Getting down to the art of it 21/02/21

 I consider myself lucky to have grown up largely around creative people who inspire me and each other I think every single day and whom I admire for their sheer confidence and determination in pursuing their own artistic passions in a society which seems time and time again to show animosity towards the art industry. It is a sphere simultaneously expressively diverse and almost unbearably elitist. One in which even if you do manage to achieve some degree of success, it is made bittersweet by ever present obstacles yet to be overcome and discriminations to be confronted with. 

And so, it is with the first formings of this article bouncing around in my slightly chaotic headspace, that I sit down in front of my laptop, coffee in hand, notebook at the ready, to have a zoom conversation with 5 of my beautiful creative friends about their own work and how they’ve been affected by global issues. Our discussion broached topics of determination and artistic passion, as well as the everpresent discrimination, cultural appropriation and underrepresentation in the art world. In short, it was far more interesting than watching paint dry. 

 

I began by asking how everyone entered the art scene, and very quickly it became apparent that for each person, art had just “made sense” as a natural progression. For some that was through a rejection of what schools classed as ‘fine art’ as “the very opposite of fine art” (Georgia), or of the stereotype that men should be sporty rather than artistic (Ryan), or of the “fashion girl” characterization (Lucie). Whereas for others their entrance into the art world had been via an unexpected course change from law to drama (Phyllis), or through a self-confessed tendency to be a “drama queen” (Niamh). Whatever their method of arriving, immediately I got the very strong impression that art, whilst making sense, had for everyone required a difficult decision and rejection of certain expectations about themselves. 

I then ask everyone to explain about the art they produce, a question which even through a screen seems to invoke controversy amongst the artists. I realised too late that, much like the little box from which each person was staring uneasily at me, my question had confined the artists, asking them to limit their creative expression to a few sentences for me to snap up and stick in an article. 

Ryan recovers first from my misjudged attack on their artistic liberty and asked me which period I meant because his art has changed so vastly over the last decade or so. He compares the photo realism expected of him in school, which had him painting his parents onto actual doors, to the more flamboyant textiles and prints he produces now, laughing about the current “dick print” he’s working on. 

Ryan Whitfield's painting of his dad 

Georgia similarly paints school as limiting, leading her to have a brief break up with art because of the validation complex the imposed grading system caused her to develop. Georgia rediscovered her love for “film, photo and writing” in higher education and speaks expressly about the ambiguity of her art, speculating that “by not being politicaI, I am being political at the same time I guess” and countering my question of the message behind her work with “well, what’s the message to you?”

Georgia Brook's photos

I receive an equally enigmatic response from the drama students who discuss the transgressive nature of their practice, conjecturing that “the sort of thing you maybe make now isn’t necessarily the sort of thing you’ll always make” (Niamh), your art changing and evolving as you do. Furthermore, as an art medium, drama has less physical production value than say fine art or textiles because whilst drama students perfect technique and rehearse monologues, it’s not documented in the same way as physical art. 

Whilst Niamh casts art as a mode of storytelling, proclaiming “we’re not being ourselves, and that’s the point”, Phyllis, who confesses herself to be more of a director than an actor and in fact hates monologues, describes her degree as more of a process towards an end goal. For her, this means using applied theatre to “tell a story but to bring it out of someone else more” (than herself). 

Niamh Euer's monologue from 'Fleabag'

To see this philanthropic nature in artists is to realise how important art is to people and society as a whole. Whilst that’s not to plot the creatives against the doctors, nurses and life savers, certainly as our discussion ensued, I found my feelings around the vitality of art to people’s mental health and moral outlook being re-instigated.

Whilst everyone in the conversation seemed confident in their creative capabilities and spoke with a captivating passion for their work, they were nevertheless fully aware of the challenges which artists face in terms of employability and future prospects. 

The interview continues with Georgia’s earnest declaration of the “pessimism around creative subjects” and the risks involved in pursuing a goal which in it’s progressive stages is met with criticism and deterrence. Even despite iconic figures like Damien Hirst (who attended Lucie’s university) or Pablo Picasso (massive misogynist and colonizer of art, but brilliant painter) who’s work reigns supreme in the art world. 

Through Niamh’s impassioned vocalisation that she intends to constantly grow, develop and learn from her art, I come to see art as a fluid process. One in which talent is important definitely but perhaps even more essential is a self-proclaimed drive and desire to succeed against ubiquitous criticisms and social pressures. 

