From 2000: The artist had a Tate St Ives residency in 1998/99 when she worked from a temporary studio improvised in the lifeguard’s hut close to the gallery. Here, she recounts her experience
Lifeguard’s Office, Porthmeor Beach, St. Ives, Cornwall.
Inside is a narrow concrete staircase, shower room, smell of rubber suits, damp air, spartan loo, grimy kitchen. Then a low concrete room 8 feet x 15 feet, very very cold but bright and light like a spectacular diamond overlooking the most beautiful expanse of sea and sky. Hundreds of miles of water, thousands of tons of air changing with the sun, the wind, the temperature, the moon and the tides. Every minute is different.
I chased lilacs, pinks, yellows, blues and greens by the hundred. White dazzled and deep purples enthralled me. I looked and mixed, looked again, mixed again, splashed, looked again, mixed again, painted, mixed, looked, looked all day, everyday, for four weeks in November 1998 and for three weeks in March 1999.
Drawings and paintings made in my studio in Preston, Lancashire mixed with the paper paintings made during those periods in the Lifeguard’s office in St Ives together formed the ten canvas works Plan B on show at the Tate until early May 2000. Two years from the first letter to the opening night.
Writing notes, making little drawings, trying to paint sea as if I hadn’t seen sea painted. Trying to keep warm.
Listening to Radio 2 – why can’t I bear my usual Radio 3 with its intense weaving of music, space and time? Reading conjuring books, drinking tea, lapsang souchong. Is the inside you know more dangerous to you than the outside you don’t know?
Writing notes, making scruffy drawings, argue on the phone with bank manager (LLoyds. Ted Hughes dies. Baghdad bombed.) Rolls of paper from Jacksons in Liverpool. Many pots of Liquitex, my old wonderful brushes. Books: Virginia Woolf, Bridget Riley, Frances Hodgkins, Barbara Hepworth. I have tapes and CDs but don’t listen to them. I miss my dogs, I miss my bath, I miss trees. I buy flowers and plastic animals. I collect pieces of smooth glass from the beach.
In the evening I eat fruit and pasties. It is warm in the tiny dark cottage but it is difficult to stay inside in the daylight.
I buy a hat, I am soaked most of the time. I wear three layers of clothes to work in and a pair of walking boots but no gloves. Can anyone paint in gloves?
Phoneless, I call the north of England from a very wet call box. Kind words help.
The days are beautiful; windy dark/bright horizons filled with fifty surfers, do they care its only me in here and not the competent lifeguards with training and a phone? Other days are dry and whistling, rushing by, tides in, out, in.
Twelve boats go from right to left, orange red. Another day three frigates sail mysteriously from left to right around and across the bays. On a windy walk on a clear and sunny freezing day seals are swimming far below.
Pools appear, tumbling blocks re-occur, chairs come and go, people stay away, words vanish.
Q.1: Where am I?
The paper works clearly belong each in its month November then March. The large canvas paintings were made in three periods; 4 fore the residency, 3 after the first, 3 after the second.
The studio in Preston is dark blue and overlooks parkland, river and fields, the view is green and grey. Ten paintings of vast rooms with sea and beyond are made here in the warm and the noise.
I want to show 6 works. Q.2: Why did he choose 10? Q.3: Am I invisible? Q.4: What is a project? Q.5: Why doesn’t he write? Q.6: Why get awkward about small sums of money? Q.7: Are listings political? Q.8: Is underfloor heating reliable? Q.9: Do the 500 people at the private view enjoy themselves?
A.1: Not sure. A.2: Goodness knows. A.3: No. A.4: You explain. A.5: This you know. A.6: Because they are. A.7: This you certainly know. A.8: Sometimes. A.9: Yes.
From the March 2000 issue of ArtReview – explore the archive.
