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STOP MAKING SO MUCH SENSE

I had this rare occurrence on the tube the other day, during an incredibly mundane commute to work, that suddenly gave me a new sense of unexpected inspiration - where I swear I could have shouted “YES COME ON!” with a “HALLELUJAH” straight after. These moments don’t happen much, and the reason for this was a particularly good article commenting on what great art should make us feel and why.

It took me by surprise. It was an article called The Painted Protest by Dean Kissick. The piece starts with commenting on the Unravel exhibition at the Barbican which stopped me in my tracks. I felt a bit exposed, almost sick and embarrassed, as I previously wrote about how inspiring I found it (especially as it was a whole show dedicated to what we consider textile art), but this piece was suggesting how drab and lazy the show was in many ways. I have to say that I have now come to agree with Kissick on the matter.

The writer suggests that a lot of art has suffered in the last decade with the obsession of making it all about a political statement or the artist’s own biography; textile art being a big part of this. A lot of it has taken the form of protest driven work or perhaps relying too heavily on its traditional techniques. These things aren’t intrinsically wrong, but there’s a sense in which there’s a certain depth lacking to these pieces. They’re almost too aware of themselves and trying too hard.

I felt torn about this - I was excited to see art made out of textiles being featured in a major art institution, but it’s good to be reminded that great art needs more than just relying on its form. In many ways, I’m guilty of doing exactly what the author was commenting against. Kissick says “stop making so much sense.” In all honesty, I found that rebuke freeing as I have always felt like an imposter with my work. I have never really understood the art world, have struggled to navigate it, and have never really felt at home in the design world either. I consistently struggle with the idea that my work needs to have a deep meaning or reason to exist. I overcomplicate it.

I have a question for you: when was the last time you truly felt moved by a piece of music or art? I can think of a few moments. That specific feeling is hard to describe and in many ways it’s irrational, but makes you feel like you belong to something. 

A moment at Kettle's Yard - Jim Ede's house where every single object is considered. My sister saw how the light rested on an artist's name on a painting (which must have been intentional). We shared that with one of the staff who were in awe of this detail, and have never seen it before. It was such a magical feeling to notice something that others haven't noticed before and sit and share in that feeling together.

In Katy Hessel’s recent article for the Guardian, she says “More than ever, we are craving art that can offer world-shifting perspectives to get us to believe in our humanity again.” Great art simply makes us more human. 

Kissick says “Art should do more than communicate: it should move us; it should make us weep; it should bring us to our knees. It is, along with music, the purest expression of the human spirit. It is an important part of what makes us human—the most important part—and constitutes a continuum of yearning passed down the centuries that can be felt in every great museum or Renaissance chapel.”

Throughout all history, humans have always made art. Isn’t that incredible? The call for us is to make art that moves others. It’s not an easy task, but when it’s truly great - you just know. In many ways, that image of me on the tube is a perfect example. Our lives are mostly boring, sometimes disappointing, and we’re simply trying to get by. Art should stop us in our tracks, make us ponder about things that are beyond ourselves, and make us feel “transported.” Kissick says that it should “open minds up to new possibilities, and so make life feel more expansive.”

The writer Iris Murdoch says “Great art is liberating, it enables us to see and take pleasure in what is not ourselves.” We need to be taken out of our heads, out of our day to day, and be audacious enough to feel a spark, a light that helps us consider something from outside of us.

In this first week of January, I managed to read Orbital by Samantha Harvey (yes, it really is as good as everyone is saying). What struck me when reading it is our vulnerability as humans, but equally our responsibility to others. As the astronauts sit and look at the Earth, there’s a line that says “their loyal, monogamous circling which struck them last night as humbly beautiful. A sense of attention and servitude, a sort of worship.”

This idea of humility and servitude was particularly moving to me. Our place in existence is both meaningful and yet in many ways insignificant. As artists, we should help each other understand our shared humanity, without necessarily offering set conclusions. We want to offer hope, a way of helping each other think less of ourselves, in a way that considers things deeply and thoughtfully. 

I’m not quite sure how to do that, and I don’t think I ever will, but I surely want to attempt it - and in the process to hold my work more lightly than I have in the past. 


As always, thanks so much for reading! Please do forward this newsletter to anyone who would like to follow along.

I'm looking forward to teaching my next backstrap weaving course at West Dean College next weekend. It's now sold out! If you've missed the opportunity to sign up - I'll be hosting another in the spring, and perhaps my own at some point too. Do email me for any private tuition if you're interested!

Have a great weekend,

Alex