Hmm...interesting

National Art Library is closed today due to bank holiday...have instead caught up with a friend's top ten art list. He's a contemporary artist who sent me a link to this:

http://uptherefilm.com/film.aspx

Could I have finally found a contemporary art form that I like?

I get along with The Voice (more or less) and I found a piece of contemporary art I actually like.

fuck.

Times, they are a-changing.

Isolation Island

Well, the House Sale project is well and truly underway. I have found not all of my pieces, but I have a good idea on the ones I don't know, save the two that I'm having kittens over...

It's been a tedious couple of weeks and there seems to finally be a break in the proverbial clouds and the sun doth shine through. I've managed to bond with the departmental director. Oh yes, oh yay, I'm now friends with her.

Not best-ies mind you, just friends.

Most of this project has felt like I'm alone but surrounded by others. Sadly the group itself hasn't gotten much better. The fact that half the group is self-serving and ready to step on anyone's toes at will in order to get ahead of all the people sat within three feet of them doesn't foster comrade in arms affection. This project has brought the spirit of competition to the foreground of life here at Christeby's. This does make for a greater sense of being sequestered.

Lastly, I'm still sat beside The Voice most days, though now we're much more at ease in each other's company. (Shock! Horror!) No, I am not such a small-minded person that I can't be professional, I just would rather be sat next to Afghan Hound, Cocker Spaniel and Golden Retriever.

So, after watching sections of my personal life go up in flames yesterday I've done just that. My sexless-in-the-city quartet has been there for me while I quietly research obscure British artists away from the loud shouts of, 'I found another one!' coming from the bank of computers near my table in the room. The feelings of isolation that this project has fostered are subsiding even though I'm doing far less talking.

Maybe sometimes the things that matter most need to be left unsaid and instead, just felt.

Power Tripping

So, it’s now the House Sale project, that little thing worth 1/3 of my diploma mark.

Joy oh joy.

Christeby’s Institute is now hosting a faux auction run by the students who have been training all year to become specialists in a particular subject. (Bullshitting maybe?)

I’m in the British Paintings department, I enjoy the art enough, the company, however, may leave something to be desired. Most of my day I’m sat next to The Voice. It’s clear to everyone near us that we’re making an effort to be civil and helpful towards one another, - well, I am.

I’ll return to this in a moment.

In the meantime I’m going to share an anecdote from my youth that may help explain my work ethic…don’t worry, I’ll manage to do this in the space of two sentences:

a-hem

When I was 11 my teacher announced I never stopped to smell the roses and therefore received the ‘Most Conscientious Award’. I have since reconsidered my stance on smelling the roses and I decided that I like that activity in moderation (As most actions are best done in moderation – even eating chocolate).

Now, with my work ethic more or less there for all to see, and no, I am not a lazy person, I just know that if you work hard you need to even it out, and now I will proceed with this entry.

So, coming to the Institute today was, as it was yesterday and the day before, a somewhat intimidating experience, at least at my table. Projects are being micro-managed by the department director.

Who is in fact, another ordinary non-super power student.

Now, I’m all for respecting authority when it actually exists and is earned, but this lass is full-on.

And fucking condescending. I’ve been talked down to more in the past three days than I have in the past three years.

Case in point:

My first reaction to the chaos of the room was to run. I acted on that and went to the library to gather books on artists who could have painted my paintings.

Note: not slacking.

As I bumbled my way out of said library I met my Departmental Director and had this melodious phrase grace my ears, ‘Oh hey, I was looking for you cuz I knew you’d come in and I saw your stuff so I decided to think the better of you and check the library first and wow, here you are!’

a) A) Yep! Here I am! Look at the books I found.

b) B) Haha! Well, you know, I do work when you’re not watching…I’m not a total slacker.

c) C) * glare * Speak when spoken to.

d) D) Fuck off and leave me the hell alone. My nerves are already raw from you and we still have 4 ½ weeks left together on this project.

I wanted to say d) but restrained myself to b). Defensive is better than outright aggressive. God help me if I’m working with her in 7 years.

