I've had nearly 12 weeks away from my studio practice, concentrating on an exciting studio project with young people which, when I have time will write up.  It was time to get back into the studio to prepare works for the Soil Culture exhibition in Peninsula Arts, Plymouth  https://www.plymouth.ac.uk/whats-on/soil-culture-exhibitions exhibitions. Having packed away my studio in Marazion I was fortunate enough to be able to book a temporary  space at the wonderful CAST building in Helston http://c-a-s-t.org.uk  It felt energising to be in a new space - I had been in the studios in Marazion for probably about 7 years and change felt good. 

Some pieces going to Peninsula Arts were some of my early works in mud and just needed a little attention before packing up but I had also been asked to send my Dirty Pictures, shown in my last post. I like them - they're works in progress, I knew I had to work on them, live with them a little more before being ready to send them out to a gallery.  

"The trees are waiting, heaven sent. Sling a rope
 From a lime or an oak
  (how good does it feel, the noose on the throat?)" S Armitage

The Not Dead  by Simon Armitage– a collection of poems written from direct accounts from veterans  all suffering with combat PTSD. 

Guilt, lack of sleep, suicidal tendencies, anger and flashbacks are just some of the symptoms of ptsd.  The person who is closest to someone with ptsd is more often than not walking on eggshells, afraid to say the wrong thing, not knowing where their thoughts are each day.

During a particularly difficult year I chose to scribble away in eggshells my own anger, frustrations and observations of being with someone with ptsd. Initially to be a wall piece, that interestingly fell and smashed on completion (I kept all the pieces)

On being invited to make work for this exhibition in response to Simon Armitage's poems it seemed fitting to bring out the eggshells once more and bring them to some completion.

There is a repetition in pattern of behavior in PTSD, the same stuff comes up time and time again, it can be relentless.  The same lines, the same speeches, the same silences, the same anger, the same …  The writings in the eggshells are a mixture of my own experiences and multiple repititions of Simon Armitage’s poems about ptsd.

The eggshells were on the walls in a small space reminiscent of a soundproofed cell – often that feeling of isolation is very strong. Eggshells were also on the floor, encouraging viewers of the work to tip toe around them, though naturally stepping on them in the process.

http://www.cornwallartbiennale.org/what.htm

Photos of Private View ..... http://www.flickr.com/photos/plymouthmuseums/sets/72157631826738046/