JT Burke works the room

On Friday night I decided to pop along to the reception for an art show that’s just arrived in Bristol following exhibitions in California and Barcelona.

Most exhibition preview invites arrive unceremoniously by email, so when the glitzy invite slid through my letterbox and demanded an RSVP, it was clear that this was going to be a night with a different air. Beautiful Again is the work of JT Burke, an American artist with an eye for bling.

JT spends his spare time trawling flea market stalls and junk shops for quirky pieces of costume jewellery, which he then transforms with the use of photography, Photoshop and a bit of magic into fantastical works of art.

So I knew in advance that this would be a starry night. What I wasn’t prepared for was the sheer glamour of the event. By the time I arrived, hordes of gleamingly gorgeous guests were buzzing around the Grant Bradley Gallery, most of the females bedecked in glittering frocks that were only out-dazzled but the artwork itself.

Waitresses circled the room with canapés (feta cube speared to an olive, anyone?), while photographers from the local press snapped the mingling crowd.

JT Burke has also perfected his public persona into an art form, dressing always in a black shirt and sharp trilby hat to ensure he’s instantly recognisable. His European agent, Richard Scarry, was working the room just as ferociously - this was a party to be viewed at, as much as to view the art.

And the art itself? Seductive in its audacity, ribbons of gems glitter around bejewelled ducks, horses, bees and other critters that were presumably once brooches. Former clip-on diamonté earrings rival glimmering enamelled blooms in landscapes that could have dreamt up by Elton John. Even the frames are ornate and curly.

It’s all eye-catching and utterly shamelessly OTT. I just have trouble envisioning the house whose walls could do any of them justice.

I don’t know what it is about August, but everyone around me seems to be having birthdays. This weekend I have three parties to go to, one tonight, for a friend turning 33, one tomorrow for a five year old, and one on Sunday for my mother-in-law, who’s going to be a grand 65. They seem to be covering almost the whole spectrum of ages, so I’m expecting three very different celebrations.

I absolutely love parties, but some are defintiely better than others. I went to an excellent on a few weeks ago that was launching a new networking venture called Art is Alive. Most networking dos are a bit dull and work-y - with everyone too busy trying to push their business cards at you to actually relax and build up a rapport.

The difference with this one was that it was aimed solely at artists and other creative types - people for whom their work is also their hobby and reason for being. The setting was the very swish Berkeley Square Hotel in Bristol, a hotel so arty it has its own gallery. We were greeted at the door with luscious cocktails and canapes, and spent the evening admiring landscape paintings and listening to the grooves of jazz singer Cathy Jones while chatting with eccentric peeps who didn’t even own business cards.

Later a folk singer called Hawthorn took to the stage, a set about singing and recording her own voice so she could provide her own improvised backing vocals - like a sort of audio performance art.

So that was a great night out, but why?

Partly it was the atmospheric ambiance, aided by the decor, lighting and music. Secondly it was the interesting conversation - idea-fuel that left my brain dancing in a variety of directions. Thirdly, it was the general sense of possibilities. Everyone there had something to contribute to the local creative scene. And the drinks amd snacks certainly kept everyone happy.

The next ArtisAlive party will be on September 1st at the Berkeley Square Hotel again, and I defintiely plan to be there.

But for tonight and the next two days I’ll be enjoying parties that will hopefully each bring something fresh, fun and fizzy to the table. Personally I have high hopes for the five-year-old’s celebration. No one knows how to enjoy themselves quite like a kid does.

On Thursday nights at the moment I attend a writing class to try and get my completed young adult novel ready for submission to literary agents and publishing houses. It’s the same novel about the selective mute battling adolescence, family secrets and the occasional ghost; the same novel that spent several months being picked over, analysed and improved with the help of an interested lit agent who then decided they’d lost interest and moved on. So it’s had something of a rollercoaster ride.

My last lot of feedback on the novel came from the editor of a children’s publishing house, and pointed out all the novel’s flaws. Of which there were many. And I really wasn’t sure how to fix them.

When you write all day long for your job as well as your aspirations it can be easy to lose sight of what you’re trying to do. Signing up for an advanced writing class seemed like the only way forward, and I’m so glad I did it.

Each session we go over an element of the craft, from writing the synopsis to coming up with a compelling title, and each week we submit writing for critique not just by the class tutor, Glenn Carmichael, but also the 11 or so other students. And, my god, that feedback is invaluable. Often opinion wavers from person to person, but I’ve also found certain points repeated by a number of people, and sometimes you only need one comment to help you see a passage in a whole new light.

It’s wonderful meeting with other aspiring authors, many of which are hugely talented, and having the chance to see their writing develop.

But the biggest benefit for me has been the impetus to focus on the novel fully again, breathing new life into those exhausted pages in the hope they’ll catch alight.

Glamorous and clamorous, beautiful and grotesque - the Art From The New World exhibition at Bristol’s City Museum and Gallery takes the lewd, the elegant and, above all, the original, sets it inside exquisite frames and displays it for all the world to see.