As far how things are going with The Voice, we are being civil. However, it would seem my efforts to be a team player are being omitted. I’ve found many of her works when hunting down mine. I pass these things off to her, I mean, no skin off my nose and it fosters sharing within the group…until the group micro-management update with round table discussion.

‘Yea, and like this one is a Van Dyck copy and you can tell because of x, y and z. And, yea, that’s like all the ones I have.’

And there we had it, she’d omitted the three I’d found for her.

So much for my credit within the group and offering to help her ever again. My goddamned olive branch was just torched.

Something Tells Me I'm Into Something Good

Oh Herman's Hermits, you legends of '60s pop music. Your words have been very true today. Thanks for that.

Well, that line about being into something good, less about that girl I met last week who held my hand.

Note to Herman: Less co-ed relationships more songs about positive career growth titled: Something Tells Me I'm Into Something Good.

Frivolity aside, it's been a rather important day.

My networking is starting to pay off.

The one and only lecture today was given by a repeat guest lecturer, let's call him, Cheeky Charmer. He's about 55-60 and effuses charm without flattery. I think I could grow up to be him someday, minus the '70s slang and that whole being a male thing. (Quite happy with my working parts, thank you very much!) The lecture was on becoming an art dealer and all the shit one must put themselves through to get anywhere in the art world.

Some people found it horribly depressing. Some people have decided to quit after this. Afghan Hound jokingly said, 'I think now I will marry a rich man.' (But after hearing we will never be paid more than £19,000 a year on salary, well...) I looked over at Cocker Spaniel and she said, 'It's so sad. I feel really deflated.'

'Ah! But it's challenge. The odds are really not in our favour, but I find the idea fun.'

'Yea, me too! We should definitely open a gallery.'

There we go, 10 year plan sorted. Now...for those intermediary steps.

According to Cheeky Charmer, there are no set steps into the art world.

fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck

So, this world that attracts crazy lovers of art, such as myself, is dog-eat-dog, poorly paid, and apparently impenetrable.

Great.

Ah-ha, a silver lining. Cheeky Charmer says, 'Now, this is not for people who don't like to talk. In my day we called it "knowing people" I think you call it "networking". Remember the people sat next to you are the ones whose addresses you'll need because while they aren't worth anything to you now, but in seven years time you might be making money off them and they will be making money off of you.'

My bloody point exactly.

Good thing I like to talk. Well, network I guess.

At the end of the lecture I heard a glimmer of an opportunity. Apparently Cheeky Charmer occasionally hires out students to do bits of research for him on his paintings, but only to ones who he thinks could help him, and if anyone thinks that they might be worth his while, he might give them a card at the end of the lecture.

Challenge: Set....

Well, the end of the lecture came around and I went up to the podium and started to talk. Not aimlessly mind you, but I put my networking or 'knowing people' skills to the test. Turns out we both know Mr. XXXX XXXXXXX and had a nice chat about him and his galleries as well as early 19th c. portraiture. I told him I'd be happy to do some research should he need any.

He handed me a card, I smiled. Asked my name and offered a handshake.

'Drop me an e-mail outlining what you just told me in about two lines and I'll see what I can do. Nice to talk with you.'

Cocker Spaniel had been watching and offered me a huge grin that I couldn't help but return.

Challenge: Met.

We scurried out of the classroom and Cocker Spaniel said, 'I think the assignments for the House Sale are up!'

There was a crowd around the board, and sure enough, there they were. I'd applied for the British Paintings department as a cataloguer. Christeby's Institute holds a mock auction run by students and it runs for 5 weeks and is worth 1/3 of our diploma mark. It's kinda a big deal.

I got my department and I looked through who else was with me.

Of course. The Voice.

Cocker Spaniel saw the look on my face, leaned in and whispered, 'But hey, apparently The Voice applied for departmental director and clearly didn't get it. Could be worse.'

As I imagined taking orders off The Voice for 5 weeks I shuddered, looked at Cocker Spaniel and said, 'Too true.'

And with things all happily in perspective, I couldn't help but be happy, business card, little networking success/opportunity, and lastly, The Voice wouldn't be bossing me about and making getting a good mark on that 1/3 of my degree ridiculously difficult.

phew! result.

