Cardboard Colonies

As a lot of you know, the kids and I went to camp a few weeks ago. It is a camp run by the Gifted and Talented Association. We attend the one at Morriset each year.

It's cold, but in bushland so rather beautiful. Mists and fogs in the morning, clear bright skies at night - if it isn't bucketting with rain. Lots of stars because there isn't much in the way of artificial light.

The children do workshops and treasure hunts (learning by stealth). They run around together and play, and have a great time. And are expected to help, even with just keeping their own cabins tidy. On the Saturday night there is a talent concert - not competition. Concert. So everyone who wants to gets to show what they can do. It is always interesting and often breathtaking. A couple of the parents take part. I usually sing a silly song to give the kids a laugh.

As a parent I love going. I know my children are safe, so I can chill out. The last few years I have sat on the large back verandah, looking out at the fields and trees, sewing or spinning or knitting. Other parents sat too, reading, crafting, whatever. And we chatted and got to know it each other. Given I was still quite ill when I first went, this was such a blessing. I actually got a holiday of sorts. We, the parents, are all expected to pull our weight - help prepare and serve two meals at least, keep our kids in order between workshops and get them into bed on time, help out where necessary, but it isn't onerous. And as a side benefit we get to know each other. I have some people I can call friends, even though we only see each other once a year (we all say we will catch up in the meantime, but it never seems to happen - too much life gets in the way).

A lot of the children there, while gifted, have a diagnosis of some sort, and it is useful as parents to compare notes, discuss strategies, school successes and failures, life in general. It is also great to just hang out with other adults who aren't going to judge you becauce of your children.

I had plans this year with my verandah time. I was going to do lots of sketching. It's one thing to draw an inanimate object or a posing model. It is quite another to draw people doing whatever they are doing. Even when people are just sitting around chatting, they are quite active. Their hands move. A lot. And so do their heads. Expressions change second by second. And then they get up when you haven't quite finished. And so on. I was really looking forward to the challenge. It didn't happen.

The verandah was workshop space this year. My friend, Mark, was running it. Mark works at Taronga Zoo, and plays in a number of bands on the side. He is a brilliant guitarist. We all love listening to him while we talk. We make him play till his fingers bleed (well, not quite, but we all push it a bit - he is fantastic). This year he got asked to help out big time, so no music. There was supposed to be a helper, but he spent his time playing in the workshop, so I stuck my hand up and ended up to my eyeballs in cardboard boxes.

The workshop involved lots and lots and LOTS of cardboard. And sticky tape. And scissors. Everyone reading this who has kids understands that this is child hog heaven. The idea was that the children had crash landed onto a planet and had to build structures for a colony. Pretty quickly (as in, within a couple of minutes) Mark and I banned the construction of a TARDIS, and established that the planet was NOT Gallifrey.

The first group built a lot of weapons and defence posts. My daughter slacked around because she thinks she is now too old for this, and chatted to the guy who should have been helping but spent all weekend building a large laser gun for the colony (he's a Marvel and Doctor Who fan, so they had a lot to talk about, but still...). Everyone was very protective of their structures and very proprietorial. When they found out that the structures had to stay, and be fair game for the next group, there was a fair bit of angst.

The second group crashed on the planet where there were the remains of a previous colony. Use what's there to build what is needed. Weapons and defence posts became farm buildings, a recycling centre, boats. Or even BIGGER weapons. The teenagers in this one didn't argue about building a TARDIS, or sit around half-heartedly constructing something while talking about fan things. Instead they built a mysterious (and large) monolith, complete with strange runes. Again the kids who built stuff from scratch were very protective of their creations. The ones who had altered existing things were eager to see what happened next.

The last group had the same scenario as the second group. We saw boats morph into sleeping quarters, the recycling centre became a trading store, my son built an ATM that spat out "money" and cardboard credit cards (I wish). The monolith became, to the dismay of its builders, a rocket ship to move the colonists further out into the universe. The weapons posts became even bigger. And one smart lad built a solar power generator, adorned with old CDs as solar panels.

They had a lot of fun. But what did I learn?

1. Weilding a large knife (for quickly cutting cardboard boxes - the kids drew where they wanted the cuts) automatically gives you a lot of authority

2. The children who head straight for the scissors before anything else probably shouldn't be allowed to have them

3. Every colony group has at least one anarchist and one saboteur

4. Not every child gets that sharing is a two-way thing

5. You can never have too many cardboard boxes. Or egg cartons. And the old CDs will run out first (then we find out who the negotiators are in the group).