I’ve always sought out art that’s transportative or transformative in some way, and this exhibition ticked all those boxes, reminding me of the most twisted of fairy tales. Nothing’s quite as it seems, which is just how I believe art should be, with sub-text galore that allows you to interpret and, most likely, misinterpret to your heart’s content.

The exhibition showcases the talent of 49 contemporary North American artists, here under the care of the LA-based Corey Helford Gallery, and to me it represents so much of what I love about the US, where ultra-conventionality and extreme radicalism can reside, quite comfortably, a mere block apart.

From a writer’s point of view, the artwork in the museum entrance had me almost clapping my hands with glee. Mike Stilkey’s sculpture-painting is built entirely from novels donated by Orion Books - novels that have been saved from being pulped, giving old texts new life and showing that reinvention really is the new creation.

Art From The New World will be exhibiting at Bristol’s City Museum and Gallery until Sunday August 22nd 2010.

© Leandro Ercole

I’ve spent most of this beautiful sunny Sunday working on a feature about testicular cancer. The feature is far from done, but I think I’ve reached my limit for one day. I pitched the feature because it’s a topic I believe more people should be made aware of. My hubla fought it and won, but only because he was brave enough to go to the doctor before things got too serious.

My pitch was to look at it from a woman’s point of view, interviewing guys about it and finding out what could have or did make it easier for them. The more people I talked to, the more I found this differed, though most blokes said they just wanted to be left alone to get on with it.

One of the best coping strategies I heard about came from my hubla’s mum, who mentioned that she used to go to his flat whenever he was being treated and cleaned it from top to bottom. He was living with a bunch of slobby lads at the time and she was terrified he’d catch an infection thanks to their slovenly ways.

So, this way she kept him safe, gained some sense of control for herself and showed she loved him - an impressive feat of multi-tasking. I see cleaning as my mother-in-law’s equivalent of the all-powerful, all-fixing EastEnders cup of tea - there’s nothing that won’t benefit from a cuppa in EastEnders’-land and the same is true of a bit of dusting and scrubbing in my mother-in-law’s world.

So it’s been a worthwhile and inspirational day, if emotionally draining. Now seems like a good time to shut down my computer and go to the pub!

Rorschach 02 © Adam Closs

On Friday I went to the preview of Black and White, the latest exhibition from Adam Closs. Adam is one of my favourite Bristol artists, not only because of the calm beauty of the work he produces, but because of the ideals behind it.

Adam creates his conceptual works with the aim of creating the ultimate ambiguous object. It sounds like an unusual aim for an artist. Most people who create do so in attempt to get a particular message or meaning across, but Adam’s work strives to do the exact opposite of this.

“When my work is shown I want people to look at my paintings and see something of themselves in them. I don’t tell them what to see – the whole point is that what they see should come from inside themselves. Sometimes people come over to me at a gallery and say something like ‘Did you mean to put that giraffe in the lower left hand corner?’ and I’ll be thrilled, but they’ll walk away thinking they got it wrong somehow, that they made a mistake. What they don’t understand is that I didn’t put it there, they did, and that’s okay. I want people to have the confidence and the power to look at something and take ownership, instead of feeling ignorant because they couldn’t work out what the artist was saying!”

There’s something very freeing about attending an exhibition with that goal behind it. While much of the wall-space was taken up by clean black and white pieces inspired by the inkblots developed by Swiss psychologist Hermann Rorschach, my favourites were the large creamy swathes of linen, which seemed to take on different characteristics according to who was looking at them.

In one, my hubla could see the kind of rain and wind erosion usually found pitting and carving amazing shapes into limestone rock formations, while in another I saw the ridged ripples drawn over sand by the retreating and encroaching tide. It made me wonder if different things emerge according to the day, the light, your mood…

The only way to find out will be to go for another look. The exhibition is on at the Grant Bradley Gallery (1 St. Peters Court, Bedminster Parade, Bedminster, Bristol BS3 4AQ) until May 1st 2010, so luckily there will be plenty of chances to go back.

© Stock.xchng

However much people tell me that it was invented by greetings card companies, however much I tell myself that it’s a shamelessly sentimental holiday, there’s a big part of me that just adores Valentine’s Day.

I come from a family that like to celebrate every possible occasion, from Christmas to Diwali to the Chinese New Year. As a child I was used to associating Valentine’s Day with receiving cards emblazoned with hearts and signed by mystery suitors with handwritng uncannily similar to my mum’s. It was a day when my parents would sparkle at each other and there would usually be something especially nice for tea.

These days, two years into my marriage, I’m glad to say that romance is still on the agenda, and it really doesn’t have to cost a lot. I’m lucky that my hubla ensures I always have flowers (currently gorgeous purple irises), but our Valentine’s tokens to each other were personal rather than expensive - my hubla graciously accepted wonky homemade card from me, just as he will accept a wonky homemade card for his birthday.