Fine Art Fairs

I've had a house guest for a little over week now which has made me negligent in my duties both to blogging and to pursuing my career relentlessly and doggedly without stop or consideration to others in my life...

kinda like The Voice does.

Maybe she should secretly be my heroine.

Nah.

I enjoy head-banging to a karaoke version of 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' at birthday parties too much to give up socialising to stay home and write cover letters and perpetually update my CV.

Which is what I did during my duvet day today.

Instead of attending a class on the market value of ceramics followed by one on a video-installation museum I opted to stay in, keep warm and write up a fresh CV. Complete with ideas from the Christeby's staff. Cheers for that.

In the process of this I noticed an e-mail floating in my inbox...

Tis volunteering for the London International Fine Arts Fair time.

Not really the most exciting thing I can imagine, you know - working for free. But my CV could use some work experience in the art world department. Time to glean it.

The CV wasn't all that bad, just slightly tedious to write, but so it goes. It was during the cover letter I got a little stuck.

What on earth do I tell this woman I've done that makes me a worthwhile candidate?

'Uh, I go to art museums? I like paintings a lot. Let me work for you for nothing...please.'

Yes.

Perfect.

A post-modern masterpiece of covering letter genius!

Maybe not.

Instead I began to think of things that might make me a little more unique, such as my experiences at TEFAF. And even more recently, the Print Fair held at the Royal Academy. Cocker Spaniel and I went to have a networking day there a little over a week ago.

That went down a treat! Turns out I'm a bit of a memorable character. My freakishly good memory for faces served me well as I recognised not only a member or two of the staff at Christeby's, but I also saw two dealers from TEFAF there. The first one joked with me and asked when I'd be along to the gallery and told tales of how vastly different every fair he attends is and why it's so great to go to so many.

It was refreshing to relax and laugh with a gallery owner. Not that I'm a person who gets flustered easily, but being eyed up for what I can offer (or spend) does tend to make me flush, luckily Cocker Spaniel was there to help me keep my courage.

I don't think she knows how much she bolsters me.

We continued to walk through the fair and I saw Mr. XXXX XXXXXXX, the one from TEFAF. Yea, that one.

And guess who recognised me?

Oh it was grand. We chatted about British art, TEFAF, and even Raeburn. Turns out he's a big fan. Seems like things are continuing to look up as I'd be keen to intern at the gallery given half a chance.

I put my attendance at the two fairs into my cover letter for LIFAF and am hoping that the elusive work experience I so desperately need doesn't slip away. Time will tell.

In the meantime, maybe karaoke should take a backseat to job hunting, after all, I don't know many people who hire bad Kurt Cobain impersonators. And don't even get me started on the Supremes.

Polar Opposites

Today's lectures were on the same subject but vastly different. Conservation. The first on ceramics, the second - contemporary sculpture. Both were extremely informative; however less than two minutes into the second lecture I wanted to walk out.

Why?

Contemporary artists. Nothing to do with the lecturer.

Why create an object that will never last? According to the lecturer, 'For 9 out of 10 sculptures the concept or idea is more important than the object.'

What the fuck?

Do art schools churn out little philosophers/tactile idiots?

And apparently, 'Lots of artists like to use bin liners.'

Jesus! That's not art you self-righteous prigs!

Someday people will look back on our culture and see that a) we had none and b) we didn't leave a mark. Think about it, our contemporary art will be bio-degraded into bits, all our personal letters, notes and writings will be gone, and thanks to the e-nature and throw-away qualities of life now means we will both damn and save ourselves.

Hooray for a small carbon footprint. Boo for no culture to leave behind for historians of all schools and disciplines to decipher in the future.

It's really presumptuous of us to believe that in 500 years people will still have working technology from now so that our record will exist.

Same goes for art. The selfishness of creating something that won't last yet 'represents' us is beyond belief. Contemporary artists...not a god-damned Michelangelo amongst the lot of them.

Fuck it. I'll make something that will bio-degrade, be extremely health hazardous, utterly ridiculous and it will only have personal meaning for me.

Brilliant. I'm going to be the next Damien Hirst.