Skinny Dipping

The deed is done ... studio walls have been filled, sanded and painted; floors cleaned; work hung; symposium presentation delivered ... and breathe!

Thick Skinned (detail) - found crucifix, plastic, felt, aluminium, thread
© Vanda Campbell 2013

Thick Skinned (detail) 
© Vanda Campbell 2013

Left Behind (detail) - found earring (broken), plastic, felt, thread
© Vanda Campbell 2013

Thick Skinned

In situations where a relationship, sequence, or pattern is taken for granted it is only when change occurs that we are reminded that a pattern exists and what it is supposed to be.  The relationships between the objects we carry or wear, and our body, are examples of just such a relationship.  By breaking the received pattern, I draw attention to it.  I present objects that are almost familiar – familiar materials in unfamiliar forms - and by reordering the received pattern, I aim to question and re-present these relationships.  

Traditional jewellery is often made of metals and gemstones; hard, cold materials that need violent intervention in the form of heating, hammering, and drilling to construct the desirable shapes and forms.  Our bodies, and the skin and clothing that cover them, have very different qualities: flexible, not static; elastic rather than rigid.  To place an item of jewellery, that is a hard, inflexible form on a body or clothing that is in a constant state of movement is surely a mismatch?  

Thick Skinned is an investigation of this mismatch, and comprises a collection of once-wearable found objects.  Broken necklaces, half paired earrings and abandoned trinkets have been dipped and coated in a tinted, liquid plastic.  Although the plastic dries with some flexibility, the articulated jewellery forms are trapped in a new format and become fixed.  A dangly earring no longer dangles, as it is swaddled in its new plastic skin, reminiscent of a pupa.  The colour of this new coating directly acknowledges the relationship between the object and the skin, and begins to visually blur the distinction between them.   Cold, hard materials such as metal and acrylic feel warm to the touch with this new coating, while forms such as necklaces or chains, are reformed into pendants or drops.  

The works in Thick Skinned are presented in a way that hints at wearability, but closer inspection reveals that there is no obvious way of wearing these reworked forms.  There are no evident fixings, or specific ways to hang or connect these works to the body.  They can however be held, stroked, pocketed.  They no longer function as jewellery in the traditional sense, but instead have become forms, or bodies.

Thick Skinned Found object  © Vanda Campbell 2013

Thick Skinned, Found object, plastic, thread  © Vanda Campbell 2013

Badges of Dishonour

Another chance find ... a bag of military badges ... and the opportunity to explore ways of reworking the relationship between textiles and objects.  Rather than approaching the badges as the textile in the equation, is it possible to make the 'textile' element function as the 'object'?

A series of quick stitched drawings, and a rummage around the studio for other similar remnants (wallpaper fragments, broken paper backed mirrors) and the beginnings of an idea began to emerge.

Work on Paper: found textile, paper, stitch  © Vanda Campbell 2013

Work on Paper: found mirror, broken scissors, paper,
crochet, stitch  © Vanda Campbell 2013

Work on Paper: found wallpaper/plaster fragment, stitch, paper  © Vanda Campbell 2013

Finding the findings

I have been struggling to get to grips with traditional metalworking skills, particularly those needed to craft the mechanics of jewellery pieces.  Failures, in varying degrees, so far include soldering, brooch pins, metal piercing. and anything that requires precision measurements and accuracy.  To be fair, I love my piercing saw (handed down from my father - a truly masterful goldsmith) and although I love the meditative process of piercing, I lack the patience to have any satisfactory control over the finished dimensions and form.   

Metal is such a cold, rigid material, it feels alien to work with compared to the flexibility of fabrics.  The act of working in metal is inevitably violent - heating the material to the point of surrender, before plunging it into a cold bath and then hammering it, bullying it, into taking on new forms and shapes.  Fabric on the other hand, would protest to the point of disintegration at such treatment.  If you have ever tried to fit a sleeve in a garment, you will know that fabric needs to be gently coerced or stretched into place.

It's taken me a while to accept the inevitable, but I am unlikely to be a maker who can draw on a wealth of traditional jewellery skills to solve the mechanics of my work.  But that doesn't mean I have to let go of producing the forms I need.  

I have written previously of my use of found objects, my findings ... and it's perhaps opportune that this same word is used to describe the small bits that go into the making of jewellery and garments.  I wonder what will happen if I replace jump rings and brooch pins with findings from the wonderful world of haberdashery?  Rather than using the obvious (buttons, zips, buckles etc.) the world of tailoring is full of hidden mechanics that support the structure and function of a garment ... methinks a trip to MacCulloch and Wallis is called for!

