One of the things I've been mulling over within my own practice is how to talk about what I do in a way that people understand, which sets the right expectation, quickly, and draws people in. It's an issue that I have also discussed with many of the artists who exhibit their work with me here. It takes a lot to give your peculiar take on art a name, to put it in a compartment that in your mind's eye is already populated with work that deserves to be there; it can feel daunting, presumptions. But in reality it is necessary in order for people to know what to expect, what to get out of the house and come visit, all of which is necessary, for visual artists in particular, before your work can be appreciated as it deserves to be.
It's an issue that has been pertinent this year, opening up again after some time off, with two highly different but equally amazing exhibitions so far this year from mixed media artists, with a third about to take place, in which the artists have produced free-standing work using a wide number of different materials, many of them delicate, all of them requiring dexterity and nimble fingers to piece together. Putting them up at an exhibition isn't just part of the job, it's essential, and knowing how textiles and ceramics and natural fibres and threads are going to withstand interested parties looking at them, walking round them, learning from them up close, is a skill that so many artists seem to have, and which I really take my hat off too, because it's part engineering, part framing, part prayer. 
Summing up what pigeonhole to put all this incredibly rich and inspiring work in isn't easy. Mixed media artist, textiles artist, artist, sculptor? Do any of them really do justice to what these artists have achieved? It's hard to say. But I think there needs to be a new noun to describe the kind of people we have here exhibiting their work, themselves, with their own hands and imaginations. It's such a pleasure to see it go up and such a sad feeling when it comes down. So do come and see them before they move on.
. 

I had the amazing, if slightly daunting, opportunity this week to give a paper at the New Voices conference organised by the Henry Moore Institute and Leeds university. My paper explored the idea of using sculpture as a muse for creative writing. I am a short story writer, and my paper explored the adaption of a classical myth, Apollo and Daphne, by the baroque sculptor Bernini, and how, in turn, I am adapting the themes of both Ovid and Bernini in a collection of short stories. What, someone in the audience asked, is the moral imperative of adaptation. It was a fascinating question, and a propos, since the myth and the sculpture are particularly controversial in depicting and/or describing the attempted rape of the nymph Daphne by the god Apollo. In the age of #MeToo, how we are meant to respond to a work that appropriates sexual violence towards women to make a symbolic point? Can we call ourselves feminists, for example, if we find beauty in such a sculpture, and if we disregard such a work, what do we, as a culture, miss out on? For me, writing is the perfect medium to pose difficult questions and though we might not be able to provide answers, we can, and in my opinion should, endeavour to stimulate debate. For example, what kinds of sculptures do we want to see in the public sphere and whose lives would we like to celebrate in sculpture? To what extent are the underlying beliefs and power imbalances that have historically excused and facilitated violence towards women still evident in our world today?
​The difficulty I am finding is not how am I going to have enough to write about, but rather, how on earth am I going to fit it all in! 

 
Summer is in its last throws, with lilac September skies, and horse chestnut leaves starting to turn. I'm not quite sure if I'm ready for the new term or not. But that doesn't matter because right now I have the distraction of collaborating with the mixed media artist Anna Brass on an Arts Council funded project for Unreal Estates. We are bringing to life an old United Reform Chapel currently for sale in Norwich. The chapel needs a new roof and sadly the congregation can't afford it, meaning this glorious building, exquisitely made for one thing, is on the brink of transformation, all for the sake of corroded roofing nails. The story moved us to want to tell it in words and images. More to follow, plus an online exhibition and hopefully, all being well, a real life exhibition in Norwich in 2022. Though maybe it's just me, but it's hard to plan that far ahead.