This month we sought artists that are underrepresented or biased for ANY reason in the world of contemporary art and how their work highlights the unheard and the marginalised. These artists are exploring the struggle through text-based work be that protest, information, poem, or prose. Their practice spotlights how the subject is marginalised and prevents them from being heard, selected, and represented within the contemporary art scene…
********************
The Unrepresented Affect of OCD on Creativity
by resident writer Michaela Hall
With society becoming more tuned into mental health and the importance of each other’s wellbeing being something we all strive to proactively improve. How about those with OCD? OCD brings with it a familiarity as we are accustomed to hearing light touch jokes around people being perfectionists or wanting things a certain way and I’m sure most of us have claimed we’re a bit OCD at times. However, this obsessive-compulsive disorder actually affects around three-quarters of a million people and within that category are many artists who have embraced this into their creative approach without necessarily getting the representation that the illness seeks in order to educate others about what it is and how it affects creativity.
Japanese artist On Kawara was an artist who focused on documentation, collections, dates, remembrance and sequences in his work. ‘One Million Years’ (1969 onwards) was an ongoing installation and performance work that documented the passage of chronological time in a compulsive manner with each date written down in a biblical style diary of dates before then being read out by performers in a white cube space in the centre of the gallery. The dates spanned throughout the past and future and each volume contained 2,068 pages of dates. These behavioural qualities of collection, compulsion and accuracy are typical of a lot of common types of OCD and the environment of the installation with its constant repetitive echoed announcements of date after date simulate how some who experience OCD may experience information they collect in their minds.
An artist who has embraced her own obsessive-compulsive disorder publicly more than others is Yayoi Kusama. Kusama is famous for her instagrammable, colourful infinity rooms, crazy sculptures and installations. We may recognise with Kusama’s body of work that everything is covered in repetitive polka dot patterns, but do we think about why? A huge part of this is the reason is Kusama’s own OCD condition whereby she can see these repetitive patterns in her day to day life and in fact, uses her creative practice to output these. Kusama has said, “The feelings behind my works are subconscious and psychosomatic. My work is based on developing my psychological problems into art”.
Similar to Kawara’s ‘One Million Years’ where viewers were invited to experience the associated behavioural tendencies first hand, Kusama’s ‘Obliteration Room’ (2012) at Tate Modern served the same purpose. This installation started off as a completely white room, a blank canvas in which viewers were invited to place rainbow polka dot stickers all over the space, transforming it from a clean and zen space into one which was manically covered with polka dots in the fashion of Kusama’s visual language. What both works do here is take the obsessive and compulsive elements behind their creation and share this with an audience in a way that is educational, a window into how the creator may have felt when envisaging this.
What is interesting when we consider both Kawara and Kusama in this context, is that both artists seemingly wanted to share whatever experience they were personally having with obsessive and compulsive behaviours with a wider audience. Yet what actually happened, especially in the case of Kusama is that this OCD behaviour is typically overlooked as a visual choice rather than an indication of the artist’s state of mind. What is ironic, is that creative activities are commonly used to help soothe severe cases of OCD and yet when you look across the spectrum of the art world, it is hard to name artists who have been represented with the association. This unrepresented effect of OCD on creativity is vast, and perhaps by considering the artists that do want to share their experience through their body of work and what they are trying to portray, we can be guided down a path whereby we recognise these characteristics in the future creative outputs where they can recognise and celebrated for their positive embrace.
Yayoi Kusama, ‘Obliteration Room’, 2012, Tate Modern Kawara, ‘One Million Years’, 1969 onwards in various locations.
