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, 

 

View in a Room

My new website has a useful tool that allows viewers to observe their chosen image in a room, and to also change the colour of the background walls. For me, it is curious to see the transformative effect of a change in the colour or to zoom in on a painting's detail. Happy hours can be lost in the pursuit of idleness by the press of a button.

The zoom in feature allows viewers "to zoom in" and see the images close up. Especially revealing for smaller paintings. Because they are most interesting close up, much of the detail can be lost on a website.

On Chillblains

I am inclined to believe I have done nothing in months except be increasingly impatient with the slow progress of my studio refurbishment. . . Slowly, very slowly, it is coming into its own. It is taking an awful long time. Much longer than I anticipated when it was the germ of an idea at the end of last year.. 

However, while I have been waiting for transformation, I have not been idle. I have spent weeks, months even, working on a new website . . . it has some really snazzy new features. 

Back to the studio where things have been all topsy turvey for a long time now, since the end of January, in fact. At first (before Covid), I had hoped that the renovation could be completed by the middle of May, then it was stretched to the end of June, then the end of July. Now I am hoping for Christmas. I know that I need to add "Christmas 2020", because this thing is inclined to run away from me unless I pin it down. It has demanded most of my attention . . . There is precious little painting going on. 

Instead I am engaging with all sorts of problems mostly got to do with measurements and sums and things that bring me out in a rash. These are tough times for everyone and luckily so far for us, and our loved ones, Covid has just been an inconvenience keeping us home and tied to this small bit of heaven we call home. It is not all peaceful, though. 

There are copious debates about floors and shelves and stuff. I am constantly reminded about the important things in life like. . . . like underfloor heating. Himself reminds me that it is essential. Absolutely. I longingly remember my acres of cardboard that did me for insulation for years. 

In case you are inclined to think that it is a long way from underfloor heating I was reared, now he (and others) remind me that I have complained bitterly (for more than a decade) about working barefoot and about how the floor temperature can undermine the progress of any painting during the winter months. In fact, my old studio was so cold that in winter that I frequently opted to paint outdoors in preference to my studio). I reckon with the winter sun, it was often warmer outside. 

 Of course, now in the summer heat it is easy to forgot the frostbite cold of February.

Since you ask, my Christmas tree finally got the chop yesterday . . . . It was just as in these parts we are feeling the summer close, and the autumnal chill in the evening air.

The Art of Waffling on Zoom

Well, it hardly needs to be said that the Christmas tree still stands, mocking me as we head into summer.  I did struggle through 49 pages of colour theory and when it came to the bit to do the first practice, I stalled.  My materials are all lined up in a row, but I have not yet been able to lift a brush, not even to do a single stroke. 

That's how things are in these strange times. Like everyone else, I am adjusting to this new life. I am grateful to be able to do my bit by staying put, Fan sa Bhaile (if this is not  immediately understood by you, please see note below).

Of course, I would have imagined a situation like this would have provided me with masses of energy to write novels or paint massive pictures. But in reality, I can't even be bothered de-cluttering. I am however, enjoying the cleanliness of my desk.  Every day it is clean and bright.  It was a bit mystifying that this little nook, this cubby-hole I call my office, usually looks like a disaster zone, but for weeks now is nice and clean and orderly . . . all the time. Eventually it has dawned on my that this is because I am not using it. Beautiful.  

Donald Teskey and myself, during our talk at
The Mermaid Arts Centre in Bray in 2017.

To break the monotony, one of my favourite supporters suggested I should have an online exhibition.  How would that work?  I asked. I imagined, I confess something rather dull, like sprucing up my website (again).  Nooo she wrote . . . We could do it on Zoom, and we could all gather round our screens and  have a glass of wine and look at your paintings.  She had me at the glass of wine. . . . I was very, very interested then.  But it still seemed a bit odd, as it's not like I can hope that you'll actually buy any paintings, given that the world we now live in values one roll of toilet paper higher than a barrel of oil . . .In this new reality, I should be paying you to take them away. In fact, I briefly considered it as I am sequestered for the period with the contents of my studio cramming up this small house . . . (my old studio is being repaired and work has stalled).

So, I thought I'd offer to share with you one of my arty talks . . . I have done a few in my time . . . most recently at The Mermaid, in Bray . . .   about where I came from as an artist and how I got to be here.  

