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I have been trying a bit more printmaking. Shambolically, since that’s the way I do things; and without a press because even if there were money for one, it wouldn’t fit in the house without throwing out someone’s bed.

So, armed with the white-hot technology of some sharp points, a roller and a wooden spoon, I made some linocut Christmas cards (I mentioned these before). They were crude and simple things but quite fun to do; and more to the point, I could do them inside and stay warm. Since then I have started a couple more, for birthday cards and the like.

Printing takes a different approach to painting, though: a lot more planning and front-end design, not to mention the dark arts of registration (aka lining stuff up straight) and getting used to the idea that the print will be the reverse of the plate. It’s not something I have been able to work with so far in a spontaneous way, and you could easily argue that better results could be achieved with a ten-minute burst of Photoshop, but it is a good way to build up a stock of inexpensive art for cards and postcards.

So far I have kept my fingers away from the sharp things, and a pot of block-printing medium means I can use the paints I already have, so I haven’t spent much on materials. If nothing else, it should keep me busy until the Spring comes, and I can go back outside to paint.

About a year ago I set up this site, as part of a half-assed exercise in the performative part of making art. It’s my attempt at having an online presence, while avoiding the whole Instatwitface scene. Unsocial media, you could probably call it – like Eleanor Shellstrop, I am not, by inclination, a joiner-in.

I get a monthly letter from an art group I had to join to take part in an event, which gives details of open exhibitions, competitions and grants. That gave me the opportunity to join the makers in the craft tent at Towersey Festival, which was great fun and taught me the value of thermal underwear while camping in England. In August.

I did a couple of local exhibitions, including a small solo show, found a print company that could scan canvases and make decent digital prints, and sent a whole bunch of emails that were never answered, or rejected with various degrees of politeness. I’ve written semi-regular not-quite-random posts for this site, even had cards printed.

Has it been worth it? Well, I haven’t bankrupted myself in the process (and you can spend an awful lot of money chasing the elusive tail of the Art Market, it seems, if that’s your thing), but I’ve not covered my costs either. I’ve met some great people, seen a lot of art in all kinds of media; learned a lot. Writing these posts has been a good discipline even as I have grudged the time it takes, although I suspect they go largely unread.

Short of time, money, space and credentials, without marketing skills, representation or anything resembling a plan, I haven’t moved any mountains, but so far I’ve no completely binned it either. I’m prepared (for now, at least) to give it another year.

In all their random glory… https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Sbc7LbV3zPkYxbWFsgloT

Best wishes for the New Year – good luck with whatever comes next.

The cards are done. For the first time since I was about nine, I have made some linocut prints, which were fun. A basic starter kit for school children got the job done, in an authentically shonky home-made style. I’ll get some sharper tools, though, before I do it again.
The advent calendar, a wooden one we have had for years, has been dug out of the cupboard and filled with chocolate coins that apparently no one is too old for. The tree is on hold for now, because this year we have a half-grown cat. A gleeful and acrobatic predator, she has already murdered a pair of curtains, swarming up them like a pirate until sharp claws and gravity reached their inevitable conclusion; and no one likes decorating the tree enough to redo it every day, so it can wait.
We are all dragging ourselves through the last two weeks of darkening days before the holidays, yawning and cursing Thomas Edison for keeping us from the hibernation our creature-selves are longing for.