I had some ideas. They were embryonic but urgent. They were the pea that kept me awake. They needed a place to yawp. A place where they wouldn’t insult anyone with their awkward newness, where they could risk being stillborn or nothing or possibly a brave beginning.
And I had a problem – that when you deliberately make temporary work, your only future is speeding towards the radical oblivion of self-erasure. However, the consideration of ongoing access, by a broader audience, over a longer passage of time, is almost a contradictory negotiation. Frequently, transient works of art are returned to objects through various methods of documentation. But documentation - the photograph of a performance, the sketch of an installation, the instructions for actions, are these substitutes ever sufficient and do they occasionally undermine the work?
This combination of artistic unrest and theoretical dissatisfaction, united in a promising new beginning – a practice-based Masters Research, with the grand intention of upgrading to a Ph.D. My rationale was clear, my determination was strong, my practice was ready to shift, getting paid was a bonus, the timing was perfect. The stars were aligned in the formation of a future glittering with wonderful possibility.
The reality of returning to study is, however, …
a story I will tell you.