Flesh colour underwire casing, Macculloch & Wallis 

Questioning the clichés

It is so easy to talk in stereotypes and respond to questions with clichés, that a concerted effort is needed to overpower their allure.  Without an awareness, trite and banal responses can be regurgitated at many an opportunity.  It may fool some, which if I'm honest is sometimes appealing, but there is little satisfaction to be found in tricking an ardent fan while a respected peer looks on with a wry smile.

Some examples I'm guilty of …

"layers of narrative" - this is often banded about by makers in an attempt to gloss over the contextualization of their work.  There are many narratives embedded in a work, but to use the term 'layers' implies they are separate and chronological, which is rarely the case.  The narrative of a work may be a tangled mess of ideas and threads, overlapping, connecting and colliding with each other to create many new potential narratives.

"applied art" - this implies art which is 'applied' to a form.  I don't apply my art to anything.  Where does that leave me?

"found objects" - in my case I attribute this term to anything bought, received, donated, used … I don't need to find it at all!

Enough is enough.  As a maker I pledge to try to take nothing for granted, and to ask the questions others are too silenced to ask.  I have found sanctuary in the work of David Gates - a maker who constantly asks questions - of form, function, materials and language.  

Dressing-Stand, 2011 © David Gates

Isn't this piece wonderful?  Made as a contemporary response to the now neglected the dressing table, it's a great example of not taking anything for granted.  Furniture doesn't need four legs.  Drawers don't need to hang from underneath the table surface.  The different woods are allowed to revel in their distinctive colours and qualities, rather than being secreted under a layer of Dulux's finest ... simply yummy.  

Collecting, Connecting and Curating

A significant part of my practice is the collecting of objects, and the subsequent ordering and reordering of them in the studio.  Connections are celebrated, disconnections are rejoiced.  What at the time seems an intuitive response to something lying in the street, later takes on significance and authority as the latest found object treasure joins the hoard laid out on the studio table.  Unexpected connections and random collisions provide essential links between objects and collections that have been previously organised.  

There has always been an ambiguity to the objects I use, which I now realise is essential for this stage of my practice.  It is at this point of synthesis, that the relevance and potential authority of the work is identified.  There is nothing more exciting than placing a broken piece of this with a fragmented shard of that to elicit an 'oooh' (ideally said in a high pitched tone, while taking a breath).  

Oooh, found ceramic, plastidip, found metal  © Vanda Campbell 2012

A pocket full of ...

I can't help but associate brooch pins as sharp, destructive weapons waging war on fine fabrics such as silk, organdie, or finely woven linen.  The hole left by the traditional brooch pin leaves a permanent scar on the cloth, needing to be covered on subsequent wearings by ... you've guessed it, another brooch, another pin.  If taken to extremes, the holes could consume the cloth, until all that remained was the vacuous scar.

A reluctance to use sharpened metal pins to fasten jewellery to clothing has led me to explore alternatives.  One alternative I have been looking at, is 'wearing' jewellery inside a pocket.  Each pocket has been constructed around the jewellery piece so the jewellery stays trapped in the pocket, unable to be worn.  The organdie fabric reveals a glimpse of what lies within, allowing the hidden to become visible.

Pocket Necklace, Organdie, Copper, Plastidip, Thread 
© Vanda Campbell 2012

Pocket Brooch, Organdie, Found Object, Aluminium, Crochet
© Vanda Campbell 2012

Pairing, Organdie, Found Object, Copper, Enamel
© Vanda Campbell 2012

Thinking Jewellery

I've been researching the connections between jewellery and identity, and have found some useful insights in a selection of published lectures from the annual Thinking Jewellery symposium, held at the Trier University of Applied Sciences in Idar-Oberstein, Germany.
  
One contributor, Professor Tilmann Habermas represented (as in re-presented) "the special importance of cherished objects for the formation of personality, and showed the enormous contribution they make to the subjective and societal construct of the self". For cherished, I read treasured, and for subjective and society construct of the self, I read identity.  I need to consider how my found object treasures not only represent identity, but become part of the identity.  This connects to a collection of care labels I made last year, in response to the Threads of Feeling exhibition at the Foundling Museum.  I have been fascinated by labels in clothing for some time, and find myself frequently returning to the format of trapping drawings or objects on one side by stitch.  Labels, and particularly found labels, definitely need exploring further.  

