Flamingo vs Lamb
I threw a shitload of stuff away.
I went through everything in my studio and found: too many painty clothes, ribbons, sponges, window film, a lot of “trinkets” (read: bits of old crap), shitty dried out paintbrushes, crusty tubes of paint, things like sealing wax and molding putty and glitter and beads, stubby quarters of pencil, bad wax crayons, half-empty spray cans and dregs of emulsion, dented canvases, half-used and three-quarter used sketchbooks. So much of it had once been part of a jostling collection, where I switched from material to material, scraps of paper, letraset, wax crayon and now: dried up, ignored, and in some cases, completely ancient.
So: I threw it all away.
Micheal Landy’s Art Bin from 2012, where lots of famous artists gave their work to be trashed in a big box. Satisfying that some Damien Hirst was the first to go in???
Next I went through the work. It’s been almost 7 years since I first took on my studio, and when I first got the space I worked quite a lot, enthused and excited to have my very first studio space. A groove I’d already been on burst forth, and I worked quite prolifically at times, taken over by the FERVOUR that can come sometimes when you just know what you’re doing, when you’re not questioning yourself and you’re just doing it. I made a lot of stuff, and some of it was great, and some of it was shit, and some of it was in the middle. Over time, the work you make becomes less important to you and feels stale and stagnant. Sometimes, it feels like a damn GRAVEYARD, filled with the ghosts and ghouls of past selves swinging from the rafters and popping out of the ground to go BOO! This isn’t you anymore! Who are you now?!
So: I threw it all away.
This year really highlighted to me that I had been dragging a lot of stuff with me for a long time, and I didn’t realise it until I got really sick, and was forced to take about a month out of my regular scheduled programming.
I developed an illness called achalasia, which means you can’t swallow or eat properly (yes, it sucked). It started at the end of 2024, and slowly governed more and more of my life until in July 2025, I ended up in hospital and couldn’t eat any food for about 2 weeks (yes, it really sucked). I got some pretty intense surgery, which has MASSIVELY helped my symptoms, although not permanently, and then spent several weeks getting over both the operation and the previous starvation (!) I had endured. I had to rest like I’ve never rested before. I was so utterly spent in every way that for the first time ever, I embraced the down time. I was gentle with myself. I asked myself what I needed each day, I took my time. Because of this, I was able to take stock of my life and, with some surprise, realised I was encrusted with responsibilities, habits, possessions, just BITS of life that I quite simply did not need, and did not enjoy. I kept picturing myself as one of those baby flamingos with their legs covered in salt, struggling to walk in the saline water that is usually fine and dandy, unless you’re in there too long.
a salt-laden baby flamingo from Planet Earth documentary series. It dies.
SOME THINGS I REALISED:
I realised that most of the things I want, and can’t afford, have just been put in my head by my phone. I don’t want those ugly colourful trainers that everyone else has. I don’t want the £50 moisturiser. God damn it, let me decide for myself.
I realised I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to drive myself forward and ACHIEVE. I know an element of this is good, but I spread myself thin, I expect myself to excel and live in mastery of everything, even a to-do list. It’s so type A and it’s gross. Chill tf out.
I realised I was carrying too many things with me all the time, just in case - gym kit, lunch box, paracetamol, a nail file, diaries, books. I don’t need to lug a giant bag with me all the time, what am I donkey? Fuck that. It’s gone.
I realised too, that my art practice needs looking at in a totally different way.
I noticed someone moving into my studio building, with all the perfect collection of things they needed to make their own work: relevant research books, neat little pots with the right kinds of pens, a nice rug. No useless sealing wax. No fossilised old paints from WHSmith. No books of work that means nothing, They were probably gassed to arrive at their new studio building, new and knock-kneed like a baby lamb, ready to gallop and gambol in their new creative meadow. I knew that wasn’t me: I was the crusty-legged flamingo, squawking to be free, seeing all I have around me as old and fetid and useless and belonging to some former iteration of self.
a little welsh lamb living its absolute best fucking life.
And that’s why I threw it all away.
I had to get rid of anything that felt unimportant, old, stale. I need to delete accounts and old photos, expunge the records and behind afresh. So, instead of forcing myself to make something that might sell, or something that fits in with the work I’ve made before, I am trying something new.
I am trying freedom.
I am trying exploration.
I am trying trying.
I’m not making any work to sell this year, and instead I’m sending myself back to self-inflicted art school (more on this to follow). I want to experiment, examine, learn, push, pull, uncover. I need to roam again, I need to find what I love, I need to be the little lamb bouncing around in love, in love with all the lush green grass, blue sky, sunshine beaming on my woolen back, energetic and fresh and NEW NEW NEW.
