Making Marks
I love artsing. Yes, I know I may have made that word up, but it really fits. If someone asks me what I am doing, the word ‘Artsing about’ seems appropriate. It also sounds a little like ‘Arsing about’ which (at times) can perfectly describe my antics too. Creative play is my guilty pleasure and I can quite happily zonk out for hours when it takes over. I am currently attending a fascinating online course on ‘essential ecoliteracy’ and it has revealed a whole array of questions that keep cropping up in my life. Guilty thoughts that nibble at me.
When I make art do I really need all those special art supplies?
What ingredients are in those particularly delightful and consistent paints? What glitter isn’t going to slither into someone’s stomach/bloodstream/eyeball? A blank white pristine canvas seems ridiculously hubristic and extravagant now. I once bought a huge one. I felt it would stretch me as an artist. Well, that worked. It haunted me for years. I painted over the thing at least three times, got it framed in huge gilded gold surround. Almost sold it once. It ended up in a shed, then a fat pony broke in, in search of food and being a bit of a thick oaf decided to stick a hoof through it. The frame broke. It was a disaster. It ended up being hauled off to the dump.
This whole living lightly thing I have been banging on about doesn’t really factor in art supplies. Not the sort that I used to collect. Lug boxes of things. You won’t be able to keep those on boats or in tents or travel with them. Maybe a small box of watercolours. But then you need good paper. Oh and then special peely watercolour glue stuff. Ugh. What about ceramics? Lovely natural clay from certain areas that are mined and then the whole kiln firing at a billion degrees. Carbon farting like a herd of cattle. Sigh, that’s not going to cut it either. Ok, lino cutting. That’s so clever and replicates itself. Oh, but the lino is from China. It’s cheap. The cutters are either rubbish or are wooden handled fancy ones in a big kit. You still need paint. Special lino printing paint with oil in it and oh yes fossil fuels are in this mix too and of course…more good paper.
The trees! The glue! the relentless resources. If you want to be a vaguely kind human you better steer clear of art and maybe just pile rocks on-top of each other in nature. WAIT! That is crap too. Disturbing millions of tiny insects and microbes so you can make some tower of power in an ‘untouched place’ except you’ve gone and left your hefty mark.
Mark making. We’ve done it everywhere. Caves, overhangs, bark, skin. It’s beautiful. It’s weird and it’s wonderful. The grappling for ways to make marks in a less destructive way has been consuming my thoughts. I have been lucky enough to make a very dear friend during the lockdown mishmash of life. She has become a cherished mentor though she’d probably gag at the thought and has done some fine guiding of my flipperty gibbet artsing mind and concepts over the past few months. Now you may think of her as some wise, calm soul but another friend of hers has described her as ‘a force of nature’ and she’s way too fond of that description and quotes it to everyone with delight.
She very sensibly pointed out to me that I haven’t combined my love of seeds, biodiversity within ecosystems and art together. It made me stop blathering on our regular walks and blink a few times. It resonated. In a large breathy ‘aha’ moment.
So, I have begun to try. Picking up on some fine and somewhat tenuous threads and hauled on some sturdy clammy ropes the process to try and create some sort of things that I can be proud of making has begun. Ones that don’t cost the earth but do soothe my hands as I make them.
There is recycling of tree and plant material, there are dormant and growing seeds, there is very little gnashing of teeth and no need to go to the art supply shop. It’s all very tremulous and exciting. You are invited to join me on the journey and I promise not to preach but there will definitely be dancing. And possibly boats. Forces of nature will be prancing about chortling and somewhere a harsh mark will cease to be.
