On Being Catapulted Back 40 years

Today, I cycled in my first St Patrick's Day parade. It was also a first, I think,  for Newcastle village where I live. 

A motley crew was hastily gathered to follow the the1954 Massey Ferguson bedecked with festive flags. Most of us were in our pyjamas 20 minutes before, so it was quite the lesson in organisation to see how it all came together.

 

As I cycled up the road,  I met my neighbours ( (in a socially distant way)), In an instant, I was catapulted back 40 years.

 

In 1981, The International Year of The Disabled, I was invited by a state agency with responsibility for disabled people to participate in the St Patrick's Day parade in Dublin, using a tandem, under the banner 'We Can Do It Together'.

 

By that time, I was already a familiar sight around the city on my bicycle with two empty sleeves flying in the wind. I created quite the spectacle

 

 

My bicycle was an elegant, two-wheel racing machine. The racing handlebars return slightly upwards at an angle of 45°. Into those handlebars was fitted and aluminium frame. It looked pretty much like the handlebars on a pram. This device allowed me to steer the bicycle, and together with a backpedal brake, I was ready to take on the city that was beset with bus strikes. As a mode of transport, it attracted a lot of attention and this attention resulted in my invitation to participate in the St Patrick's Day parade.

 

At that time, I was a student in art college and not yet 20 years old, but I really knew that in the circumstances, I needed to be in the driving seat. The state agency with the tandem, would not hear of it.  I was as adamant then as  I would be now -  I don't see myself as a passenger.

 

It was as clear to me then that as disabled people we need to be leading the way when it comes to solving issues that affect us deeply.

 Forty years ago as a teenager, I thought this ought to have been also evident to the agency set up to support us live self-determined, independent lives.   But clearly, it wasn't.

 

I recall the almost total incredulity that I was not cooperating. The agency was fairly lacking in any comprehension as to what my difficulty might be. For myself, it was clear that it was far from co-operation they had in mind (It felt more like conscription).

 

I even suggested that we cycle two independent bicycles under the banner but it didn't happen.

 

So, yesterday,  after 40 years I finally got to cycle in the St Patrick's Day parade. 

Now my bicycle has got three wheels. It is a recumbent machine built for speed and so I had no trouble keeping up with Billy on the 1954 tractor or my neighbour Ruth with Winnie, the Wonderful Falabella. Keeping up with Ruth and Raz's little ones proved to be the real challenge.

 

St Patrick's Day Parade Newcastle, Wicklow

When Even The Rising Sun is Out of Sorts

As I got up this morning, as well as the surprise of heavy sprinkling of snow, there was a very strange glow in the pre-dawn light.

I noticed it straight away. There was something odd, as the striking glow of the sunrise was in the wrong part of the sky. Normally, that red patch is in the east, directly over the sea (where it should be). I reckon this apparent distortion might be caused by the clouds (or my lack of coffee). 

The clouds, heavy and laden with the fluffy stuff, could be obscuring the real sun, and that this strange sun rising in the south, is just a distortion, a reflection of the peculiar times we find ourselves in. So, in the context of strange times, thank you all for your funny and welcoming responses to both my Virtual Open Studio invitation & the Perpetual Calendar idea. 

The Virtual Open Studio continues and more about that below. Helen has done great work and the calendar is ready to be recycled. My last poll was about the Virtual Open Studio and it was a great to know if I did the work to build it, you would come. Thank you. 

I have decided to extend the Open Studio for the duration of Covid, as this Lockdown looks like is going on indefinitely. As well as having loads of work for sale that was hidden prior to my move, I discovered a real talent for matching people with paintings. If you are bewildered by choices or want some help, contact me.

 Listening to the radio morning, about the challenges of small talk for disabled people,  I was reminded of double leg amputee Ian Stanton, who died over 20 years ago… Ian was a great singer and wrote songs and one song came to mind that goes along the lines of "How did you get to be like that then . . . was it some great tragedy?"

"I was a stuntman in Jaws Two, and I really earned my fee"

People’s thoughtless invasion of privacy and the lack of basic courtesy afforded to disabled people in the public gaze is little spoken about.  

As a disabled person, I deal a lot with people who are unskilled in the art of striking up a conversation with those perceived as “other”.  

 More often than not, when I'm answering somebody's inquisitive question about whether I paint using my feet are in my mouth, and I challenge them a little with my answer, sometimes they're embarrassed and explain that they're only asking because one of their best friends has no arms/or they know a lot of artists without arms… My next question is kinda cheeky because I've never actually met anybody who could substantiate either of those claims. The person who told me that one of her best friends had no arms couldn't name her and. As for the guy who knew "a lot of artists without limbs” could not name one of them either.