Linen, stitch, found object, 2010 © Vanda Campbell

Linen, stitch, found object, 2010 © Vanda Campbell

Linen, stitch, found object, 2010 © Vanda Campbell
From the Care Label Collection, 2010

Fragments of memory

A short article in the latest edition of Crafts magazine caught my eye ... Maria Militsi at the Marsden Woo Project Space, London.  A contemporary jeweller, who uses found objects, and shows her work in a gallery setting.  What could be better?!

I have visited the Marsden Woo Gallery a few times lately, and am growing more comfortable with the atmosphere of the gallery, which is slightly aloof and almost reverential. There is often an edginess to the work that they show, and the artists they represent seem to occupy a land that is both craft and art.  I particularly admire the fact the makers they represent seem to revel in this unique position, and their practices challenge the labels and expectations of the sometimes uncomfortable bedfellows of the fine and applied arts.

In Fragments of Memory, Maria Militsi uses found objects, and makes casts and imprints in silver, as a means of exploring emotional responses to the original objects.  I was particularly interested in how the works were displayed. Her installation Self Portraits has two components.  A collection of found crucifixes in different sizes, styles and materials are hung in the shape of a cross.  This is echoed by an adjacent display of their impressions, cast in silver metal, and hung from small nails directly in the gallery wall, as a single work.  Each individual imprint was for sale, and was supplied with a linen thread and photograph of the original found crucifix.  What a great way to present work - a wearable piece of jewellery, but sold in a package that includes the accompanying narrative.

Maria Militsi, Imprints of Crucifixes, detail (2011), image © Philip Sayer

There were many aspects of Militsi's work that resonated with my practice.  The found objects she chooses, are both ordinary and familiar, yet away from their natural habitat seem strange and new.  The objects I use are broken and fragmented, and seem strange and new initially, but closer investigation reveals their original form or function, and they regain their familiarity.  Caroline Broadhead described Militsi's work as "a collision of opposites: complete and incomplete, faithful and mutinous, melancholic and humorous" (www.marsdenwoo.com).  These conflicts appear logical when made real in Militsi's works, and a delicate silver pendant looks perfectly at home lying across an old, tatty chair, with a 30' long chain cascading to the floor.  

I am excited by contrasts of old and new, expected and unexpected, and suspect that this may be part of the solution to my desire to avoid 'twee' and keep an edginess, and 'dirtiness' (see earlier blog entry, Keeping it dirty) to my practice.

A Case of Forsaken Identity

I have been loathed to adopt the term 'jeweller' to describe my practice. Coming from a family of goldsmiths and fine jewellers, the term is loaded for me. On my foundation course, many years ago, both of my tutors (the wonderful Terry Shave and Kay Maclaurin) encouraged me to pursue jewellery at art college, yet I resisted and scuttled off to Hull to study Fine Art. Here I am, years later, still wearing the same label, but only now can I read it for myself. 

I am Vanda Campbell, and I make jewellery.

Cutting Edge,Found Object, Steel, Thread 2010 © Vanda Campbell

Cut Glass Found Object, Glass, Thread 2010 © Vanda Campbell

From the Chatelaines Collection, 2010

                                                        

Keeping it dirty

The materiality of stuff continues to intrigue me.  The juxtaposition of leather with glass, plastic and china, linen and metal etc., creates an aesthetic, which has the potential to be more exciting to me than the individual elements.

I have been working on responses to my plastic dipped found objects, and trying to identify my methodology in the early stages of a new body of work.  The responses, also from found objects, have the potential for an awkwardness which is harder to achieve if I have complete control over the form of the objects I use.    This need for awkwardness, clumsiness, even ugliness, is an effective counterbalance to the undesirable response of 'twee' which seems to curse jewellery so easily.  Could this awkwardness be the 'dirty' that Marty St James (Professor of Fine Art at University of Hertfordshire) keeps alluding to?!

The potential for awkwardness is even greater when two responses are joined to create a third response.

White becomes resolution

The paintings of Cy Twombly have been known to move me to tears.  When I first encountered his early works on paper (at an exhibition in Cork Street in the early 80s) I was struck by his mastery of awkwardness - media collided on paper, and his drawings and paintings had a wonderful imbalance that challenged everything I previously understood to be 'right' in art.

