Thursday, 9 March 2017

Looking for my sense of humour and some art at peckham Rye station

My MA in book art is draining my sense of humour.

I got so tied up in knots with it all that I asked for some remedial help.

Thank goodness for Academic Support.

I recived an email arranging a meeting. I wondered who I would get....

I sent a message advising X to look for an old person with dark hair and a gold coloured jumper.

X relied that he was probably older than me, and wearing a dark jacket.

It was going well so far....

Like a blind date.

X was about the same age as me, which immediately made me feel more comfortable, and of course he had heard it all before. Stuck student struggling with juggling balls, feeling inadequate, not wanting to appear stroppy, yet feeling very stroppy.

Not feeling able to toe the line.

And certainly not sure that she wants to step into the shoes that say 'book artist'.

So much anger to express, and not wanting to make angry work....

Whoah. What happened?

Where did my sense of humour go?

It got tied up over the way book artists express the word 'craft' as a derogatory term. About not allowing anything to be 'pretty'. About everything having hidden meanings and not just for its own sake. About everthing being so serious.

Seeming to me as though they feel that there is something superior about what they do.

Along came X and he listened.

And advised me to follow my nose..... and stop setting myself homework. He gave me permission to browse rather than trying to wade my way through books.

After which I felt a lot better, and followed my nose to Peckham Rye station for the journey home. I missed the train by a mere 5 seconds.

And therefore had 29 minutes to spend at the station.

So I used my new positive attitude to take pictures of the station, with the question 'is this art?' in my mind.

You can decide.

A lady with pink hair kept following me around, wondering what I was up to. I ignored her and carried on behaving very much as though I was in need of some form of therapy.

I wished I had had the courage to photograph her too.

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