Lucie’s constant profound questioning of the ‘why’ behind her own work conveys art as all-encompassing. With her poignant interrogation of “who designed the chair you’re sitting on” or the house you live in or even a lightbulb which, whilst a scientific invention still requires a creative design, she swiftly dismisses the “social construct that creative subjects don’t lead to anything because it’s not taught to lead to anything.” She goes on to highlight the importance of “questioning our practice”, to determine what the effects of being a ‘creative’ are and how they help in the wider spectrum to challenge the enmity around the art industry more generally. 

Lucie’s current work combines West African prints with the designs of London based William Morris, and in a way that would have Wordsworth running screaming for the hills, hands clasped over his ears against such sacrilege, she and Ryan denounce the use of flowers in their work with a swift “fuck floral”. Disregarding pastoral print as boring, predictable and not at all expressive of the sort of person they are or the work they want to produce. 

As the conversation develops, the initial awkwardness of any zoom call slowly fading as does a polaroid in sunlight, the discussion turns to the presence of discrimination in and exclusion from the art world. Each individual belonging to a minority group through their sexuality and/or gender, it is saddening to hear that even through the context of art, a sphere which idolises gay artists like Keith Haring or David Hockney, everyone in the conversation has felt the frustration of their work being stereotyped in relation to their sexuality, even when irrelivent to the subject matter. 

Lucie also surfaces the issue of the exclusivity of the art industry, bringing to our attention the lack of representation of BAME (Black Asian Minority Ethnic), or worse the expectation that they produce cultural work only for it to be viewed as the work of a “black creative”. 

After the shocking reveal that there are a grand total of 6 black students across Lucie, Phyllis and Niamh’s courses combined, Lucie goes on to stress how colonised our view of art has become; the way in which African art is viewed by causcasian people through a Westernised lens so that if a person of colour produces something non-conforming with that typification, it’s dismissed as “not African”. Lucie articulates her reluctance to make her own art more personal because of how difficult it is to convey her culture in a way that it’s reception by a majority white audience wouldn’t offend her, or even to put her face on any of her portfolio work as “that in itself would change the interaction with the company or designer”. 

It is a confession which is received by the group, including myself, with somber nods as we realise, without being able to ever fully comprehend, how different it is for Lucie as a person of colour, due to the lack of representation and cultural fetishisation of herself and her work, in a society which simultaneously discriminates against and extorts through cultural appropriation the art of non-white or BAME artists. 

Conscious of the elephant in the room, I tentatively broach the topic of the covid pandemic with the creatives, a global catastrophe which has all but stagnated much of the art scene over the past year, rendering art galleries invariably closed until the foreseeable and preventing in-person artistic collaborations, or even access to studio spaces. In response to my deliberately vague questioning on whether it’s ‘more difficult to do what you want?’ Phyllis responds, “simple answer, yes”. 

Similarly Ryan expresses his concern that his portfolio created during lockdown may be taken less seriously than that of someone with full access to resources and artistic space. However, perhaps unexpectedly, Phyllis and Niamh, as drama students, describe the level of comfort they share in the knowledge that it’s uncharted territory for everyone. This has meant that although this time last year the prospect of having to study a drama course entirely online felt oddly isolating and daunting, it’s led to the development of an entirely new skill set. Niamh has even started writing her own monologues. 

Similarly, Georgia expresses optimism about the effect of the pandemic on her work, seeing the potential for art to reflect current events as the Renaissance period did for 14th century Europe. Likewise, Lucie emphasises how artists today are the only people in history to have ever gone through this experience, which makes their work unique and therefore desirable. She also notes our inevitable movement into a post-digital age which values technology as a core element of remaining viable in the evermore sparing labour market. 

The question of whether this is good or bad is left ironically suspended somewhere in the time lag of our zoom call.  

The discussion turns to the resistance these Northern creatives feel against their artistic endeavours, their geographical position having subjected them all at one point or another not only to a mockery of their accent, but more soberingly to a conversation about which universities they realistically think would actually consider them given their ‘background’. Needless to say all five have stayed in the North for their degrees, only Ryan venturing down to Manchester, which he sees as a “manageable London”. 

Raising the topic of the North-South divide in the UK, Niamh makes us aware that “people from the North East are applying to London based jobs...because they don’t need to spend the money to go down to London”. Everyone nods in agreement as it’s collectively acknowledged that art is, to an extent, a privilege due to the instability of art as a viable career option. It is far more accessible for those able or willing to go to London, prolific for its art and theatre scene and even coined the ‘museum capital of the world’. 

Despite Geordie being ‘the oldest English regional dialect’, Georgia confesses that she “always felt like [she] couldn’t be successful because of where [she’s] from”. Northern actors are repeatedly underrepresented or cast as stupid in film and media. 

