sitting in our courtyard while it was raining.  We have a sculpture of a Borobodour Buddha that I received for my 40th birthday.  As I sat viewing the sculpture, I saw the rain running down the Buddha's face.  Except I did not see rain.  I saw Buddhas's tears.  Crying just like a real person would.

What was really rain running down the surface of a sculpture, looked to me like tears.   I realised that sculpture can connect me to my emotions quickly.   I interpreted the running water on Buddha's face through the experiences of a human being.  It moved me. Much more so than an image of Buddha with rain running down it.  I do not think that would make me think of tears.  It was the human like roll of the tears down the curved cheeks emanating from the eye socket and the drop lingering on the chin before plopping onto his body.  It was the three dimensional properties that created a human interpretation and response.

I was moved.

.

Buddha's tears

 





SYDNEY MUSINGS

Sydney October 17th 2013

Sydney Opera House and full moon

Chinese Lanterns in Hyde Park Sydney

3D street art in Sydney

 

ANZATA conference

On a recent trip to Sydney for the 2013 ANZATA (Australian and New Zealand Art Therapy Association) Conference a few experiences deepened my appreciation of the features of three dimensional art.

ANZATA masterclass 2013

Three D is too real

I was talking to Deb Green an art therapist from Wellington in New Zealand.  She has been working with children following the earthquakes.  She explained that following the earthquake children worked in two dimensions.  In other words they drew pictures.  She said to me that three dimensional artwork was too real for them.  It appears that while they were in the immediate aftermath of the quakes, two dimensional artwork helped to express their trauma without bringing the experience too close at a time when their need for safety was paramount.

Two years ago Deb mentioned in another workshop I was facilitating that when the buildings were being repaired that they chose three dimensional artmaking.  As the buildings grew so did their sculptures.  It is possible that they wanted to emphasize the recovery process and it was three dimensional art that did this most effectively.

Shaun McNiff wisdom

I attended an art therapy masterclass with Shaun McNiff.  He stressed the importance of movement as a way to express emotions and also as a process to amplify the voice of the artwork.  Perhaps two dimensional images require more work to get them to speak.  Rather than follow the brush strokes, artists could follow the shapes of their work.  They could deepen their understanding of their sculpture through responses to the  movement and structure of the material.

Shaun McNiff in masterclass

Getting Shaun to sign my book!
 

Artwork created using big body movements with rythym

String Theory exhibition Sydney Museum of Contemporary Art

Following three days of art therapy conferencing, I spent an afternoon in the Sydney Museum of Contemporary Art in The Rocks, on Sydney Harbour.  There was a fabulous exhibition called 'String Theory' that showcased a number of sculpture from indigenous fibre artists.  One room in particular excited me.  It was full of large three dimensional soft sculptures.  I spent a long time in here and enjoyed interacting with the sculpture. I took photos playing in amongst the sculpture.

When I came home I downloaded the photos and it suddenly hit me.  I did not interact with two dimensional art in the same way.  I viewed it rather than experienced it.  There was a distance between me and the artwork.  I began to understand that three dimensional work is more life like and more familiar.  It has the same features as the world around me.  It is possible and sometimes even encouraged by gallery staff to interact with the work and feel a part of the installation.  It is possible to walk around the art gaining information from all perspectives deepening the experience.   It created a landscape of which I could be part.  I could belong.



Three dimensional landscape
 



Detail of soft sculptures

I realised that I interacted with the art hence the pose!

Becoming part of the landscape with the artworks



THE WISDOM OF MY HANDS

WHAT HELPED ME TO EXPRESS MY EMOTIONS?

The studio space:

I was fortunate when my Auntie died that I was attending a week long art retreat.  The tutor had established a productive space where there was minimal interruptions.  Beyond showing us how to use our pig casings we were free to explore and play.  The group was very committed to their art practise and there were small breaks to chat but overall the atmosphere was quiet and reflective. There was an abundance of natural materials, a workshop environment with enough space to spread out.

The nature of the materials: 

The pig casings were a slightly disturbing material even before I went to visit my Auntie.  I found myself thinking about whether the material was living or dead.  I came to the conclusion that it had indeed been living and that the intestines were the flesh of dead animals preserved in brine.  I had thoughts of medical museums with specimen jars of body parts preserved in formalin.  The pig casings have a slight smell that reminded me of death.  It was ever so slight but unmistakably present.  The casings looked like white worms which was not attractive.  My first reaction to touching them was not pleasant – disturbing - as they were wet, soft and stretchy.  To prepare them they needed to be rinsed with water which needs to be run through the intestine.  This bloats the material and they start to look like giant sausages.  There was quite a bit of hilarity and an enjoyment that came with running water through the casings.  Once rinsed I was taught to put my finger into the casing, make a cut in the wall and then slide my thumb though to open them up.  In using the casings there is a slight resistance but it stretches extensively.  It adheres to itself and so is less messy than other materials as there is no need for glue.  The thinning out of the casings produces a translucent skin that is tough but delicate.  Parts of the intestine have an organic lace like composition which is visually interesting however this is lost when it dries.   There seemed to be a tendency to want to cover things or join pieces together to make larger pieces of gut.  Once dried it is brittle and hard.  I made one piece of art where I draped casings over a branch and dried it upside down.  In turning the branch up when the intestines were dry the extensions stood firm and upright as if in defiance of gravity.  The material shrinks quite extensively and can distort the structure it is placed on.  The smell is not discernible when dry.  Although our tutor described an incident where a dog ate a piece of her work at an exhibition suggesting that the smell does not disappear completely!