It was very well received. Apparently its entertaining and funny in places.  I love artist's talks myself, but as an attendee. Last time I was talking with Donald Teskey, and people asked if out had been recorded and it wasn't. There was time for loads of interesting questions about the process and the getting to this point as a painter.

I don't want to give too big a lead in as I am not at all sure what I am at . . .  but it is an experiment.  I am technically competent so I can promise you a shortish 20 minute talk with pictures . . .in the comfort of your own home. There will be a chance to chat and meet others if you want.  Bring a glass of wine and put your feet up.  If you want to ask questions, now is your opportunity . . . . If you are new to Zoom and want to join in, but are a bit intimidated, feel free to contact me first for a trial run. I'd love the practice. 

If you are a total techno phobe and don't want to know about Zoom or PCs or tablets, but would love to earwig in with what's going on, even you can join us using old technology, too. Using an ordinary landline you can hear the whole thing. 

Yes, even the pictures will be better (they'll be in your head). This is all possible and easy. 

With warmest regards to you and yours in these strange and difficult times,

Fan sa Bhaile (pron. fan sa wall-ya) means Stay at Home in Irish

Evidence of Extreme Tardiness or an Art Installation?

In spite of the challenge to floor space, the Christmas tree is still standing proudly in the corner, bedecked with twinkling lights. A visitor in late February commented that he thought it was an "art installation" (I thought it was fairly obviously a severe case of procrastination). 

But it is true that the tree is quite charming. It is a substantial, beautifully formed, bare limb of a lovely apple tree that was over-hanging the vegetable garden. 

It was threatening to topple onto the brassicas last summer, and against my better judgment, and behind my back, one day the limb was lopped off. 

The vegetable garden last summer

The tree survived, the brassicas thrived and this lop-sided limb was retrieved from under the hedge very later on Christmas Eve. 

Within seconds it was propped up in an old chimney pot, where it remains, to this day (one hundred days later). 

 But as the days get longer, and the more we are squeezed, tighter and tighter by the detritus of my studio life, I am looking longingly at the space this tree occupies. And as I stroke fondly my latest big garden purchase . . . a rechargeable and cute, small and efficient, recently sharpened chainsaw, I think the days of that twinkling 'art installation' are indeed, numbered. 

 

On SInging Happy Birthday to Myself...

I can't think of any reasonable excuse for not blogging for a very long time.  But the rot set in some time ago. I know that it began with the announcement of the GDPR. There was something terribly draconian about those requirements that has stifled my creativity in writing these missives from the studio.

Well, I have gritted my teeth this morning and decided to write one anyway, even if it is about nothing in particular. 

Of course, there is lots going on. A lot of banging and shouting and inexplicable holes in the ceiling. My studio is being renovated and I am deranged. I am so discombobulated that I pressed "send" on this email Monday morning last, just before I had my breakfast. It took me until now to realise that I hadn't actually sent it. 

Two days of silence. Usually my missives get a response of some kind, but this time I didn't take your lack of response personally, I just thought it's been so long since I last wrote that you have all moved on. 

It was only when realised that I forgot to include information about forthcoming annual exhibition of the Dublin Painting & Sketching Club, that was due to open at the weekend, that I realised my error. In the meantime, the event has been postponed (as a result of the Corona Virus).

Back to Monday morning . . . .

Yesterday (Sunday), I went on a walk. Himself and myself hit out about midday to a nearby spot known as The Breaches. It is not very far, but as we are both getting a tad slow, so we felt it important to have the mantra, "The Breeches or Bust".

Bust it turned out to be. It was a sunny day. Warm, spring-like with buds shooting up and birds twittering ("like car alarms", he said).

Heading off in sunshine, with neither hats nor coats, we made our destination easily enough, and as we turned back homeward, only then, we began to notice the change. . . The sky, once warm and blue, was now deep and dark and purple and thundering towards us. Before long the temperature dropped significantly and we were being pelted with hailstones. They were really sharp and very hard and more than a few hurt, quite a bit. I found it a challenge to keep moving, in the strong wind on uneven ground. 

The day had changed. We hardly recognised the place as we first sought shelter under a blowy piece of rusted corrugated iron, hanging on a willowy stick, loosely secured behind a fence post.

We took shelter under this rusty bit of iron

Even though my head was frozen, the rusted corrugated iron offered about as much shelter as a (folded) broadsheet newspaper, it was good, very good, to be even a little bit out of the bombardment. However, I was afraid that in that wind, our meagre cover would in time, decapitate both of us.