***********************
artist Paul johnson
Bio
The Modern Dance (2021)
My practice (oh, such a bourgeois conceit!) increasingly revolves around 404:space my 13’ x 12’ home gallery/space featuring a bay window with unrestricted views over a walled garden. I don’t really look for outside exhibiting opportunities anymore (the travelling, the egos…the rejection) preferring to concentrate on controlling what I do closer to home. I’m more interested in what the room can do, how it can be if not the artwork then integral to it. My ultimate aim is to turn it into the ‘corner’ of a crop circle but I’m no farmer and growing wheat in a front parlour is not without its challenges. At other times I quite like working with objects, drawing out their figurative aspects and highlighting the absurdity of such a fancy. For instance, three-hand soap dispensers if correctly positioned become a scene from Kramer vs Kramer. You might have to trust me on that one. When it comes to making work I have a boring but reasonably paid job. The boredom aspect gives me time to come up with ideas and the pay provides the funds to pay someone to turn them into reality. Making work is problematic, I don’t really like making ’stuff, it’s why I became a conceptual artist. And you have to store work, most artists’ studios are full of unsold work and I wouldn’t be able to stand the constant reminders of failure. This is why mine has a chaise lounge and an occasional table supporting a turquoise vase. I have many manifestos (manifesti?), my prime one being that an installation should be able to fit into the boot of a reasonably sized family hatchback. Any larger and it’s a waste of money, time, and resources. Always edit and don’t over-egg the custard. I’m no romantic, more an iconoclast. Nor am I a painter although I sometimes draw, my specialty being crowd scenes containing largely busted, shaven-headed burly men bursting out of ill-fitting suits. I don’t know what they mean, perhaps they are self-portraits. But 404:space is a good reason to pull people together. They might not like the work but they are always appreciative of a full glass of £4.99 Pinot. I’d like it to be mentioned abroad, in hushed tones by people who claim to have visited but who haven’t but who wish they had. Drop by if you’re in town, the kettle is always on but the good stuff is in the third drawer down…
Contact
Everyone wants to be loved, to feel included and feel part of the establishment - any establishment even THE establishment which is why rebellious young Turks starting off with nothing but three chords and a gastric fire in their bellies tend to end up accepting this or that order of the British Empire once the embers start to grow chill. It’s the same reason (I suspect) that De Niro went from Mean Streets and Raging Bull to Meet the Fockers, he wanted to feel the cosy overcoat of acceptance around his shoulders. And I suspect it’s the same with achieving gallery representation, like Caravaggio being endorsed by Romes’ Cardinals we all want a slice of artichoke pie, perhaps just in front of us where we can see it rather than rammed up our collective arse. So what is the big deal about getting signed up to a gallery, the chance for recognition, see your name in art fair lights, maybe make some money or have someone who believes in you? A bit like leaving home where instead of having your mum greet your latest minimalist masterwork with ‘Ooooh love the colours in this one you have a cool gallerista dissing it with ‘don’t fuck with the formula, keep making the stuff that sells’. Congratulations, you are now working in retail with the sole responsibility for ‘product’ and your gallery is responsible for sales and product placement. Ok, I’m being slightly disingenuous here since I’m sure there are loads of galleries that have fabulously strong and positive working relationships with their artists. I’m not represented by a gallery, I’ve never sold any work. Am I bitter? - a little maybe but nowhere near as much as might come across here. I recognise there may be many reasons for being excluded from the gilded inner circle but in the end, it probably comes down to three things - luck, or lack of it, not working hard enough (guilty) or the last one and the one that is going to hurt - simply not being good or different enough. Or interesting enough, I’m white, male, pale and (late-ish) middle-aged, I’m as uncool as it gets. If you are anything like me you will be convinced that you are a genius waiting to be discovered, but I’m not and I’m pretty certain that you’re not either. But then you might be. Or hey, I might be, who knows, I’m trying to bring us all down gently here, ok? So what to do - keep on showing your work, pay to be in shows (NEVER pay just to submit) or do what I’ve done and turn your front room into a gallery/space (it doesn’t have to be a front room, it can be a garden shed, a garage, an outside privy, your bedroom etc etc etc) and BOOOM! you’re now a gallerista for real, you have eliminated the middle person and you are in charge. You are now representing yourself so be yourself and if you can’t be yourself then be Basquiat, or Rauschenberg or Johns or Warhol or anybody, but don’t paint pet portraits, not even if you’re starving or some conceptual taxman has declared you creatively bankrupt. Need money, get a fucking job, I work in care where the money is ok but not great. I use it to fund what I do. If I need to wipe an extra arse to buy a sable paintbrush then so be it, I’ll do it. All you need are some contacts so get networking (which you should be doing anyway). And work with what you’ve got, big dreams are great but they can weigh you down and sometimes it is good to be freed from the burden they can impose. Disheartened? - lower your expectations, if you don’t expect gallery representation then you won’t be disappointed when you don’t get it, but still, make your best work and work with what is available to you. Go for funding, represent yourself, represent your friends - get them involved, be imaginative, get creative, have shown, invite artists - mine has a loyalty card (come to five shows and on the 6th get a free work of art up to the value of £10), do posters for shows, give them cool titles, advertise them on social media, build a website - it’s a football so kick it down the street, have fun with it, mould it in your likeness and enjoy the process. Provide free drinks (£4.99 Pinot from Lidl’s - other wines and stores are available) or have donations, spread
by word of mouth, build a reputation and don’t forget - people always remember the madness! And most importantly - invite me to your first opening…
Artist bio
I'm a queer, neurodivergent and emotionally driven illustrator with a personal awareness of the social impacts of disability and mental illness. I try to address discrimination, stigmatisation and ignorance in my work, in a way that is tolerable. I've personally suffered from a lifetime of mental illness and ADHD, which is translated directly into my art.
I enjoy mixing media: watercolour, marker pens, colouring pencils, ink and gel pens. Most of my art is done on cardboard boxes, MDF and various papers. More recently I tend to draw on A3 watercolour paper.