Bacchanalia-Fall (5 Days in November) Blatt 4, InvNr. UAB 457, 1977 

Collage, oil, chalk, gouache, on fabriano paper, graph paper, 101.2 x 150.5 cm

Bayerische Staatsgemäldesammlungen – Museum Brandhorst, München. Leihgeber: Udo Brandhorst. © Cy Twombly

At his recent show at the Dulwich Picture Gallery, there was the opportunity to get close to his sculptures.  Found objects are cast in bronze, and then painted in white household paint, which manages to somehow both conceal the original forms, yet reveal even more of them.  The exhibition notes referred to Twombly's explanation of his use of white paint as his 'marble'.  I love the idea that a material as cheap and everyday as white emulsion paint can allude to the grandeur of Italian marble sculptures of old.

Untitled (Funerary Box for a Lime Green Python) 1954 Cy Twombly

So, how does this relate this to my own practice?  An essential requirement of the found objects I select is ambiguity.  Broken, discarded fragments of someone's once worldly possession, these objects no longer have their original form, and are unable to fulfil their original function. I am intrigued by the notions of value and status, and find myself continually drawn to the work of many European contemporary jewellers, whose practices explore these ideas, amongst others.  One way of challenging the concepts of value and status in jewellery would be to replace precious metals and stones with cheap, everyday materials, such as plastic.  

Found objects, plastic, 2011 Vanda Campbell

Found object, plastic (detail), 2011 Vanda Campbell

Found object, plastic (detail), 2011 Vanda Campbell

Madame Cholet goes shopping

Saturday morning, walking through a car park and crouching to pick up the first treasure of a day (the 'pull' from a zip), I realised the Wombles have a lot to answer for ... 

♫ Making good use of the things that we find, the things that the everyday folk leave behind ... pick up the pieces and make them into something new, that's what we do ♫  

The Wombles pride themselves on turning rubbish into useful things, whereas for me, function is the least of my concerns, and I suspect I might not be alone in being under their influence.

Has anyone investigated the legacy of the Wombles on the contemporary art scene I wonder?  Could Hans Stofer, in fact, be Great Uncle Bulgaria?!

Hans Stofer, Off My Trolley, 2009

Drawing on ideas

WHAT HAPPENS NEXT ... (or how I develop ideas)

My practice is constantly evolving, and rather than starting afresh with each new project, I find I return to recurring themes and ideas, as I attempt to make sense of the world around me.  In the early stages of a new body of work, drawing is essential.  It provides an excuse to stop, think, observe and reflect.  I love the physical action of leaving marks on paper, and the unexpected effect of mixing materials often results in a glorious frisson.

Untitled (detail), mixed media, 2011

For me, drawing can be meditative, almost cathartic, and allows an opportunity for the subject to find its voice. It is through drawing that I really start to see my source material, as the drawing exposes lines, forms, patterns and connections that are initially hidden.  

Jasper Johns summed up the process ... "Sometimes I see it and then paint it, other times I paint it and then see it." Jasper Johns (Sixteen Americans, Dorothy C. Miller, MoMA, New York, p. 22).

I think I probably do both.

Oh, to be a turnupstuffer

I'm loving the MA course, and am finding more and more ways of investigating both my practice and the practices of my contemporaries.  I'm still unsure of what exactly it is that I do, or make, but continue to feel compelled to do it nonetheless.  In a bid to try to understand who, or what I am, I have been asked to answer some crucial questions, which I hope will provide me with an insight into my methodology.  I will probably revisit these questions as the weeks progress, so reserve the right to change my answers ... a little, or maybe a lot!

IN THE BEGINNING ... (or "How do I generate and evaluate new ideas?)
I've been repeatedly renewing a book from the library lately - Found treasures: Hermann Jünger and the Art of Jewelry (Thames & Hudson, 2001).  

Hidden (well, not really hidden, but given a page of its own, with a virtual trumpet attached) is a quote from Pippi Longstocking ...


"A turnupstuffer." "What's that?" asked Tommy. "Somebody who finds the stuff that turns up if only you look, of course. What else would it be?" said Pippi. "The whole world is filled with things that are just waiting for someone to come along and find them, and that's just what a turnupstuffer does."
Astrid Lindgren,
'Pippi Longstocking'



So, it's official, my practice does have a name, and at the moment I am mostly a turnupstuffer.  For my methodology starts with collecting ... broken fragments of life, unable to fulfil their original function, and no longer with a recognisable form.  Usually man-made, small-scale, and with an unexpected twinkle, I am compelled to stoop to rescue them from the gutter.  

Turned up stuff, 2011