An Apple A Day

As I said in my last post, which was, I admit, a bit miserable, I have enrolled in a taster course in Natural History and Scientific Illustration. Seeing what I think about it. It's online, so not as onerous as it could be or perhaps should be. But a lot is expected of us and it is really sorting out those who are seriously interested and those who thought it would be a fun way to "learn to draw" (god help them).

I missed one homework assignment due to home stuff, but fortunately it was one of the voluntary extras. I am working on finishing it, but the submission date is been and gone.

The first few weeks were: playing with pencils, how to keep a field journal and basic observational drawing. I should have done some gesture drawings this week. I'll get round to them. Thank the gods there are no marks associated with that bit. I will get round to them.

Anyway, I've decided to share a couple of things I have done and actually submitted, because I rather like them. They are a bit amateurish, but I'm getting there. Time to practice is essential, and a bit thin on the ground.

We were asked to do an observational drawing of several objects from nature. I chose the apple blossoms from my garden. I love my heritage apples, but I don't take anywhere near enough care of them. They didn't get pruned again this winter gone. And the time to net them was a couple of days ago. If I do them NOW I may be apple to avoid fruit fly. Maybe.

They were all in bloom when the assignment came up so I got out and cut off blossoms from the four of them. Okay, so Granny Smiths are not heritage apples, but the other three are. Being a bear of small brain, and a somewhat turbulent one at the moment, I didn't think to put them in water, so the drawings became a race against time. And looking at them now, I realise I got them mixed up. The Calville Blanche d'Hiver is actually the Tydeman's Early (my variety is a russet, with a lovely honey flavour). The Peasgood Nonsuch is actually the Calville Blanche d'Hiver. And the Tydeman's Early is really the Peasgood (the flowers died before I got to them). So I got them completely mixed up. But on the bright side, my drawings were good enough that I could work out exactly which was which.

Apple Blossoms, Megan Hitchens, graphite on white paper, 2016

As to the apples themselves, once found how could I NOT grow an apple called Peasgood Nonsuch? Plus, it's delicious. The Tydeman's is a cider apple that you can eat as is, and if you know anything about Caravaggio then you have seen a Calville Blanche d'Hiver. He painted them a few times. I'd been on the look out for it for some time, and then had the opportunity to buy a tree. Quite a bumpy apple, but lovely flavour.

This past week we had to start keeping a field journal. It's different drawing out in the "wild". The wind comes up, it rains, the sun comes out, or goes behind a cloud. Insects hover and buzz and love the white page. Where has my brush gone? A familiar refrain but now I am looking for it in unfamiliar places. We had to pick our best page and post it. I got it onto the site a day late, but I'm glad I waited for this last one to be finished, as it is my best one.

Japanese Black Pine, Megan Hitchens, graphite, water colour pencils and white ink on Bristol Board, 2016

We had to do sketches and then indicate colour, rather than colour the whole thing. And include field notes. No idea if I am on the right track. I do know that I have labelled the male strobili as anthers. I'll get there.

Anyway, that's what I have been up to, in amongst the chaos.

On The Futility of Always Going Last

I saw an interview with Margaret Olley about twenty years ago. She was talking about her life as an artist, and what she said struck me then and has stayed with me every since. "If you are a woman and you want to be an artist, don't marry and don't have children".

I have had several male artist friends tell me in scoffing tones that this is not true, "not now", that Olley was talking about her experiences from another time. But by hell, it is true. You can be a woman and an artist (or a farmer, or whatever) but it is a LOT harder if you have a spouse and/or kids.

Part of this is my fault. I fall for the conditioned feelings of guilt and martyrdom that are ingrained in most women. We must put everyone else first, to do otherwise is somehow selfish and wrong. And everyone else's desires and careers are somehow intrinsically more important. Anything goes wrong in the home or needs extra attention, I'm the one who has to deal with it. Which is fair enough, given I don't have a wage coming in and I work from home. Except I see female friends who are working for a wage still being the ones to deal with all the home-front stuff, having to take time off or juggle doctor's appointments and school issues and what have you. Never their male partners. And we don't push back, or at least not very hard, because that is somehow wrong, or ungrateful, or something. I fight against this, but the feelings are strong, the conditioning deep. There are times when I really hate this society.