Neurodivergent
Recently I’ve been considering neurodiversity and how we can work towards carving out our own diverse spaces as neurodivergent artists. I have been recently diagnosed with ADHD and I’m coming to terms with this coupled with my other diagnoses. I’m new to this but wanted to share my perspectives in a raw way and to help me with my thinking. Please get in touch or add any comments if you relate to this or would like to have a conversation.
There are lots of things I haven’t been able to do in life. Things I’ve tried and failed horrifically at and things I’ve started but never finished. Like a lot of ADHDers, I’ve tried new exciting things, full of hobby-making potential. Things that could’ve been, but never were, because I haven’t yet learnt the trick of keeping those things going - rock climbing, piano, skiing, taekwondo, speaking french, dance, digital art, and so on. There are many clubs and classes that I’ve joined with more passion than the average person only to then crash and burn, with no immediate gratification and perfect skill on the first go. No surge of dopamine release? Nah, never again.
Reflecting on the articles I’ve read on ADHD, I feel there is a heavy focus on the deficits (sorry, I tried to avoid that word in this context, but the thesaurus is suggesting attention, which is way worse). Anyway, I think it’s understandable. The problems associated with cognitive disorders such as ADHD can be so awfully debilitating that “normal” functioning is a dream. We fall behind our peers, risk social isolation, financial debt or damaged self-esteem. I am grateful for the medical model that can provide relief from the suffering that comes with this neurological difference between neurotypical and neurodivergent people, because from my and many other peoples experiences, ADHD isn’t a gift. It can however contain gifts. I have never before seen myself this way, particularly as a woman, because we women aren’t meant to be confident, right?
ADHD, although not technically a disability, has definitely been disabling to me throughout every area of my life. Unrecognised, undiagnosed and untreated ADHD has meant school, relationships and work-life have been traumatic. I have learnt to learn in the last few years, but before this, I would make the same mistake over and over, not understanding what I did wrong. I would fail every exam and every coursework. I failed school, all 12 exams. So I did a plumbing apprenticeship, but I failed the exam. I did art and... I passed. So I figured maybe my brain had healed itself and I decided to do an MA in art therapy.
But art? There’s something in art. I haven’t figured it out. But there’s definitely something in art. I have definitely failed at art, but so far the success rate is higher than anything I’ve ever engaged with. It’s a specialist interest subject. When I paint, I feel good (dopamine?), so I do it again and I improve. And when I see growth in my ability I get addicted. There’s something here, to say that if you have ADHD and you find just one small joy in your life, it might be worth following that and seeing where it goes. Hence me pursuing my love of art.
**********
Artist Haddi Conant
Instagram account https://www.instagram.com/haddz_7/?hl=en
Bio ; Haddi Conant (they/them) is an emerging writer and creative, based in the South West.
First Page
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be straight just for a day.
for 24 hours in which I’m not so damn gay.
We have internalized hate on a heteronormative stage,
With the play About a boy and girl from the very first page.
You can’t be non-binary, and what are trans rights?
But if you pretend to be straight it might all be alright.
In a world where you can be anything but you can’t be yourself,
because acceptance is everything, alongside material wealth.
A society that grows so slowly, it holds itself back.
Boasting about what it has but not what it lacks
Be anything you want, but please try not to be gay…
The catch is, we don’t have a choice and we don’t have a say.
*****************
Artist name UNATTAINABLE BLONDE
Fascist Scum- Fuck you
. This piece was created in response to the tory crime bill that would give 'disruptive protests' a 10-year sentence. Rights were not given freely in the UK but won through protests and campaigning especially that of working-class people throughout history.
BIO
Gem she/her, as a self-confessed bimbo for social justice, I make slaggy socialist multimedia collages. My art subverts the male gaze and promotes positive sexuality using hyper femme images contrasted with blunt, socialist messages. I create art about my own identity as a bi femme working-class woman and use themes of wealth redistribution, class divide, queerness, and sexual autonomy in my art and writing.
www.unattainableblonde.com @unattainableblonde2
Thoughts on Class: Nostalgia, bitterness, and being a working-class creative
The combination of visiting my home in Norfolk in May and recent conversations with other working-class creatives have left me feeling very reflective about how class relates to my own identity. To me, class boils down to your proximity to wealth, regardless of whether you are 'New-Money’ vs old intergenerational wealth, regardless of your lingering accent, and regardless of your mum's age-old love affair with tinned corned beef. Class tastes may remain and class markers may appear more blurred but the *reality* of class is crystal clear. Wealth shields you from penny-pinching, from deep-seated anxiety about bills, from living paycheck to paycheck where a broken washing machine or boiler playing up completely derails your finances.