Not being blessed (or cursed) with an overflowing imagination like mine, he buys his cards, avoiding anything padded or sporting a printed poem.

Often we celebrate Valentine’s over a special meal eaten at home, but this evening we’re going out for dinner, partly because January was particularly grim this year and partly because the recession has led to some fab restaurant deals (hurrah for a positive-side to the credit crunch!). We feel in need of an excuse to get dressed up, eat some good food and smile at each other in a candle-lit setting.

Actually, that latter bit is the part I love best about this day. It’s not really about gifts and cards and flowers, its about being given a nudge to devote some time to the person you love, and a candle-lit setting isn’t a bad place to do it.

On the opening night of Barry Lewis’ Monsters exhibition 13 out of 40 pieces sold, which is pretty impressive. Sadly all the ones my hubla fell in love with went within moments, but I managed to get a red dot onto a rather lovely one of a pegasus, very similar to the horse of spoons, but with an elegant pair of fish-knife wings. I can’t wait till the end of Feb when I can take it home.

The exhibition gained loads of media attention, partly, I’d like to think, due to my press releases. I picked up a copy the Evening Post and found that one of the journalists had used paragraphs from my release word for word. Nice to know I’m making life so easy for them, but odd to see my words credited to someone else…

A selection of my words are also currently taking part in an art and poetry exhibition called Exploding Poetry. It’s being held at Bank Street Arts Centre, and is on the topic of women and warfare. I wrote short piece called Not War, Nor Peace, inspired by my time in Israel, and it got accepted! Love it when that happens – it almost makes all the rejections worthwhile.

Sabre tooth tiger by Barry Lewis

Last night’s preview of Barry Lewis’ Monsters exhibition was the most bubbling I’ve been to for a long while. I barely got to say hello to Barry as folks crowded round him, eager to meet the great creator of so many magical beasts. I’d seen countless photos of his work, but never come face to face with the animals until the event, and I was intrigued by how many I fell deeply in love with. No wonder red dots were springing up all over the room.

Sadly, Horse of Spoons, sold early on, as did my hubla’s favourite, Codzilla, a huge glimmering fishhead made of fish knives and other reclaimed materials.

There’s something about the combined elegance and unpretentiousness of the scultures that really appeals to all kinds of people, including those, like my hubla, who occasionally complain about not getting art. There’s a playfulness to the whole collection that’s hugely appealing, as people crowded round, identifying old coffee pots, forks, engine parts and gas canisters. It was like a version of Where’s Wally for grown ups.

The menagerie was populated by enough creatures to put Bristol Zoo to shame, with seagulls hovering overhead, gigantic scorpions, spiders and dragonflies, lobster, crabs and vast coppery fish, an alligator with a body woven from bike tyres, as well as more abstract works such as a heart made from spoons and a satellite dish - ideal for Valentine’s Day.

The one serious undercurrent running throughout is the message of reclaiming, restoring and recycling, the three R’s of our era. In taking other people’s rubbish and transforming it into art, Barry works magic on several levels. The animal-heads mounted on plaques  made from old table tops take this a step further, by poking fun at those who still believe hunting is a good, honourable hobby.

I’d rather have a sabre-tooth tiger made from cutlery on my wall than the head of a dehydrated, stuff dead animal any day, and the hordes of people at the Grant Bradley Gallery yesterday seemed to agree.

Horse of Spoons by Barry Lewis

The latest artist on my radar is Barry Lewis, a Welshman who trained as an engineer, worked as a carpenter, became an ice sculptor and finally put his passion for South Wales’ Rhondda Valley together with an eye for aesthetics to create his own, uniquely eco-friendly kind of art.

The result is an exhibition called Monster, which begins tomorrow at Bristol’s Grant Bradley Gallery. He describes his work as a means of letting “nature get its own back”, and meanders through the countryside, reclaiming parts of the rusting cars and bikes dumped in rivers and on mountainsides and transforming them into wonderfully peculiar beasties.

“Someone might chuck dump a bike on the hillside, then I’ll bring it home to pull apart and turn into a sculpture of some weird animal, making it into art and clearing up the countryside in the process. I use all kinds of things - some of my sculptures might include six types of metal, from a bit of stainless steel cutlery to an old petrol tank from a motorbike. A bit of metal might resemble a nose and the animal grows from there.”

The curious creatures range from immense scorpions to alligators – one of my favourites is a horse made entirely from junk-shop cutlery. There are also dragonflies with tea-strainers for eyes and a dragon made from an old car seat with fence-posts for teeth. The scale of some of them is immense – a true zoo of the bizarre.

Around forty of the recycled beasts are taking residence in the Grant Bradley Gallery for Barry’s Monsters exhibition. I can’t wait to see more of them for myself at the open preview tomorrow, and maybe even take a small one home, though my landlord might protest – there’s a no pets clause in our contract.