Exhibition.

Outsiders, i.e. those who do not attend themselves, might have acquired an unfortunate idea of what goes on at private views, imagining pompous uber-trendy strangers gathering to sneer, or of louche, debauched paint-botherers being lauded in a coke-addled frenzy as the next Hirst/Picasso/Vettriano after casually placing a shoe on a plinth (quickly sold for fifty grand.)

In my experience, openings feature art loving liggers propping up walls, chatting, draining the bar and sometimes pretending to care about the work. Jaded? Cynical? Guilty? Yes. I am a freeloader myself, but I always look at the work (I know!)

Recently, and totally out of the blue, Whitespace Gallery in Edinburgh requested a piece of mine for an exhibition - Whitelines, a show about the practice of drawing. They found me via artists community website Central Station but I was still flabbergasted and flattered to be asked; so amazed that I even checked to see if the place was real, and the owner legit (he is.)

This is my first exhibition. It’s unnerving to be showing work in public, but friends travel to support me (and also drink the wine, served luke warm and in plastic cups by ancient tradition.) People are examining my work, and even discussing it. Perhaps because of having a research masters, I fight an evil urge to explain the piece. I admire how practicing artists do not unveil their intentions or bully a supporting theory into the viewers head: they hang work on the wall, and away they go.

Still, hearing visitors debate my picture is bizarre, and slightly frustrating, because it is so specific in purpose (see preceding post.) I can’t exactly jump in to insist: ‘No – that’s not what it’s all about! You’ve got it all wrong! Don’t come back until you’ve written a measured critique – one I agree with!’

Seeing ‘Am I Safe’ alongside other pieces, provides some useful context, and what I self-deprecatingly describe as colouring-in (or more formally hand-tinting) has been treated with respect. I remember the work that went into it, the layers of colour; hardly working down a coal-mine, but it took a while to complete. Just because work doesn’t take years to finish doesn’t mean it isn’t viable and valid. You see - I can’t help but justify what I do. I must learn to resist.

My work featured in another exhibition – the excellent Text Festival  in Bury Art Gallery. I was overwhelmed at the sight of my samplers displayed in a magnificent Victorian hall, although both halves of a diptych are separated – a minor annoyance, but that’s what curators do. As I walked around the spectacular show, which crystallised the view that words, text and fonts are beautiful when presented as objects in their own right, I decided to take some pictures.

Immediately, an invigilator challenged me to stop.

‘It’s okay.’ I said. ‘I’m one of the artists.’

And it felt good to say that out loud, in public: to come out as an artist, a word I have avoided until now. I need to grow accustomed to curators. I must harden myself to the comments, impressions and ideas of others regarding my work. And I must get used to exhibiting, because more shows are in the air.

Photomontage. And HUGE bunny rabbits.

I love photomontage. I love the idea of creating a mash-up of images and I’ve been exploring it’s modern sibling – photoshop. I should enjoy the freedom to juxtapose any photo, shape of colour of my choosing, but here’s the problem: I was initially defeated by my own technical ineptitude. Yes, I know - read a manual, but even basic, ‘for-dummies’ guides are not aimed at techno-fuckwits like myself.

And so I chose my images: a street scene, a man juggling whilst riding a unicycle, a rabbit, a blue bus and a shot of a recognisable, even iconic famous person, for reasons I shall explain later. I am ready to start creating, except that I can’t assemble the separate layers, until a friendly library technician (speaking so slowly I think he’s going to shout: “Do you want to go to the toilet?” as if I am ‘deluded and confused’) patiently demonstrates a mystical process involving a magic lasso, and carefully drawing around the outline of a bunny.

The next step is the hand-tinting (or for smart-alecks, the colouring-in) and so it’s time for my first trip to the art store, where I soon become a legend: with no knowledge of the pros and cons of the different materials, I ask vaguely for something in silver and gold, returning several times to pick up a selection of strident blues, shades of grey in pastel, pencil and let’s be frank – crayon. My best discovery is the joyous metallic Indian ink.

I spend time layering colour, tinting and obscuring the street elements and shimmering misty semi-images, in an approximation of what I saw a few years ago, when I went temporarily blind (which is even less fun than you might expect). My mind could not process the dwindling information my optic nerve was relaying, and so I saw people on the street at dusk as jugglers on unicycles.

A huge bunny rabbit became the emblem for what happened, as that's what my mind showed me – not really a bunny, but a man waving his arms around. Finally, I add a recognisable face vexatiously obscured, which happens even now (it’s James Dean in case you didn’t guess.) Next, an azure bus, which soon became beautiful to me, since blue was the only colour I could perceive.

To my amazement, the incredible website and huge artists support network Central Station select this image as work of the day. For the first time, I actually feel like I might be on to something. It’s also shown in Aberdeen.

Unfortunately, I had used ordinary photocopy paper, not specialist water resistant paper, and when the finished picture was finally immortalised in a lovely silver frame, it returns with a noticeable crease, which - mercifully - I manage to ease out. Lesson learned.

I used the hand-tinted photomontage technique to develop another picture in the sequence, which I am asked to lend to the Whitelines Gallery in Edinburgh, for a show on Drawing. My response to the lovely curator Leigh Chorlton is to question his sanity. He’s saner than most, so I deliver the picture. And just so you know, I remember that rabbit fondly.