The same article (referenced above) describes Newcastle’s demotic as a ‘difficult dialect’, suggesting that ‘most Brits are puzzled by it.’ Whilst we all laugh at the ridiculousness of ordinary people sounding like privately educated radio presenters, and Niamh jokes that people who can’t understand her “put a fucking subtitle on [me]”, it remains troubling how prevalent class is in the industry. 

Lucie speaks passionately about the hierarchy within art and design, which effectively grounds her degree ‘textiles and design’, whilst ‘fine art’ resides obnoxiously at the apogee of art as a cultural movement. Studying the latter, Georgia is quick to interject and, without denying the pretension associated with fine art, she endorses mass produced art as well (like the textiles and prints for which Lucie and Ryan have developed such a talent as one example) because “everyone should be allowed to have creativity in their life”. The sense of each artist having experienced some degree of rejection or sacrifice in order to get to where they are now resurfaces as Lucie laments on her choice to attend an art specific university. She expresses feelings of having missed out on a diverse range of student backgrounds in exchange for a more credible artistic education. 

In relation to her art, I can’t help but sense an intoxicating restlessness about Lucie, who like Georgia, imagines herself escaping the UK, eager to unearth non-western art Western in order to appreciate it in it’s own right: as the inspiration for a vast range of artistic interpretations.

Having spoken for close to four hours, as the conversation draws to a close I ask the artists what they are proudest of creating. This question, not dissimilarly to my question asking each person to describe what kind of art they produce, is met with a deep inward sigh, almost as if one had to be braced for the answer. 

By this time, it is only Georgia peering back at me through the screen, Lucie having slipped away briefly to take a phone call and everyone else having had to leave for some social engagement or other (you know how artists can be, never a dull moment). Not for the first time during our conversation, I feel myself hit with a new wave of the sheer diversity of the art scene, not just these creative individuals in how they interact and distinguish themselves from one another, but also the vast multitudinous of their own artistic capabilities and of the multifaceted nature of their own work, changing and evolving sometimes even as rapidly as within the space of a week. 

Speaking one-on-one to Georgia, I am struck by the feeling that she almost resembles the amalgamation process within filmmaking, each frame linking together, offering a slightly different perspective and yet each significant in their own way to the observation of the world around us. Perhaps it is her generosity in giving me her Sunday afternoon to pick her brains which speaks of the expressiveness of her art, the reason why it is at once compelling and yet there always seems to be more left unspoken. 

She reveals that much of the work she has produced she hates, growing bored of one medium within a matter of weeks and eager to move on to the next, but that she finds continual joy in her writing. A process which sometimes consists of creating a whole scene just through listening to one song over and over, whilst her novel remains unfinished as of yet, due to the sheer abundance of artistic and social factors over which it’s clear she agonises, from the consciously non-political political nature of her work. 

Upon her return, Lucie’s immediate response to the same question about the work she was most proud of was “nothing”, reaffirming the claim Georgia had made only moments earlier that so many artists and creatives don’t like their own work. However she then proceeds to show us some beautiful intimate photography, blurred shots depicting vibrant colours and sensual movement, which I wouldn’t have thought twice about seeing on the walls of a modern art gallery. 

Once again, I find myself physically presented with proof of the positives of this so called ‘digital age’, which meant that almost instantaneously Lucie could show us art which she seemed to describe with genuine adoration, and carry it round with her on her phone, bringing a whole new meaning to art as a fluid concept. 

Whilst captivating, Lucie’s description of the photos as “so distorted that it’s not even me anymore” reminds me of the distance she places between herself and her work, largely due to a fear of cultural misappropriation and receiving judgement upon herself as a queer woman of colour instead of an artist in her own right. It felt an appropriate sentiment to end on, that of the importance of decolonising the mentality of art and design and of the wider audience, without the minority figures being the ones having to bear the burden of speaking out about it. 

Lucie Turton's photography 

 

After our conversation I am bewildered by the sheer complexity of the art industry and the expressivism of the artists it encompasses. These artists have refreshingly captured the coronavirus pandemic not as a hindrance, but as a life-changing moment in history which will change the way we create and receive art forever.

I feel privileged to know this group of people who, far from meeting the stereotype of brooding, self-centred, dark and mysterious artists, are a bunch of lovely creative people. They navigate the tumultuous minefield of the art world by expressing themselves with the goal of figuring out how best to “communicate complex ideas through a beautiful, simplistic practice.” (Lucie)

Special thanks to:

Lucie Turton @lucie.a.t

Georgia Brooks @oneartist.gia

Ryan Whitfield @ryanwhitfielddesign

Niamh Euers @stiamhs_achiamhments

Phyllis Hoyle