A Goddess in the Cupboard

Amongst other things, I am trying to get my work room in order. It is almost done. It has been almost done for some time now. The trouble is the last lot of stuff doesn't seem to belong together or have anywhere obvious to go, so it clutters up the floor while I sort and re-sort, then let it get out of control and then have to start all over again. If procrastination ever becomes an Olympic sport I shall excel.

(As an aside, when the modern Olympics began, the arts were a part of it. While not in the first Olympics in 1896, there were competitions for architecture, painting, sculpture, music and literature up until 1948, alongside track and field, swimming, etc. They were removed because it was realised that if you wanted a really top-class competition in these areas then professionals had to take part, and the Olympics was about amateurs. Looking at modern Olympians now I think you could argue that quite a few are professional athletes. Time to bring the arts back. Which is never going to happen.)

Most of the work room is pretty good (it just doesn't look it). I am in the novel position of being able to find exactly what I want in very short order. I have also found quite a few things I forgot I had, or that I hadn't seen in a very long while.

When I was in my late teens and early twenties I was obsessed with Jim Fitzpatrick, an Irish artist focussing on Irish pre-history and mythology. I still love his work, but I am no longer obsessed with it. It was because of Fitzpatrick that I studied Ancient Irish and Modern Irish at university. There is something to be said for reading the Tain in its original language (or the Edda, or Beowulf for that matter. Yes, I used to be able to read Norse and Mercian as well. But what you don't use you lose. Latin was in there too, which is why I get ticked off by Christmas wishes. It's "Peace to men of good will", not "peace and good will to men". Sheesh).

Anyway... Celtic decoration has always been a thing for me. I have always loved it. Buying George Bain's amazing book in the little Irish shop that used to be in The Rocks was like finding treasure. Actually, it was finding treasure. And the shop had a stack of Jim's books too, and a poster collection (signed. Oh, what a lovely birthday present that was). So slowly I collected. Some trips to The Rocks I would buy a Fitzpatrick book, other trips I would buy a volume of Urusei Yatsura (yes, I was studying Japanese too. Glutton for punishment). And all the while I would be drawing knotwork on everything, or dissecting carpet pages and trying to reproduce them, or looking at how Fitzpatrick and others were applying ancient designs to modern artworks.

One of the things I did was copy what the amazing Mr. Jim was doing. I have long known that copying is a great way to learn. You have to credit it properly, but you can understand so much more about form and style and, above all, technique. I've always copied things. I probably should do a post with some of my attempts, good and bad. Unless you'd rather watch grass grow. Maybe I'm the only one who finds it interesting. It's so hard to tell.

So I copied a number of Fitzpatrick's pieces. Palu had always been a favourite, so she was first up.

Palu, Jim Fitzpatrick, 1976.

Palu, black ink on cartridge paper, Megan Ellem after Jim Fitzpatrick, c1989

And then I did a number of smaller pieces, looked at how he did figures in movement, had a  go at a larger painting (which needed an airbrush but as I didn't have one I didn't use one, so it has some problems from that alone. It is important to match technique as well as form) and got around to copying Boann and a couple of others. Then I got adventurous, and created my own goddess image with a classic Fitzpatrick border and his goddess style.

Tailtiu, black ink on paper, Megan Ellem in the style of Jim Fitzpatrick c1989-90

This was years ago, before I was married. Even before my family moved to Lambton. So that must be about 25 years back. I found it again when I was sorting out the work room and am still very pleased with it. But when I look at it, part of me feels some small regret that I didn't pursue this path as doggedly then as I am trying to currently. Where would I be now? What sort of life would I have had? But if I had done that, I wouldn't have studied Norse and Old English and Old Irish. I wouldn't have read the Edda and the Tain and Beowulf or the AS Chronicles in their original languages, or found out about the use of colours in Anglo-Saxon education methods. I would never have studied the impact of time measurement on Anglo-Saxon culture and vice versa, or read the adventures of Hercules in Latin. I may not have found Charlie Sheard and had the magic of real painting unlocked.

It's very easy to live with a lifetime of regret. There are always things we can find that we wish we had done, or wish we had done differently, or sooner, or not done at all (I have quite a few of those). But everything that has happened or that we have done or learnt, it all contributes to what and who we are now. Not always in a good way, but not always in a bad way either. All those things I studied at University gave me a different perspective on life and on art production than I would have had without it. My art practice and research gave me a different perspective on my Uni studies too (and led to my only published paper). Two-way street - best kind.

So I will always love my goddess and my copies, and I'll try hard not to be sorry about leaving things so long, and I'll work at appreciating the path I have travelled to this point so I can travel the rest of the way more mindfully and more productively. We may not be able to choose all the cobbles on the road, but we can certainly decide on the boots we are wearing and who we will kick along the way.