And so we pushed on.

The world around us once very familiar, had turned icy and hostile. We doubted this perception. We felt a very long way from home. We wondered how could this be? We pushed on, and eventually we turned away from the wind as we reached the shelter of the public road. A short time later (with a lift from a fellow walker), we were home and getting dry. But the experience has changed us. We were somewhere very different. We entered a different world.

I can't help feeling that the world has shifted off its axis. There is nothing new except The Virus. We are busily singing Happy Birthday* to ourselves as we soap up and sud up against impending doom.

And yet, I remember a quite similar (but very, very different) experience after which I painted this painting below, near the same spot where the world shimmied on its axis for us. The cold and hailstones were there, but it was without that extra edge of menace that we both felt on Sunday.

Rainbow double

And, as we dried our underwear and shoes (and everything else in between), we were treated to this double rainbow. 

And so, the old order is restored, confidence renewed, and we carry on regardless. ...

*Singing Happy Birthday twice is advice we are getting in these parts as being just long enough to wash "our hands". In
the spirit of community protection, I am busily washing my feet as many friends and neighbours are "toe-touching" in greeting and I am wondering if my scrubbing efforts are for nought?

Open Studio Etiquette & Wellies...

I keeled over with effort of painting this massive tryptich

Open Studio This Sunday 9th & Sunday 16th, 2pm-4pm 

Having had some studio days before I am no longer a novice at it.... but a little knowledge is a dangerous thing and so I have succeeded in simply terrifying myself.  Therefore I have been avoiding doing anything that needs doing . .  this blog for example  . . . . but I have been cooking . . inspired by Masterchef no less, I have been making ravioli. Needless to say, this is without the proper flour, or a pasta maker.  Jamie Oliver told me all I need is the biceps of an Italian Mama. So this is what I have been doing instead of preparation for the Open Studio Days. 

A bit bockety... but beautiful

Cooking is good for the soul, if not for my sleep, because, of course, it is in the middle of the night that I think of all the things I still want to do... Fix my website . . .  Especially the stuff I can't do myself . . .Chainsaw the tree from the driveway that's been there since the big storm last week. These are the tasks that haunt me in the early hours - the need to send emails, attend to orders and count the number of red mail bags left. 

Creeping into my night also comes the memory that I never shared with you as I promised, the little movie I made while I was waiting for my calendars to arrive. It will always be mystery to me how i managed to post it on facebook accidentally, but still can't share it by email.  You might be able to see it here

I also worry in the middle of the night that nobody turns up or worse, so many people turning up that there is traffic chaos on on the N11. And then there is the decking which can be slippy when wet and is currently covered in leaves. I don't want anyone sliding helter skelter into my lily pond, so more non-slip wire is down in most places (but not all), and a sign is going up at the gate (hopefully). I'll probably be wondering where my sparkly glasses got to as soon as my head hits the pillow tonight. 

But the more I think about the open studio (especially in the middle of the night), I think it might be useful to mention some etiquette. The main expectation is that it will be relaxed and easy going. There will be an opportunity to be sociable and have mulled wine and mince pies, (alcoholic and non-alcoholic versions) and pick up calendar orders (if you made one). You can wear whatever you like (except your shoes in the house), and wellies are recommended, considering the forecast.  There will be an opportunity to see some paintings and to buy if you like, but this is not an expectation. 

The first time I had an open studio someone asked me for a price list and I fell into a fluster. It never occurred to me, and my guests were confused.... wasn't this the point of an open studio?  I didn't think so, I said, as they walked away with a painting under each oxter. The second time I had the paintings and the list but no numbers to correspond with the paintings. I am very slow, people expect to see paintings in an artist's studio on open day. I'll do my best.  

What to bring? I'd say bring an umbrella, bring a friend if you like, and be prepared to kick off your shoes in the house (but not in the studio...it is so cold underfoot that my own toes nearly fall off). 

A final thing to be aware of, is safety. Take care to walk only on the decking that has wire on it.  Park in the driveway, if you can and leave the wheelchair access ramps clear.  If you don't like tight spaces and /or reversing, ask for help (hoot your horn).  Leave no valuables visible in your car if you park along the roadway as cars have been known to have their windows smashed (even out here). 

Shortly I will be heading off to the Christmas Fair at Newcastle Community Centre where I'll set up my stall, but not before I have a private word with the man of the moment, Santa. 

But for now, it's time for breakfast,

with many thanks,