Sunday, November 14, 2010

Catharzine dose #1

Artistically, and I suppose professionally over the last 10 or so years I've compromised a lot, I've thought there were rules that are not there, I became obsessed with a literal and objective imaging of feminism that I could not express, or even begin to, mostly because of the impossibility of the task. I don't want to say I've wasted a lot of time because my experiences have been varied and interesting, and my portfolio is pretty big, but it's not the portfolio I ever imagined I would have. It is full of design and illustration which although to a high standard, these avenues were "sensible" alternatives to fine art, I thought it would be better to put my energies into these things as trying to be a painter was considered unrealistic, I'm not sure by whom really, I think I took it on myself because fine art seemed like a luxury for people with money to pursue. So depsite being so passionate at school and then college, with encouragement from every angle I somehow lost what I wanted to do, even needed to do to stay sane, and these things all combined contribute to a frustration which I cannot give a clear voice. Catharzine is a personal project I had the idea for about 18 months ago, but having turned thirty and a corner is timely for me right now. It is based on the idea of writing and painting as a therapy and drug. As cathartic and analytical. Playing with the word catharsis in zine form it even sounds pharmaceutical. It is unintelligible because emotion and frustration are usually hard to define, sometimes hurtful, sometimes angry, sometimes comic, often so many things at once, it is tragicomic even, the melodrama is not lost on me, and this makes it even more enjoyable and useful I think, it's serious and stupid. Inspired by the work of an artist and psychoanalyst I studied for my BA dissertation, Bracha Litchenberg-Ettinger, I have made these pieces as palimpsests writing over and over the words till they lose their literal meaning and become meaningful in their illegible chaos. I'm tired of my self-imposed restrictions, but have some baggage to shed whilst taking the brakes off and these pages are the illustrative equivalent of screaming into a pillow, as was once recommended to me by a doctor...

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