BA (Hons) Fine Art in Carlisle, UK. Degree show 2008 - "On Wednesdays We Draw Monsters"
[enlarge] Toni Rutherford, Photography/Photoshop, 2008. Catalogue Cover Image, lower resolution for web
# 2 [12 May 2008]
"A House, a Monument" (part 2)
But what do we do now? We have constructed this palace, this magnificent castle that not only shows our intentions but our collective hands therein. This house is now built, but it is time to move away. Some will stay nearby, whilst others will move further away into new homes: in new cities, even new countries. Others will move into this home, but it is not for us to dwell. Not anymore. The work, here, is completed, and there is so much more to be done.
But perhaps this is not a house at all, and perhaps this analogy is in error. Instead what we have built is something more permanent, something for which we will truly be remembered, and something which will follow us throughout our endeavours. Maybe it is more of a monument, where we were never destined to live, but standing as testament to our trials nonetheless. This, our monument, it may be; though unlike the stone ghosts of Trafalgar Square, we are certainly not dead yet.
While some might not believe that students know the concept of ‘hard work,' they obviously have never studied Fine Art. They might construct cars, bridges, roadways, or slave away in banks or offices; but we, we as art students, rather as artists, have built a house.
Is it not apparent? Look around you at this Victorian schoolhouse, this exhibition of three or four years of-dare I utter the tired cliché-blood, sweat, and tears. We have gotten our hands more than calloused and dirty, our backs and minds tired, not to mention the irreparable damage of breathing in so much MDF dust. These are the rewards of a hard day's work, the physical and mental exhaustion caused by true accomplishment.
This is, irrefutably, our first house.
In the first year, we laid the concrete for the foundations. Chances are a few corners were cut, and a few errors were made. We compensated for our mistakes, accepted our failures, and grew from the experience. And one year is a short time to grow up, not that we got physically older (not more than a calendar year), but perhaps we began to see things in a different way. We gained a different sort of focus, and prepared for the second stage of building.
Second year came so quickly. The ground below us was sturdy, but it was time to look upwards. We began to build the framework for this home: pooling our resources, our knowledge, our varied experiences and backgrounds. We opened the doors and windows of this structure to the elements. And to the public. At once our hearts and minds communicated what we had struggled to articulate for some time. The ‘audience' saw what we were all about, and ultimately they must have seen that we were serious about what we had been building. We managed to build the first wing of this grand estate, and it withstood the weather, despite a few leaks here and there. If it was only temporary, it provided shelter while we moved onto the conception of the remainder of our residence.
Third year was more of an ethereal idea in the back of our minds than a conceivable period of time. We had to prepare ourselves for the final stages of this construction. We were not electricians, but we could wire an extension lead. We were not plumbers, but we could fix a leak. We were not decorators, but damn it if we couldn't sand, paint, and perfect an exhibition space. The house we had built was not a terraced house that conformed to those on either side, but rather the stately (albeit quirky) country manor, created in the lifetime of an eccentric commoner with the razor-sharp vision that elevated him to lordship.
[enlarge]
Toni Rutherford, Photography/Photoshop, 2008. Catalogue Cover Image, lower resolution for web
# 2 [12 May 2008]
"A House, a Monument" (part 2)
But what do we do now? We have constructed this palace, this magnificent castle that not only shows our intentions but our collective hands therein. This house is now built, but it is time to move away. Some will stay nearby, whilst others will move further away into new homes: in new cities, even new countries. Others will move into this home, but it is not for us to dwell. Not anymore. The work, here, is completed, and there is so much more to be done.
But perhaps this is not a house at all, and perhaps this analogy is in error. Instead what we have built is something more permanent, something for which we will truly be remembered, and something which will follow us throughout our endeavours. Maybe it is more of a monument, where we were never destined to live, but standing as testament to our trials nonetheless. This, our monument, it may be; though unlike the stone ghosts of Trafalgar Square, we are certainly not dead yet.
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# 1 [12 May 2008]
"A House, a Monument" (part 1)
While some might not believe that students know the concept of ‘hard work,' they obviously have never studied Fine Art. They might construct cars, bridges, roadways, or slave away in banks or offices; but we, we as art students, rather as artists, have built a house.
Is it not apparent? Look around you at this Victorian schoolhouse, this exhibition of three or four years of-dare I utter the tired cliché-blood, sweat, and tears. We have gotten our hands more than calloused and dirty, our backs and minds tired, not to mention the irreparable damage of breathing in so much MDF dust. These are the rewards of a hard day's work, the physical and mental exhaustion caused by true accomplishment.
This is, irrefutably, our first house.
In the first year, we laid the concrete for the foundations. Chances are a few corners were cut, and a few errors were made. We compensated for our mistakes, accepted our failures, and grew from the experience. And one year is a short time to grow up, not that we got physically older (not more than a calendar year), but perhaps we began to see things in a different way. We gained a different sort of focus, and prepared for the second stage of building.
Second year came so quickly. The ground below us was sturdy, but it was time to look upwards. We began to build the framework for this home: pooling our resources, our knowledge, our varied experiences and backgrounds. We opened the doors and windows of this structure to the elements. And to the public. At once our hearts and minds communicated what we had struggled to articulate for some time. The ‘audience' saw what we were all about, and ultimately they must have seen that we were serious about what we had been building. We managed to build the first wing of this grand estate, and it withstood the weather, despite a few leaks here and there. If it was only temporary, it provided shelter while we moved onto the conception of the remainder of our residence.
Third year was more of an ethereal idea in the back of our minds than a conceivable period of time. We had to prepare ourselves for the final stages of this construction. We were not electricians, but we could wire an extension lead. We were not plumbers, but we could fix a leak. We were not decorators, but damn it if we couldn't sand, paint, and perfect an exhibition space. The house we had built was not a terraced house that conformed to those on either side, but rather the stately (albeit quirky) country manor, created in the lifetime of an eccentric commoner with the razor-sharp vision that elevated him to lordship.
Login to post a comment »