 

Anyway, the point is, I love conversation, but sometimes if it's one direction disability focussed, it can be wearing. This means that I and other disabled people like me are experts at fielding unwanted attention. What interested me in the woman's conversation today was the assumption by the people engaging in small talk that her condition was temporary that she was one of really "one of them"… really an able-bodied person with a temporary inconvenience of a crutch. 

I know the conversation would have been very different if they thought she was permanently incapacitated. I could even predict the direction the conversation would have taken in that case. 

 

.......I predict that if those engaging in small talk considered her a permanently disabled person, their opening comment would have been "You are such an inspiration!"

I think it's ironic that the most frequent opening small talk gambit by non-disabled people about disabled people (designed to compliment), is also top of the list for the most cringeworthy, unwanted small talk by those of us on the receiving end . . . disabled people in the public gaze. 

One only has to listen to Stella Young's TED Talk to appreciate the depth of this little spoken-about, truth. She argues it ought to be referred to as 'Inspiration Porn '  . . . .in fetishising difference and/or tragedy we fetishise all difference and tragedy, and feed off it to make ourselves feel better about our own lives.

 

Back to The Future . . .?

I know that all of you are bemoaning the fact I did not make a calendar this year . . . But before you consign my beautiful artist's calendar 2019/2020 to the bin, WAIT! I know a minority are making the best of things and using a scissors, are about to chop up their Mary Duffy calendar and stick some pictures in a frame. The rest of you may have already chucked it in the recycling bin. The readers of this blog are geniuses obviously. And one, John Baker, contacted me with his idea. He simply stuck "January 2021" over Nov 2020 in and attempt to go backwards in time. Nice try, John . . . . It is not great for dates, but it is fabulous because it gave me a rather good idea. The main urgency now is to reach deep, deep into your recycling bin, and pull out your old calendar. Print out the attached pdf and stick it over January 2019. Hey Presto! we get to go back to the future, t

ogether. See my attempt to the right. It looks rather good. And unlike John Baker's, this adjustment includes real 2021 dates and so will actually work as a calendar until the end of 2023. Thank you John Baker. You are a genius and obviously worthy of the title of Emeritus Professor at UCD Dublin (my old Alma Mater). As we are enduring another Lockdown together with all other islanders here on the edge of Europe, times are indeed challenging. Every little helps. Thank you John Baker, (genius). The plan is to work on doing decent images that you can print A4 and stick over the next 23 months (as we go along).

Until I let them go, I didn't realise I was holding on . . . .

Nude in Repose, charcoal on paper

Until I let them go, I didn't realise I was holding on to what I considered 'precious pieces'. And now, I am glad to say, that they are precious to some of you, too. Thank you all for your warm and generous response to my experimental first Virtual Open Studio. The opening time of this Virtual Exhibition has been extended because of Covid Lockdown. In Ireland this country is in the highest level of alert and restrictions so as long as it lasts, you can enjoy my virtual studio visit. 

 The Hidden Gems were precious to me for a variety of reasons . . . the portraits and life drawings reveal what a little piece of charcoal. . . combined with a sheet of paper, a putty rubber (and endless hours of effort) can do. Even though I had done life drawing in art college, and I could see my all fellow students manipulating, rubbing and and pulsing the eraser in their non-dominant hand, I never really knew why. I thought it was some kind of nervous tick that enveloped everybody (except me) when they started to draw from life. What they were doing with the eraser was making it malleable and soft and and when it is soft it is the most perfect tool for doing the most delicate work. 

 It has been a busy time, wrapping and posting off paintings to far flung places from California to Ballina, Thurles to New South Wales. In between times I cut my own hair, and signed some paintings. What paintings were left, I stacked unwrapped in the back of my car and delivered myself. This was after I reckoned it was easier to do this than queuing outside the post office (in the rain). Delivering them myself was a pleasure. Some of you said it looked better in reality, than online. Many of you who bought had bought previously from me, and you told me how much you loved that painting and how much it has been cherished. 

So many gave me gifts of honey and jam, poetry and pottery. Here is a link to the poem that Brendan printed for me Margaret told me how much she loved my painting of Wexford. After more than 10 years …she still sits gazing at it. It seems I was close to the mark in my video when I promised that good a painting is a companion for lifetime. She told me that in particular, she loves that all my work is so different, and that she reckons I am "a real artist" that many artists churn out the same painting over and over again but mine all so different. 