At the end of the last day, when everything was packed away and cleaned up and the kids were off doing the treasure hunt (clues to follow, lots of running and thinking and searching), we parents got the verandah back. I did some drawing, made a new friend and showed someone how Zentangle works. Mark meanwhile got out his guitar and worked his magic. And I finally got to do some sketching. Just the one. And yes, it was a challenge.

Mark, Megan Hitchens, 2014, graphite on buff sketch paper

I put it to the ultimate test - showed it to one of Mark's sons. If you want to know if you have a good likeness, ask a child who knows the subject. Children are brutally honest. Fortunately I was greeted with a big smile of recognition and a "wow". So that worked.

And I have had enough of cardboard for the time being.

I've Done What?

It's been very stop-start here. As have the blogs. Spectacular family crises, flu, and then stress migraines. Oh, it has been lovely.

Every time I tried to paint, or draw, or even read, I ended up with a migraine and felt like I was going to scream (if I could stand to) or vomit (if I couldn't avoid it). So, airships still unfinished, an intriguing book still sitting there, taunting me, portraits half done (couldn't get a likeness for toffee - I suppose a splitting skull is not conducive to really looking at people).

Oddly enough I could draw mandalas. Must use a different part of my brain. Go figure.

In the past things have gone okay, or well, and then the wheels have come off and I have lost momentum, or got too caught up, or just given up. Strangley, it hasn't happened this time. Everything that went on did slow me down for a while, and I had to give all my attention to what was happening in the family. But that has abated for the time being and so I am grabbing what time I can.

And the result of that is a new exhibition. This is actually my first solo exhibition. Yes, it's in a cafe, but so what? There's plenty of foot traffic, the owners are nice so I know I am not going to be ripped off or treated like crap, and it's in Sydney, so hopefully there are more people willing to get out their wallets. Gallery Cafe, 74 Devonshire Street, Surry Hills. Great food, excellent coffee. Go there.

Tangle - Errantry, Megan Hitchens, 2014, black ink and graphite on heavy cotton paper

I have put in the Zentangles again because I can produce them quickly and relatively cheaply, which means the artworks can be priced affordably. With luck at least some of them will sell. I have to take two last works down tomorrow (larger scales oils, just for something different - a nude and a still life. They'll be hung separately from the others).

This feels slightly odd - me getting myself organised to do this on my own. My mum put me on to the cafe. It is one of her regular haunts and she knew they were looking for something new. But it was up to me to ring and talk about my work, sort it all out and get everything down there. I ended up with 48 hours to get everything finished, framed and delivered. So I am thoroughly exhausted, but in a good way. I hung most of it on Friday (we ran out of hooks), and Mark, one of the proprietors of the cafe, said he would finish it off on the weekend - see? nice people (there were only five more to go and I showed him how I wanted them). So there you are, I curated the thing too. All on my own. That doesn't sound much, but it is a big thing for me. I am used to working with others. What happens in childhood can continue to shape us as adults, but only if we don't acknowledge it, or if we let it. All my childhood I was told to not make a fuss, not draw attention, so it is strange to be the star of my own show. And a little unsettling.

But the really big thing is that I have broken a lifelong habit. I haven't let life overwhelm me yet again. I haven't waited for someone or something else to come up so I can tag along. I haven't given up. I haven't let things slide.

This time I have actually got something done.

Here Comes Another One

I have a new exhibition opening tomorrow! (that's Monday, 25 August, 2014)

This one is at the Gallery Cafe, 74 Devonshire Street, Surry Hills (take the Chalmers Street exit from Central Station and just go straight ahead).

Yet more abstract Zentangles, some mandalas using Zentangle patterns, and a couple of oil paintings for good measure.

The Gallery Cafe is very good. Great food, excellent coffee (love their hot chocolates). Mark and Pearl who run it are lovely (they ran away from the circus to open a cafe - not kidding, it's true). So go and get something nice to eat and drink, and check out the art work on the walls.

Zendala - Seek, Megan Hitchens, 2014, black ink on heavy cotton paper

What's in a Name?

(I only found this today in the Drafts (26/7/14). I thought I published this back during the Choose Yourself Exhibition. Oops. Decided to put it up now anyway. You'll have to do the TimeWarp)

Two more of my works sold. Maelstrom and Zephyr. Funnily enough, that's the three I named that are gone. All the others are Tangles 1 through 12. Naming my artworks is not something I like to do.

