Behind the scene progress photographs of my work and how some of my projects develop.
My thoughts to date
We pride ourselves on living life to the fullest, but what does that fullness contain? Materialism?
Does the luxury of happiness come from money and what we can obtain because I do not think that is entirely true.
Let us look at both sides of this eternal coin. It starts at birth, we know nothing of this world but the apple in our mother's eye.
With our father and family to follow, we know of our thirst, hunger, and need for cleanliness. Our needs are taken care of in the hopes
we grow to be our own dependents and challenge the world head-on to meet our needs.
As we physically grow our curiosity takes hold of our minds, consumed by the need to know more about what the world has to offer. What
are these objects that I see before me? I need to know the names of these, what do they do? As I hold the forbidden tea towel I place myself
as far as my legs can take me, far away from my mother that is fast approaching my view. This thing, this tea towel? As my mother calls it
could be my new luxury. This is my destiny, this is what my life is all about, the peak of my existence. Or so I thought.
As the months pass and my mind grows to this new environment, the tea towel becomes obsolete. It was not my destiny, after all, it is now
the Tipp-Ex. This brilliant white substance is my new meaning for existence. It covers anything I put it in contact with; my skin, the brand
new wallpaper my mother just applied to the walls, the list is endless. I want to cover everything with it, I push my vehicle that my
mother pushes me around in up to the walls in the living room so I can reach further and start to paint using the tiny brush applicator. Face
covered, arms splattered, my mother walks in. Her face is a picture, I believe I have won her over. She has realised my potential and the meaning of my life. She screams and pulls this god-awful face, "What have you bloody done. Andrew get in here now!". I begin to cry and climb down from my vehicle. Why is she shouting, this is my meaning of life and I wanted everyone to be a part of it. I thought the Tipp-Ex was my fulfillment in life, but my mother thought otherwise. After the Tipp-Ex washed away from my skin and cleared from the fresh wallpaper time once again moved on. An eternity went by where more adventures of this new land happened, but no new object appeared to contend with my search for this completeness in life. However, all I knew was the need to draw and carve into anything I sat next to for too long. Mostly stick men and women with cauliflower hands, skies with a line of separation from the grass, and them unrealistic flowers with the sole leaf hanging from a single line stem to top it off. I could not understand why everyone did not like me drawing these glorious masterpieces on all the clean surfaces I could find. "Tamsin not again, I wish you would stop drawing on everything. Haven’t you heard of paper?". Time and time again my family would buy me pens, pencils, paper, paints, and canvas' so I had the space to draw in a 'safe' manner. As my younger years disappeared I was perplexed as to why there should be a boundary to drawing on specific surfaces. I continued to try and push this nonsensical boundary throughout both home and school life with many failures. Teachers instill the act of paper and canvas to be the sole surface on which to apply paint, ink, and graphite. In the end, I stupidly caved to their demands and concluded not finding a fluid purpose in life.
A job, a job is what you need.
Work hours: earn money: pay bills. That is all you need in life.
Although I was instilled with this part of me that still did not sit right with the idea of compartmentalising life into a job-based life. It wasn't
until my university years, this original instilment was ripped away from my psyche.
Venture into the sublime: make avant-garde artwork.
Think outside the box, no, eliminate the box: make yourself happy.
We pride ourselves on living life to the fullest, but what does that fullness contain? Materialism?
Does the luxury of happiness come from money and what we can obtain because I do not think that is entirely true.
Let us look at both sides of this eternal coin. It starts at birth, we know nothing of this world but the apple in our mother's eye.
With our father and family to follow, we know of our thirst, hunger, and need for cleanliness. Our needs are taken care of in the hopes
we grow to be our own dependents and challenge the world head-on to meet our needs.
As we physically grow our curiosity takes hold of our minds, consumed by the need to know more about what the world has to offer. What
are these objects that I see before me? I need to know the names of these, what do they do? As I hold the forbidden tea towel I place myself
as far as my legs can take me, far away from my mother that is fast approaching my view. This thing, this tea towel? As my mother calls it
could be my new luxury. This is my destiny, this is what my life is all about, the peak of my existence. Or so I thought.
As the months pass and my mind grows to this new environment, the tea towel becomes obsolete. It was not my destiny, after all, it is now
the Tipp-Ex. This brilliant white substance is my new meaning for existence. It covers anything I put it in contact with; my skin, the brand
new wallpaper my mother just applied to the walls, the list is endless. I want to cover everything with it, I push my vehicle that my
mother pushes me around in up to the walls in the living room so I can reach further and start to paint using the tiny brush applicator. Face
covered, arms splattered, my mother walks in. Her face is a picture, I believe I have won her over. She has realised my potential and the meaning of my life. She screams and pulls this god-awful face, "What have you bloody done. Andrew get in here now!". I begin to cry and climb down from my vehicle. Why is she shouting, this is my meaning of life and I wanted everyone to be a part of it. I thought the Tipp-Ex was my fulfillment in life, but my mother thought otherwise. After the Tipp-Ex washed away from my skin and cleared from the fresh wallpaper time once again moved on. An eternity went by where more adventures of this new land happened, but no new object appeared to contend with my search for this completeness in life. However, all I knew was the need to draw and carve into anything I sat next to for too long. Mostly stick men and women with cauliflower hands, skies with a line of separation from the grass, and them unrealistic flowers with the sole leaf hanging from a single line stem to top it off. I could not understand why everyone did not like me drawing these glorious masterpieces on all the clean surfaces I could find. "Tamsin not again, I wish you would stop drawing on everything. Haven’t you heard of paper?". Time and time again my family would buy me pens, pencils, paper, paints, and canvas' so I had the space to draw in a 'safe' manner. As my younger years disappeared I was perplexed as to why there should be a boundary to drawing on specific surfaces. I continued to try and push this nonsensical boundary throughout both home and school life with many failures. Teachers instill the act of paper and canvas to be the sole surface on which to apply paint, ink, and graphite. In the end, I stupidly caved to their demands and concluded not finding a fluid purpose in life.
A job, a job is what you need.
Work hours: earn money: pay bills. That is all you need in life.
Although I was instilled with this part of me that still did not sit right with the idea of compartmentalising life into a job-based life. It wasn't
until my university years, this original instilment was ripped away from my psyche.
Venture into the sublime: make avant-garde artwork.
Think outside the box, no, eliminate the box: make yourself happy.