 I have to admit that I have felt a bit challenged by my wide and varied interest in different materials and methods of applying paint over the years. What I am learning after all this time is that that it's okay. Margaret says it is better than okay. That it is, in her view, actually a good thing. She says she knows it's not a popular move for an artist, but for real, live, breathing human being - changing, evolving and doing things differently is normal, and anything else is frankly a bit strange (even if it is better for an artist’s bank balance). If you are interested, we can take up this subject, and many others (like the obsession with signing a painting), on Zoom,m please sign up for my newsletter

On Missing You

As I start to write this it is Sunday morning and not yet bright. I'm full of ideas, resolve and determination as I put the kettle on, illuminating my kitchen with an unearthly blue light. This unworldly glow allows me to glance at the clock, telling me it's not yet 5 am. Devoted and all as I am to writing these blogs, it has been a while since I've been up this early. The clock is wrong. It must have stopped, because I know that it is coming up to 7 am. I turn on the radio to hear the news. As I drink my tea and listen in the predawn light, I see the geese in the field. And I recall over two years ago trying to look forward to November 2020, and writing that the cackling of the geese made me think then that by now, 2020, the geese would know that the world is ending. 

As I continue to write I get distracted because my mouse won’t behave properly. It takes me ages to realise that the mouse mat is moving with the mouse because it is enabled by the pile of papers that are strewn across my desk. I am so proud of these piles. I recently did all my accounts. It has been haunting me for many months. . . Ever since I completed them the last time I promised myself never again. Never again would I abandon this task of crunching numbers and the multitude of spiked invoices and receipts… As you know I have a talent for complicating things. Anyway that job is done now and it's time to move on to the next difficult task. Nothing is easy or effortless anymore. 

This next task has been causing me a lot of thinking without resolution. This is unusual for me. As you know, I am usually full of good ideas. I think, in truth, I must be missing you. At this time of year I can usually look forward to my traditional open studio, some good company, mulled wine (warmed cranberry juice for the drivers) and a general sense of the year coming to an end and a job well done. This year of course, is nothing like that. There's been nothing but Covid and Chaos. The studio remains unfinished. I am unreasonably hopeful that it will be finished by Christmas. Despite the lack of finish (I have no electricity yet), I have moved in. The big new windows are fabulous and provide a lot of steady northern light. The floor is freezing and as I potter around in the November frost, my feet want to fall off. 

However, all is well. It was a terrible job moving back in. I saw my life flash before me, All these paintings, frames and ‘substrates’ (a fancy catch all for surfaces I paint on). There are many paintings that were finished and forgotten. And frames. I have tonnes of frames that don't fit paintings and lots of paintings without frames. Of these many are portraits and I have endless charcoal drawings of naked men and women. Some of these I shredded. I kept some. Mostly because I remember the thrill of discovery. I even have a charcoal drawing of the foot of a Roman or Greek statute that I laboured over for so long, I had to frame it afterwards because I wanted to remember how impossible it seemed when I started and how the process of drawing is one that is frankly a mechanical skill and one that can be learned. 

I discovered many beautiful paintings that never found their way out into the world. The first bit of light they saw was when they had to be moved out of my old studio, carefully carted over to fill my house for the last nine months, only to be carefully carried back and to be stacked again. Each one is special because as a painter for me the joy is in the moment of painting and once that is finished and it gets stacked away to dry, sometimes as the moment passes, it gets left there, perhaps forever unloved, unseen, maybe forgotten. It is quite a sight and very challenging. 

The question for me now is how can I live with knowing that they are there? The traditional way to deal with this is to have a studio sale. I am trying to cook up an idea that would allow me to offer them to you and re-create the feeling of the open studio in a virtual world. I cannot quite get it right in my head. I have all kinds of complicated notions involving Zoom and virtual exhibitions that would probably take me until next Christmas to make real . . . And perhaps you are not interested in anything more complicated than an email? 

I don't think I ever asked you to buy a painting from me in the decade I have been writing this blog, so this feels a bit strange to me, would you be interested and willing to buy a painting before the end of this year? I curious to know if there are any people interested in an online event to make up for my lack of an Open Studio this peculiar year. Before I got down the rabbit hole of creating a hidden gallery and all the work involving numbers that entails ;-) If you have read this far, thank you. Please answer my question by simply replying to me below. For now, for me, it's time for breakfast,

When Being Direct is a Daring Concept

I am a bit of a party pooper, as I can regularly be found in bed on a Saturday night early. There are a few reasons for this. … and the main one is that I dedicate my Saturday nights to listening to the marvellous Messy Studio podcasts. A few weeks ago, one made me sit bolt upright in bed … I just couldn't believe my ears… The podcast was about artists fielding questions about their work and it was really very interesting. I learned that the one question that artists most frequently get asked is “How long did it take you to do that ?” I admit my regular answer to that question is “half a life time”. It just never occurred to me that other artists are asked this same question. All along, I thought I was the only one. Evidently not. 