Maelstrom, Megan Hitchens, 2014, ink and graphite on heavy cotton paper

Giving paintings names is a relatively new phenomenon. Originally they didn't have names. They got known as things, but they didn't have names. A lot of the art that we know as "such and such" wasn't named by the artist, or the owner. The names we now know so well were acquired over time.

There were different ways a painting could gain a name - the subject matter was a favourite. For instance, "Judith Slaying Holofernes", "The Martyrdom of Saint Sebastian", "The Oath of the Horatii". These have come to be seen as names whereas really they are descriptions.

Another method was through ownership, or the place it was kept.

More recently they have gained names through identification of particular figures or elements within the painting. My two favourites of these are Whistler's Arrangement in Grey and Black No.1 and Pollock's Number 11, 1952. I can gaurantee you know each of these famous paintings by a particular name.

Despite what Doctor Who said, Leonardo would not have referred to his famous painting as "Mona Lisa". So next time you see a painting you like, think about how it acquired its name and why. Me? I had to come up with three titles so I chose three words I liked. There was nothing more to it.

The Reality of Friends and the Faking of Relics

Long time between drinks. Between everyone else having flu (mummy the nurse) and then me getting a mutated super strain that didn't care I had had the flu injection, and then life going to hell in a handbasket, there hasn't been much time for drawing or painting, or reflection.

Things have been crap. They will continue to be crap for some time, I suspect. But I have some sense of perspective on it now, whereas this morning it was overwhelming. This morning I felt like running away, or disappearing into the murk. I don't think my children understand that sometimes grownups feel like running away. Maybe it is better that they don't, maybe it wouldn't hurt them to know.  Thanks to two lovely friends, and a facebook friend from across the seas, I don't feel quite so overwhelmed. They didn't do anything particular (well, not true, one came bearing hessian bags and dark chocolate, and just patiently listened). They just were themselves, wonderful and warm and full of wisdom. I am lucky to know intelligent, caring people who don't care that I am weird and are patient with my self-doubt and moaning.

Back in 1992 my spouse and I visited England, Scotland and France. Spouse had a conference in France (service at the conference centre made Fawlty Towers look good, but that's another story). He and the other academics were in sessions so one of the other extraneous spouses hired a car with the idea of driving around finding places of interest, which was a bit tricky because we had different ideas of "interest". A lot of the time I was happy to wander off on my own and explore while they went looking for "stores". But we all agreed Chartres would be worth seeing.

Chartres Cathedral is insane. Beautiful, but insane. It has a labyrinth on the floor which is supposed to be "walked" on your knees, for penance. There were lots of people walking it. No one on their knees. It is quite a size. All the statues had had their heads removed in a state of religious fervour sometime in the past, some nutters taking a stand against idolatry (can't remember who at the moment, couldn't be bothered looking it up) - you see the same thing at Notre Dame and other places. Chartres also has a number of relics, including some of Mary Magdalene's hair (if you line up all her hair held by various religious bodies there is something like 20 miles of the stuff), and Mary the Virgin's birthing robe, which they know is hers because it is spotless.

Off on a tangent, because it is too much fun. England had a famous relic hunter, Hugh of Lincoln (later sainted and his body treated as a relic). He promoted himself as the go-to guy for relics. Churches and cathedrals often made offers to buy relics from each other because relics equalled pilgrims equalled cash. Sometimes swaps were done - "your saint relic is more appropriate to us, we have one more appropriate to you" - but usually money changed hands. Mostly it was no deal. And then Hugh would be called in. Hugh could broker deals where others couldn't, and he was willing to resort to other means if turned down. He prided himself on coming through with the goods, and became very wealthy as a result. As far as I have found, he didn't resort to fakery to fill orders (although I think most relics were fakes - the head of John the Baptist as a child comes to mind. And relic fakery was a lucrative business. Funnily enough, it was at the height of this that the Shroud of Turin suddenly turned up).

Hugh was commissioned to get the arm of Mary Magdalene from a church in Normandy for an abbey in England. There was clearly no deal to be done, so he asked if he could see the arm, to properly venerate it before he sadly departed. The monks agreed (more fool them), He asked to kiss it. They were suitably impressed by his piety and acquiesced, at which he promptly grabbed it, took an almighty bite and legged it with a piece in his mouth. He made his escape and returned to England triumphant, where he received a handsome payout for a job well done. The Normandy monks complained in writing, thereby verifying Hugh's version of events (1).

