There is just so much art to see in museums, collections and galleries; and every day the number of things I feel I ought to know about, or be aware of gets larger and larger. It is very easy for feelings of inadequacy to grow correspondingly bigger and bigger. I think this sense of being overwhelmed is what I meant at 21 when I embarrassingly said in my Royal College MA interview - "I don't really like going to art galleries".
I don't think i could have explained what i meant back then, even if I'd really thought about it, which I'm ashamed to say I didn't. At that time i was suffering from an appalling lack of education, interest, enquiry, or ability to do anything more than just survive. As a young woman, wanting to "be an artist" was a feeling that turned quickly into a rather poor attempt to 'fit in' by drinking too much, taking drugs and having inappropriate sex. My knowledge of "making a living" or even "having a plan" was shockingly poor, but as the daughter of a progressive art educator in the 1970s I feel that i should have known. I should have shown an interest. Not doing so has long been a source of shame and self doubt. Did I not listen, or could I not hear? I can understand why my mother called me ignorant; but actually I was just trying to cope in a world that I wasn't emotionally equipped to live in.
My life was not intellectually driven in any way at that time. That has come later, and from that, I am beginning to develop an interest in 'why' and 'how'. At 20 I was raped and very scared. My reaction to life from then on was one of self preservation; one of fear and wanting to hide, but desperately wanting still to 'fit in'. I was incredibly lonely and have remained so. With hindsight I am actually really pleased that my interest at that stage was not in the academic. If it had been I may have found a dark corner to hide in. Instead, although I may have tortured myself for years, all that time, even whilst kicking and screaming, I have been looking, listening and forming opinions. I may not have been confident or eloquent enough to express those opinions very well, but I'm facing my demons and I'm not afraid anymore. I'm not afraid of me, or loneliness. Now I am confident in my ability to react to the world in my own way; as an artist; using texture, surface, shape and intellectual challenge to interpret some of the wonder of what it means to exist. Being 51 with two failed marriages is actually ok.
