Zoe Catherine Kendall, artist, writer and human...

Monday, 27 September 2010

Mental deviations persist (below the image)...

(above: Head fuck by Zoe Catherine Kendall, acrylic on acrylic paper, 2010, self-series.blogspot.com)

The present storm; deviations and meanderings...

“Everything, with significance brought to, all images as places of interest, all nominated stories and moments of living.

You are here with me. We are the same yet different.

£69 spent on the pursuit of knowledge, but that's ok, even for a pauper. I gathered 15 or so little editions for that, and I feel ready to devour them.

It's strange, I’ve been feeling tired recently, ill or maybe it's just the smoking, I don't know. All the tests show up ok, so perhaps it's just psychosomatic. I want to go home, I’m homeward bound, in search of something. I want to make tea with ritual attached and absorb these books. I know I am going to translate their meaning using the patterns of my life experiences thus far. I know it's just an interpretation, but that makes it more personal. In the book shop, I felt touched. Glimpses of a universal narrative seemed to be twitching, calling out to me. I embraced their call.

Mum was the same on the telephone, interested in commerce more so then well being. Perhaps the two are interconnected shadows, but the route is still different. I wish her route into me was less obvious, more ingenious, but then I wouldn't be me. It's ok mum, I accept you as you are. Love is something different, but the attachments at least are not in question.

That's an emotive word for me; attachment. Many people are fearing, especially those you accidentally love. There are lessons here, and non lessons, I am sure of it. Meanings, meaningless meanderings, a message still. Being apart in love is something I know of, crossed paths, echoes and stains. Non attachment has been recommended to me, but I am equally suspicious of it. The current agenda is the current, that is to say, we are living now.

So I dressed the scene, poured the tea and was anxious, it was time to begin..

The taste of the yogurt had changed after being in contact with the fruit. Its subtleties had (disappointedly) disappeared. I managed to get some on my best scarf too.

The books were very emotive; clearly I wasn't alone.

You know that moment I'm talking of, just imagine; smoking a cigarette, poignantly self reflective, looking in on yourself, feeling everything that has ever happened; to you, around you, breathing it in as if to memorise every minute detail, extracting meaning so as to place yourself within it.. you know that moment I’m talking about, well it doesn’t exist any more.

I'm holding on to everything that is holding on to me. I am remaining a coexistent, remaining in a relational field to all other things. But if I were to let go..? Let go of all those ties, just relax my grip, a bit at first, and then totally, what then? Would it matter? Would I still exist? I believe so, I think I would, but differently. Do I need to hold on, and if so, how tightly should I hold? Is it going to be a rough ride, I mean, are we talking about a risk that I could fall, drop and be lost to you? Are we talking of a real risk here? I'm not sure if the appropriate risk assessments have been carried out, I’m not completely sure if there is an answer to this just yet. I'm holding on to the cigarette, holding on for dear life, I know that much, but not much more right now.”

Discover more of my work on run-riot.com

Clambering on the shoulders of cowards

 A way of life...

We who, clambering on the shoulders of cowards, might choose to interject. 

We who, seeking a more intuitive understanding might require still more clarity for self preservation. 

We who talk, muse and create, shooting shadows of ourselves across graffiti strewn walls in cities of contradiction.

Methods riddled with coping mechanisms of old; who are you and how do we relate? I might like you but don't let me define you or i'll kill us both. Love me and i'll loose you to find you, leave me and i'll never truly know you, streaming meaning from your mere existence. You who, wavering in the light, whimper and escape me; you are not here for definitions, we are infinitely more elusive than that, casting words across landscapes of lesser resolution to unite. We are. 

(left: Getting better by Zoe Catherine Kendall, oil on canvas paper, 2010)

Wednesday, 22 September 2010

Suicide by Jellyfish

Some pretty awesome sounds to inspire.... and some pretty hot visuals..

Think P.SO the earth tone king channelling Blackalicious via Billy Holiday, seasoned with extra soul...

You can download it, they're giving it away...sweet!

trailer below...

