Just returned from my trip to London, where I took part in 'Construction Line', I live performance and exhibition exploring the ownership of artworks and the idea ow creativity as work.
The project space that was to be our 'factory' was a sweatshop in a former life. Having spent almost six hours working in the space, fingers numb with cold and back aching from leaning over the work, I was very glad the [DoR]s artists sweatshop was a one off affair.
Seated at a row of desks one behind the other, with a single naked bulb dangling above, the other artists and I lay out our materials and tools and prepare to work. We begin by making our own work, and although this should be the easy part, I feel pretty reluctant to make anything. I havn't prepared properly and my clay slabs are too soft to build with. Now the demand to produce really kicks in and time limit becomes a pressure.
The buzz of the timer signals the changeover. Sitting at the front of the line, I can't see anything the others are doing. While I relinquish my work to the artist behind, a construction of wood and fabric is deposited on the the desk before me. Its big, it blocks my view, a pyramid shape with foil ribbon and fabric walls. I no idea what to think.
Each new object appeared before me met by a feeling either of excitement, curiosity and a desire to get to work, or one of dread. It felt a lot like school, the kind of feeling when you are met with a project that you cant wait to do, or one that you cannot bear, but know that you have to do. The obligation to work on something you did not choose, and may not like, is an unusual experience for a creative person, and definitely a valuable one. Being part of the Construction line was a challenge.
The work produced with be part of a showcase until Wednesday.
