As part of my upcoming exhibition at an Arts Festival here in Derbyshire, I’m going to be showcasing a new series of INKY CONDITIONS prints entitled A House Lives In Me. This is a kind of illustrational call-and-response piece with the little wooden houses I’ve been making (like crazy) over the last few months. Same spirit, different medium. I’m very excited about this development. Excited about the series sitting alongside the existing works – the ‘main event’, in a manner. Whilst the invention and expansion of the house-centric project was healthily, joyfully simple (natural? intuitive?), the how-to of physically exhibiting the pieces was altogether not. Until last week.
Related world… moving into houses which have been other people’s homes. My pictures are moving into old frames.
An old frame.
A new picture moves in.
With all the oddities and the not-quite-to-our-taste-ness; the dated décor and well-intended frills. The old frames, truffle-hunted from the corners and high shelves of charity shops, are to be the poetic opposite of the neutral and the gleam. Tearing out mounts and ripping into floral efforts with all the grimmacing, unpleasant gladness of staking out new territories. The glass that has not seen a good wash in decades, like the grimed windows in the room which is earmarked as a study. That wall is coming down, eventually.
And the breakthrough is complete and at peace – making sense – with the whole piece. For these are all the little stories of the houses we have known.