"Is this a form of hyperreality... (story continues below)

(above: ...oh... pen on paper by Zoe Catherine Kendall, Sept 2010)

...or am i just imagining it??! Does anyone have any sunglasses they could lend me? I didn't realise my reflection was so bright. Come to think of it, i feel a little clammy... where is my rolling tobacco? Fuck, let's just chill for a bit longer... you got any of that stuff left? Anything to make me feel a bit more normal..."

Side notes: Ann hadn't acually taken any narcotics... but had somehow managed to induce a natural state of hyperreality, and suspicions were beginning to arise about her mental welfare. Personally i think it was just life that had sent her off the rails... no one knows what happened to her after that night...

Tuesday, 21 September 2010

All that you are; a big thanks to Sane Phoenix!

So many of you will know that i have been painting words, or slogans of the self, to go along side my more traditional paintings and writings recently. Last week I was inspired after a very unexpected and slightly distressing night to paint a slogan using the words of Fontella Bass from the song All that you give by Cinematic Orchestra. It's the sentiment that counts here. (Listen to the song and watch the video below). Thanks Sane Phoenix, you were awesome.

My ex boyfriend has many faces (and not much to say for himself)

A private letter to my universal ex boyfriend and a shared public experience...

'Dear ex lover,

                     I hope this message finds you well and rested, and that you are not too perturbed by attempts of mine to communication with you. Its not that I want to revisit old territories, islands irrevocably lost to the sea, or try to recapture those meteours of love that we sent spinning into space all those years ago. It is true that those pieces of land have been surrendered forever to skies beyond our mortal reach, and that they will remain suspended for all time above and beyond our feeble grasp. It is true also that the unspoken keys to the great citadel we once reigned have been swallowed up by the earth, moulded back into the ground as humble stones. I have wanted to tell you for some time now about how I swallowed some of those stones that our love had reclaimed, and that they are in me still, as ground beneath your unknowing feet. You, old lover, once reigned my heart, spinning me into a vulnerable golden grain for a feast you could yield and eat, and having devoured me, conquer, question and retreat. And from that point onwards, I was lost to you completely, washed up on an isolated beach. And now we have been separated for quite some time, living lives as distant dreams, knowing only of our past mistakes, licking our wounds in the wilds of our hearts weakly, wondering frequently whether what we lost, we could regain, wandering carefully to the edge of our split, the spit of land that stretches out to a lonely bay where only we were washed up ungraciously. We, having lost cannot regain, what we were then, you there, and me without gain. Lover, I think of you repeatedly, gesturing out in the storm of my sleep, clinging to your image as I lay in arms, and with crudity conjuring our broken embrace. But these boys, old lover, cannot compare, their hearts unknown inspire no such care, their eyes unlit do not reflect my loving stare, bare of mind and passionless, with them I warm the bed we made, with them I play a foolish game. But from thoughts of you, ex lover, I must refrain, except to say, in love we were a foot above, and having fallen, have found ourselves now lame. To you, ex lover, I offer this, my unnamed thoughts, my exiled kiss. To you I owe a world of pain, 'memories lost like tears in the rain'. To you I sailed a solvent sea, my breath absorbed as a silent fee, and from you I wobbled, ran, sank and dived, airless, loveless, lost of pride. And here I am now, ex lover, with land of my own set back from the edge, a cliff I have climbed alone, a land to you now unknown. And here I will stay, safer in myself, and only wish that perhaps one day, you might sail that great sea of time and tear, aiming gallantly back at me.'

Phew, that was pretty liberating! ;-) Who's next?!

I also write, draw and create for Run Riot! See my posts here

(above My boyfriend has blue eyes and a fading appearance, 2010, acrylic on acrylic paper by Zoe Catherine Kendall)

Wednesday, 15 September 2010

On pondering a lack of meaning...

Ever get that feeling that nothing is of any particular significance, that nothing seems to hold any genuine meaning? Tell me about it, and boy doesn't it suck?!