Back to Chartres. It is an amazing place. You drive along and the land is flat. We were there just before harvest, so the fields were full of wheat and barley. Green and golden heads waving in the breeze, stretching out around us. The day was very overcast, storm clouds gathering, but occasionally a shaft of sunlight would break through. And then from nowhere rises a building, majestic in the light. It stands alone in the fields, like a beacon. It is only as you approach the town that you realise why. The town of Chartres is built in a bowl, the Cathedral on a hill in the middle of that bowl. So it is on the same level as the surrounding fields and the town is hidden from view. It is an amazing thing and exceptionally beautiful.

I had forgotten to take my camera with me, which was a curse and a blessing. I would have liked to have had photos (I had a wonderful camera back then, in the distant days of film), but because it wasn't there I ended up really looking, really seeing, and my memories of that day are amongst the strongest of that trip. Doing a couple of sketches no doubt helped. Has our ability to instantly record robbed us of our ability to observe and to truly remember?

Anyway, I was feeling this morning like drawing cemeteries or blasted ruins, or wrecked ships. Instead I ended up thinking about Chartres rising from nowhere and glowing in the dark, like my wonderful friends who provided me with much-needed warmth and light today. I am still down, but I no longer feel like I am drowning. The quick drawing below is done from memory and my original sketches. And I am annoyed about the image. Digital reproduction is often problematic.

Chartres Cathedral, Megan Hitchens 2014, charcoal, white and red chalk, blue pencil on grey paper.

Choosing a song was hard. I was leaning towards "End Of Days" or "Downtrodden", Instead I have chosen a piece by Levon Menassian, the Armenian duduk maestro. This is, I think, amongst the most wonderful music on earth. Meloncholy, eery and heartbreakingly beautiful.

(1) This story is often recounted and there was plenty written about Hugh by his contemporaries and later. He seems to have had something of the Indiana Jones about him. I first came across this particular story at University when I was researching the medieval church. Christine Quigley writes a brief account in "The Corpse: A History", which is available online.

  

It's Over

Well, the Choose Yourself Exhibition is over. I nearly said no to this. We were only given a few days notice, I didn't have much that was new, I had reservations about a few things. But either I am serious about this or I am just playing.

As some of you already know, this has been an incredibly successful exhibition for me. Normally I bring home everything, or if I am lucky I bring home everything minus one piece. This time I put in fifteen pieces and brought home only six.

Six.

Only six.

Still a bit stunned by that.

Frank Woodley, the ultimate bewildered comedian. I am with you all the way, Frank

More bewildering was WHO purchased some of the Tangles.

Wyong Shire Council has always banged on about the arts and its support for local artists and artisans. Sometimes it has backed this up with real support, other times not so much. The actual council officers in charge of the arts (as opposed to the councillors) have always been great, very understanding, very interested, very knowledgable, and the Council does make grants available which have facilitated many arts projects on the Central Coast. If you are looking for financing for a project, see what your local Council has to offer. You never know.

This time, however, Council has started something lasting. It now has an arts acquisition fund, aimed at building a permanent collection of local artists' works. The acquisitions officer visited the exhibition last week and decided that six of my little pieces would be a good fit. As I wrote elsewhere at the time, I feel a bit concussed by this. Several days later it is still making me blink.

I knew one of the other exhibiting artists, Amanda Anderson, all the others were new to me, but I feel so privileged to have been in this with them. The styles were different, but somehow worked well together, and as people we worked well together. I think I have some new friends from this, which is the biggest bonus of them all.

Now I have to get on with making something new, for the next time. Because there will be a next time, and a time after that, although I am mentally preparing for the inevitable return to drought following this. But that said, there's no going back now. I am on my way.

(And I have included this clip just because it's a laugh, and I feel like laughing today. It was this, or Freak Fandango Orchestra)

A Preview

I wasn't going to post any of these until they were all finished, but I am forcing my own hand to a certain extent. There has been a beautiful image appear on the internet, and, while not like these, there is a link. I don't want to be accused of plagiarism, so here are my preliminary sketches (done on my first duty day at the Choose Yourself exhibition). I will actually get off my arse and hopefully finish some of these properly this afternoon, and there will only be six in the series instead of the planned nine (although they may come later, if they will just stop morphing in my head and on paper). They should all have been finished already, but it has been a very busy few weeks, so they have crept along. I am about ready to add colour to the finished pieces, so it shouldn't take long.

Preliminary sketches, "Airships of Asia", Megan Hitchens, pencil on paper, 7 June 2014

These sketches are linked to a post I am writing about Steampunk and cultural imperialism.

I don't know that anyone will really care, and I am probably just being paranoid, but, hey, what does it hurt to cover your arse once in a while?