There has been a lot of crap going on here, just day to day, I have children crap. I also started doing some courses to see if I could keep everything going and consider going back to finish the PhD. I have somehow (and sporadically) kept drawing and painting throughout, although the blogging has pretty much gone (something had to, and it's the least vital). Recently I enrolled in an online taster course in Natural History and Scientific Illustration, just as everything here went into light-speed overdrive and became absolutely crazy. At a time when I have also started questioning a whole lot of things (not least of which is "just what am I doing?"). Everyone has needed me, all the time. And everyone's needs have been genuine. But it's been all at once. A bit like buses. You wait ages with nothing and then three turn up at once. Well, that's how it has worked out, only I wish it was just three.

By the time I get through my day, and get everyone else through their days, and hold the fort and do all the normal house duties crap that never bloody stops, and finally get a little time for myself, I am too wasted, emotionally and physically, to even think about the drawings I need to do for my course. The requirements aren't onerous, but at the moment they are too much. I'm getting my homework in, but today it was a day late. And it's because everything else comes first.

It's not just me. I am, by no means saying it is. And a lot of women have it a whole LOT harder than I do. I'm just really sick of it at the moment. No, I'm sick of it for good. I am really, really tired of it. And not just for me, for all us.

I have a friend who is a goat farmer. She is a strong, independent woman who knows her own mind and pursues her own goals. She's also a teacher and a mentor to others. I admire her greatly. Lives on her own. Why? Because when she tries living with a man, his wants come before her needs. She ended up throwing the last guy out because he really thought his wants were more important. It wasn't stated or asserted or anything, it was just demonstrated on a daily basis with the way he lived and with the way he expected her to live. She was to be there for him. Not the other way round, not even as a two-way street (apparently he talked a good two-way street). Her life was to be built around him. On her own farm. Which she owned. So she threw him out.

I'm not advocating we all start throwing out our partners. But I think I really need to start saying "this is what I need", "this is what I am doing". It's done often enough the other way, with no assertions or demands for a fair go, just as the way life works. Men do what they want, women fit in. Because there seems little concept in the world of taking turns when it comes to married women, and particularly married women with children.

And here's the really stupid thing. I am in two minds about letting this post stand. I feel like I am being unfair, having a moan, being stupid. But I'm not. My art is important. It may not pay at the moment, but if it always comes second, or even third (which is more usual), then it will NEVER pay. And I will go my grave thinking, "Shit, how did I let this happen?" And it is not the fault of my kids. They need me right now, both of them, and I can't desert them. And good parents do put their kids first and sacrifice to get them through and keep them going. But not all the time. Not everything. And it's not selfish when you say "what I am doing is important too". Or to say, "I'm sorry, but you need to step up this time". To not always put what you want or need last after everyone else. Or to spend so much energy keeping everyone else afloat that you don't notice you are the one sinking.

Every time you don't say "No" or "me" or "my time", it makes it harder to say it the next time, and the next. If you have young women in your life, be they daughters, granddaughters, nieces, friends, whatever, tell them their wishes for their life, their desires for career, their pursuits, are just as important as their brothers' or fathers' or cousins' or friends' or partner's desires and wishes. They have just as much right as the men in the world and don't have to step back or follow quietly because "he already has a job" or "he wants to study" or whatever it is that is being put forward. Just as much right and her pursuits are just as important. Make sure they know and support them in their decisions and desires.

But Margaret Olley was right. If you want to be an artist, and you are a woman, don't get married and don't have kids.

Show Yourself Out, Goat...

You sucked.*

I'll try to not make this post a bit of a whinge. Although I won't succeed, because it is, by nature, a bit of a whinge. But what it is meant to be is a bit of self-berating to get myself back on track.

2015, the Year of the Goat, sucked. It didn't suck as badly for me as it did for others, but it wasn't good.

Two exhibitions, neither of which sold a thing (admittedly one was very small, but still...). Lots of family stuff that needed my full attention, and seemed to never end. Lots of other stuff that you don't need to hear (I'm burdening you enough already). Ill. My god, ill. Every little thing going and quite a few big things too. Pneumonia is not fun, may I add.

The bloody Black Dog made his presence more than felt. I have a deep desire to chain him on the porch, but the damned thing keeps slipping his lead, getting inside and howling like the hellhound that he is. Or just sitting there, in the dark, a demon from the depths. And the wretched creature whispers. All the time.