It's even more frustrating when you feel as though you really do attempt to engage with life, imbuing meaning in each of your actions, but still with no real gain.

Sometimes it seems as though if you do care or you do believe in something, then you are merely paving the way for its deconstruction. What's the message here – that we should all be feelingless zombies who don't care either way?! That redemption comes from zero expectation? Or perhaps that we are looking in the wrong places for this supposedly enriching food for the soul...

Yeah, you see what i'm doing here, i'm going back on myself, i've already sung the praises of a life lacking in the foolish pursuit of some bigger meaning, i've previously posted about how it's in the dirth of meaning that we may find ourselves, so what's with all my whining? Life, I guess...
Thankfully, I can find some reprieve in Gold Panda's Lonely Owl...

This melodic tune seems to encapsulate both the repetitive nature of life coupled with a sense of focusing in on certain details at certain times, and then focusing out again. It seems to ebb and flow through narrative and quiet, giving the sense of a journey which is sometimes serene, sometimes energetic, and always full of personality. I can imagine the story of this lonely owl, gently making its way through day and night, stumbling upon other things and other places as it goes, but always coming back to this journey that it is making by itself.

Perhaps I ought to take some inspiration from the lonely owl, look for meaning in my day to day living and not expect too much, but enjoy those little deviations and undulations in my story as and when they happen to pass by and stop in.

If meaning doesn't force me to surrender myself, I won't go looking. And I can be sure of its presence in all the minute details of my mundane existence. Mmmm, just about time to make a nice cup of tea... ;-)

Tuesday, 14 September 2010

Artist's Cry: SOS!

And if this doesn't work, it would seem even more appropriate to employ gorilla tactics and bring the art into our living spaces -

Monday, 13 September 2010

the dark corners

Half-illuminated scenes; at the bottom of the garden others may be lurking... beware!

Tuesday, 7 September 2010

The artist resides...

 Over the past two months i have been getting my hands pretty grubby whilst transforming what was an almost derelict apartment into an artist's live-work space, but not just any live-work space, perhaps the ultimate artist's residence. This (temporary) space will become the epicentre of all my creative outputs, and hopefully bring other artists and creatives together during the process. These are bold statements, i know, but it's all a part of the master art-work-life plan i am fostering here on Commercial Street, E1.

What is this master plan i hear you say... well it's all about the creation of a space that can by used as a social and artistic hub, the perfect setting for regular artist salons, project planning and exhibitions. Gedvile Bunikyte (my cohort) and I have begun the process of inviting artists, thinkers, writers and other creative types into the space to discuss hypotheses on art and to plan events. The space is due to be 'born' to the rest of the world in late october, with an 'un-birthday' themed launch evening where we shall be inviting other artists and interested parties to bring along a birthday gift they have made, un-made, or made-up, for a spot of spontaneous curation and a few skewed party games. We want to turn convention on its head, challenge and provide alternatives to limiting social and cultural conditioning, and to rethink the way we approach art and life.

Our current artistic agenda lies in the glorification of the living process as an integral and aspirational lead to the art process, and vice versa. That is exactly why it feels so significant to have a studio space which is also a living space, a hub and a gallery space. And that is exactly why we want to encourage an ongoing discourse to accompany the process, and to become intergral to the practise of other artists. Gedvile and I have found that by coming together to discuss, debate and conjugate, we have been able to inspire our own art work and direction. We find the space to have an ongoing dialogue not only empowering in the opportunity it offers for taking ownership of one's thoughts but also because it has proved very conducive to work!

We plan to hold regular salons on a fortnightly basis once the studio space is fully operational, and to exhibit the outcomes of our having come together to think on a monthly basis. We invite all artists and creatives to come along and be a part of this process. Please email me to register your interest and receive regular updates.

To see some of what Gedvile has been up to, visit the centre of the universe.

Welcome to the new space.

See more photos below!

Wednesday, 1 September 2010

The end of you; the beginning of me

I believe in the personalisation of ritualistic behaviours. Something transient occured, did you mark its passing?