Having thought about it, I realise it is closely aligned to other questions I get asked. People seem interested in knowing just how ‘long’ it took me to ‘learn’ to do something like peel a banana. It seems to surprise most when I say it took me "just about as long as it took you". This is not a ‘smart’ answer, it is simply the truth . . . just like them, I didn't ‘practice’ how to do it. I just wanted the banana and peeled it for myself (in my own unique way) before I learned to walk. 

But going back to that podcast …. I really don't think people are all that interested in how "long" it takes anyone to paint a picture or to ‘learn’ how to peel a banana… I know that what people want is to make a connection and start a conversation. 

And if the conversation is about art, difference or disability, it can be intimidating, even challenging to get it off on the right foot. This is especially so if one gets the impression that this artist might be especially prickly and easily offended. I am neither prickly nor easily offended, but I am very direct. I know that this worries people witless in a world where directness is a daring concept and “expert nuancing” is the guideline for successful social encounters. 

 Needless to say, "nuancing" is not my strong point. 

Anyway, going back to the art of conversing about difficult subjects. Another of The Messy Studio podcast hosted by Rebecca Crowell and her son Ross is about awkward moments and yet another about preserving and minding one's reputation . . . (that one had me firmly under the covers). 

I think it is hard to talk about art and find something to say that cannot be interpreted as offensive, unintelligent, or unintelligible? 

I know just enough to know that unconscious non-verbal cues give us easily away and I recall hearing the writer John McGahern talking about this when called upon to respond to other writers whose work was sent unsolicited to him for review, he responded by saying that the work had “a lot of energy”. He reasoned that no-one could take offence, and if I recall correctly, that neither did the comment amount to much, in terms of feedback. 

I admit that I have used that very phrase myself and so, when I stumbled across this tongue in cheek, Gentleman’s Guide to Modern Art, I could not but agree that there is "this whole language around art which is extremely hard to understand. But you can decode it because there's a tiny bag of words and phrases that are used again and again.” So, after reading it and smiling a lot as I recognised past conversations, I made sure to cut and paste it into my electronic notebook and have kept it for years.

And since you ask about the artwork, how is it going? The painting above is one from the September page of my two year calendar. That's about all I got left to remind me of what once was a thriving art working space. My home is still stuffed with the contents of my studio and it is hard to find a hammer or a nail. I am experimenting with Tech 7 glue at the moment, trying to finish a painting that requires a lot of technical know-how because it has three dimnensions. Oh for simpler days, when all I needed was the open fields and my guerrilla artist's kit (photo below). 

My new website on the other hand, is thriving and bringing in a lot of enquiries and a few sales in the last few months. 

Apart from that, there is precious little going on. My career as my own "Buildings Project Manager" staggers on as the build grinds to a complete halt. While the studio is very nearly finished, it has been like that for weeks and it is just not quite there . . And so, I spend my days negotiating the return of unused underlays, talking about soffits and flashing, roofs and rebates. 

In between times I am grappling with the challenges of offering free shipping (worldwide) on artwork on my website. This is quite a terrifying subject as it is very complex and it involves lots of numbers. My attempts at fixing it so far have only caused chaos. International subscribers to my email newsletters will have a free pass for the moment do contact me soon if you wish to acquire your very own Mary Duffy artwork. 

And you thought being an artist was easy, relaxing even? If you listen to the Messy Studio Podcasts you get a window on this complex world of working artists and while I listen regularly I am fascinated with all the subjects and considerations that pop up regularly and how contemporary they all are, like this one on place . . . we artists love our "places". 

Please do listen to at least one of these on a rainy day (or night) and be sure to let them know what you think because all this writing, podcasting and reaching out is art work too. 

For the moment, it is back to the list of To Dos, and while I love this place, I am almost despairing of ever taking up a paint brush inside a studio again, I still push on and on and on to the next thing, knowing that I will get there, one slow step at a time. 

 For now, that next big hurdle is breakfast. 

 With warmest regards to you and yours, in these peculiar times,