I made a terrible mistake that hurts someone else, and it runs round and round my head. All the scenarios, all the opportunities at which point I could have chosen to do some small thing differently and avoided catastrophe. But didn't. In the end I became immobilised. Unable to do my family history, unable to paint or draw, or blog, feeling unworthy of anything that brings joy or peace or satisfaction. I have to accept that mistakes get made and constantly beating myself for every single one, and shredding myself for this one, won't change a thing. Won't help anyone. So, hard as it is, I have to let it go and make what paltry amends I can and just get on with things. Even if I don't deserve it. Because everyone else doesn't deserve to live with me like this.

And the children had a rough year. I fought for them, as any mother does, and things have improved a lot for my son, but my daughter continues to struggle. We'll sort something out, find a solution, keep it all going. Can I say I hate the one-size-fits-some education system? Her school is very supportive, but the curriculum is crap, and BOSTES needs... I don't know what it needs, but it needs it. Deliberately disadvantaging kids with reading difficulties because the head "doesn't believe" in the solution is beyond words. Well into the range of tearing fury. What would happen if she didn't believe in reading glasses? Or hearing aids? Or braille?

And the spouse has had a hard time at work this year. Lots of pressure, long hours. He hasn't been home much, and when he is, he's still caught up in it all. So, from a selfish point of view, I have had to manage the kids pretty much on my own. Which is mean to say, but hey, that's the way it has had to be. I probably haven't supported him as much as I should, but he's gotten whatever I have had left.

So maybe I should be proud that I got two exhibitions in last year (even if one was small). Because guess what I jettisoned first, in all the crap that was the Year of the Goat. It seems ever thus.

Margaret Olley said if you are female and want to be an artist, don't get married and don't have children. There are many days, and a lot of them fell in 2015, when I know she was right.

I had a long talk to my daughter yesterday afternoon, about her and what she is going through, about her future and what she wants. She is so incredibly gifted, in so many areas, but just lately her artistic streak has come roaring to the fore. She is astounding. If we can sort out Years 11 and 12, or TAFE, or something, get her through this, she is going to do some astonishing things.

It is a great comfort to me to say to her what I was never told. That if she loves something and goes for it, she will find a way to make a living from it, and be much happier in the long run. There will be no sense of disappointment from her parents if she isn't "earning" (since when is money the mark of a person's worth or ability?), or "achieving" (which always has such a narrow definition, anyway). We are there for her no matter what. And whatever she wants to do, we will help her work out how to do it, should she want that help. There are always ways.

At the end of a very long discussion, do you know what my beautiful girl did? She turned and said, "What about you, Mum? What do you want?"

I have to admit, I was a bit low because of all the school stuff yesterday (calls from support workers, while trying to help find solutions, can turn one's day on its head. Still, better to know), so my answers, while stating what I wanted, were filled with reasons why not. And my girl told me what I needed to do, gave me a plan of action, just as I had been devising action plans for her. And told me how much she believes in me and reminded me that I always say to the kids "It's never too late" ("unless," she clarified, "you've just been given six weeks to live or something. Then you'd have to say it's too late." She's quite direct). And she gave me a list of things to not focus on.

And at about three this morning, for the first time in a long time, I woke with an idea, instead of waking with worries. I've spent time this morning thinking about it, doing some preliminary sketches. Actually feeling like I can create something. Of course, after such a hiatus I am rusty, so the next few days will largely be warm up exercises, and doing other stuff like grounds and things, just to make sure I am back in the game and not drifting off again.

This year is the Year of the Monkey. More than that, it's the Year of the Fire Monkey. So maybe it will be ragingly better. That or it will burn everything to the ground. Fingers crossed for the former.

For the record, I always thought I was a Monkey (Earth Monkey to be precise). I now find out I am actually at the tail end of the Sheep (or Goat, either way a fibre animal. Go figure), and a Fire Sheep to boot. So maybe this is the year that this dag end of a Sheep finally gets back on track.

I was looking for an image for this blog, and I wasn't satisfied with my own drawings of monkeys or goats. They just didn't fit the bill for one reason or another. And the Black Dog gets enough of a look-in, so no drawings of that, thank you. In the end I googled Durer, because I like his monkey and goat drawings (actually, let's just change that to "I love Albrecht Durer"). I found this and it made me laugh. Perfect. Every drawing of the Virgin and Child should have a monkey in it. Go, Albrecht.+

The Virgin and Child with Monkey, Albrecht Durer, 1498, engraving, National Gallery of Art, Washington DC, USA

*The title and first sentence is courtesy of Robert Brown. He pretty much summed up 2015.

+Mark Calderwood, what's the symbolism of monkeys in this context?