 

Death was on my mind after visiting my Auntie. The pig casings were from a dead animal.   The smell of the material reminded me of death.  It’s skin like qualities were able to represent the fragile and taut skin of my Auntie in her final days.  What better material to express my concerns.

I used wire to create a skeleton.  I enjoyed the resistance of both the skin and wire.  I was symbolically wrestling with strong emotions as well as my materials.  It captured the difficulty of my experience.  I repetitively wound the wire which felt rhythmical and soothing.  It calmed me.  Yet the resulting figure was full of energy – alive.  There was a  sense of tension created by the distinctly human figure created from inanimate materials such as computer wire.  Wrapping the casings around the wire gave me a sense of being able to contain the foreign nature of the wire so that the figure became more human.  This too echoed the tension I felt as I saw my Auntie’s physical body in the process of shutting down and becoming inanimate flesh.  Her familiar loving features were changing and becoming unrecognisable in a body that was dying.

 

 

The knowledge of my hands: 

While the material lends itself to three dimensional artmaking by adhering  to a skeleton or frame it requires a sense of touch.  To work with the casings it required the fine movements of the fingers to stretch the tissue.  My fingertips did much of the work and it was satisfying to encase objects within a skin.  My hands knew how to symbolically contain my swirling emotions. My feelings were quite overwhelming and difficult to contain or understand.  I made a conscious decision to allow my hands to take over and express my emotions.  I did not 'think' about making a wire figure.  Instead I picked up the wire and began to play with it. I enjoyed the sense of resistance and the repetitive wrapping movements.  Before very long I saw a human shape appearing. Once I recognised a human shape I consciously developed it.  I had no thoughts of who or what this figure would be or do at the time.  When I was satisfied with the form, I took a break and looked around me at the materials I had.  I knew instinctively that I wanted to make the form more human and encased it in pig casings.  After this I picked up a hank of silk strips and simply began to wrap the body. There was little cognitive thoughts but more an intuitive knowledge in my hands.  Once the figure was shrouded in silk, I bound the arms and feet.  The skin had dried and in the process of bending the legs and arms, the skin would crack.  This was disturbingly reminiscent of bones cracking and the feel was of stiffness similar to rigor mortis in a human body.  My hands kept working and there was only the occasional intellectual thought during this process. 

The life like nature of three dimensional form:

The wrapping of the figure reminded me of participating in death rituals  –  touching, caring and loving  people in life as well as death.  I was unable to do this for my Auntie in her final days. However I could do this in a symbolic way using my art.  I was able to keep my Auntie in mind and enact a ritual for her that I found both comforting and healing.  I cared for her bodily remains  and  I was able to face and accept her impending death.

My hands wanted the figure to be in a foetal position.  It’s tiny size meant that I could cradle it poignantly in my hand.  Or perhaps this was a reflection of my grief and wanting to curl myself into a foetal position?   Perhaps it was a reference to death being intimately related to birth.  I felt that giving birth connected me to the essence of life.  Likewise being present at my father’s death also connected me to the essence of life.  I coined a phrase in a story I wrote after my sister and I laid out his body – I felt we were midwives of the dead.  We cared for and helped transition our father out of the world just as a midwife helped  to bring my own children into the world.

I had made the cane tower earlier in the week before visiting my Auntie.  I had struggled with the material to create a structure with a pleasing shape.  I had thoughts of aboriginal fish traps during the process.  I had sat this 'fish trap' on my work table and many of my fellow artists had asked me what I was going to do with it.  I had no idea except I knew something significant needed to be inside the structure.  Once I had completed my little figure, I intuitively placed the object in the trap.  This was to see if it would fit and I was curious how it would look. 

 

I stepped back to look  at what I had created.I saw a fragile and lonely corpse lying bound and foetus-like at the base of a trap. I felt my body react.  Tears welled in my eyes and the familiar felt sense of disturbance in my 'guts' hit me again.  The figure had been shrouded and wrapped in silk evidencing a profound human connection of love and respect.  At the same time it appeared alone, constricted and unmoving encased in a trap where there was no escape.     Unknowingly my hands had expressed my conflicting emotions and painful realisation that no-one escapes death.  It is a fate that awaits us all.