“by this point, if you've realised you may be guilty of being middle class please realise they are support groups available for you at your local farmers market. Brie provided, entry subject to your relative financial security”
I hold a lot of privileges and occupy space in the world as a thin, white, cis woman with a deceivingly posh BBC voice and whose queerness as a bisexual femme is fairly invisible to the average hetero. I am by no means one of the most marginalised in society but I feel that the class has definitely shaped my worldview.
When I was younger and less secure in myself, my experience of being from a rural working-class background was tinged with embarrassment and my attempts to conceal it from my middle-class barn conversion friends and their John Lewis catalogue parents.
Visual class indicators are perhaps more blurred for our generation than previous ones (I've got NHS teeth and BBC voice) but at school, my attempts to cosplay middle-class hood were continuously sabotaged by teachers: they made all us free school meal kids line up first for lunchtime, I'd have to put my hand up for those special forms to get free school trips and Every. Single. Time. we did a practical in food tech. I'd have to explain to the teacher I didn't have my own ingredients because the school is supposed to supply them for poorer kids.
My first partner had very wealthy parents and there was a stark contrast between our upbringings. When I first visited their huge farmhouse I remember being shocked that they had the ham my mum bought for especially for Christmas as their 'everyday ham' and their pantry was the size of my brother's bedroom (also the number of clubs rich people belong to). Even at university, I felt a pang of shame when I walked near campus wearing my bleached polo shirt after my cleaning job.
Yet now that I'm older I'm really proud of my roots. My family is full of kind, loving, do anything for anyone type of people. They've all worked extremely hard from a young age as farm labourers, factory workers, cleaners, road workers, and teacher assistants and battled mental illness, disability, the stigma of being a single parent and teenage parents, financial issues all whilst living under shite callous tory governments the majority of their lives.
I absolutely did not go without growing up and each of my parents (they've been divorced forever) have taught me so much about the value of community, money, being able to do up and repair things yourself, and also always asking if you can have a look in someone's skip. From a very young age on the value of a bargain. I grew up going to discount shops, village fates, car boot sales, markets, and jumble sales. All this training has culminated in me being the best bargain hunter or what my partner calls 'a Lil wheeler dealer'. One of my most beloved places in Norwich is Anglia Square. Mum would get us a sausage roll from Greggs and we'd go to the super cheap if slightly sticky cinema. She's a swan in with her Poundland bags rustling full of multipacks of crisps and Capri suns to have during the film. I'd get treated to fluffy pens and sparkly hair clips from Poundland. It is and was my favorite type of outing.
A lot of my childhood memories revolve around fashion. I was a cliche shy artistic child and despite having food and body image issues since the age of 8, I adored clothes. I would plod around the garden wearing plastic heels from the market (I had a collection) and my feather boa (again I had a collection) and would gather snails to 'save'. My mum used to force us to wear tracksuits to the airport when she saved those newspaper coupons for package deals. I was mortified because I thought the airport is somewhere you dress glamorously for. I went through a phase of being really obsessed with Audrey Hepburn. As a self-convinced fashion expert, I loved Gok's fashion fix and would follow all the looks from his books with things I collected from charity shops. That's why there are photos of me wearing a very chic nautical outfit with red beads on a school trip whilst my friends are head-to-toe Hollister.
One of my style icons is definitely my Nanny Dot. She was an example of exuberant working-class femininity with her lilac eyeshadow, pink lipstick, and statement pink polka dot tea dress. She gave me her bead set to make jewellery, she taught me to make Potpourri from flowers in her garden, and would buy me bead necklaces from the jumble sales. This explains why at the age of 5 I grew accustomed to wearing faux pearls. She lived in a tide cottage with my grandad who was a farm labourer and she painted all the rooms in different pastels, a lilac bathroom, a mint hallway, and a blue and white kitchen with matching dinner plates. She also loved making toilet roll dolls. To summarise she was a kitschy icon with a very dry sense of humour that I aspire to emulate.
My relationship with my class identity is now one of pride for my upbringing but I'd be lying if I didn't harbour a slight frustration when it comes to being working class and trying to break into creative industries founded upon elitism and connections. When I asked other working-class creatives how they felt class negatively shaped their experiences I was met with a long list of responses (the list is below). A common response was the inability to invest in your art due to lack of funds and fear of making a loss and the difficulty in balancing your creative pursuit alongside working another job to pay rent, bills, etc. I personally have realized how much I rely on university resources to access free journal articles, workspace, affordable printing, and technology. I'm typing this on a Chromebook that got through a charity supporting working-class kids in higher education. It is way more difficult to break into the arts when you can't afford to do unpaid internships or even low-paid ones without a paRENTal safety rent (emphasis on rent!). Being a working-class creative has led me to work extremely hard on my art, online shop, and fundraising but if your parents wanna sling me twenty quid so I can afford to print tote bags I wouldn't say no.
Gem