Leaning in and trusting…
I went to Dartmoor seeking to remember my love of drawing…
a long time love of mine which somehow, somewhere along the line, in the midst of all the other making, (of sculpture, video, and painting) got set aside and then forgotten.
I found her though, this love, this lover of mine, somewhere under a pile of drawing exercises and hours of reminding myself of how to sit with a thing and just look.
I found her after spending hours reminding myself of basic drawing skills, remembering how it is to look for light, tone, texture and form, and how it is to plough through mounds of paper, charcoal, pens, pencils and putty rubbers and then seemingly achieve ‘nothing’.
I found her at my point of exasperation, when I had given up all hope of finding her actually.
I found her when I was disillusioned, and when I had accepted that maybe she was gone forever. In fact maybe she had only ever been an unattainable, unachievable aspiration of mine and now I had (perhaps) finally let go of what others had warned me might be the impossible dream.
I certainly found her when I had let go of all the working hard and all the searching, the longing and the desire….
I found her when I felt complete with myself, when I was solid with the Taos mountain in my heart and in my belly. I found her when I needed nothing from her. That is when she came to me.
For when I had given up trying, hoping, wanting, searching, when I had finally recognised control is an illusion, when I had completely given up, then I gave everything over to my body, to the universe, and to the powers of a greater spirit.
I blind folded myself, tucked my earplugs under my turban and disappeared into my private interior intending to touch upon and express physically all that I was feeling. (on the inside, on the outside and all around me.)
In this private, protected, cocoon like place, with no expectations, other than a hope that I might feel ‘something’, suddenly I could sense her within and all around me. I could feel love again, I could feel this ancient and familiar lover in every cell of my being….
It was as if she had come to me on the breeze from some far distant land. It was as if she had been waiting for me to let go enough to enable her re-entry. It was as if she was in fact already me, a part of me, some kind of familiar me from the past that had been separated somehow, sometime a long while ago out of circumstance, necessity, and I don’t know what.
Now she was returning to me to make me feel myself again, to help me remember myself, and enable me to feel safe at home.
She was retuning to me so I could know something that only lovers know, I could remember something that only love can touch, I could remember and know again about the special and unique ‘something’ that actually has no words and is possibly the most important thing one can ever be gifted with.
As my love, this lover returned to me, I leant in towards her, I leant in beyond the point of no return, and trusted her with all my know how and with everything.
She had returned.
Could she be my perfect fit?
I felt complete.
Completely connected to her, in love and entirely surrendered…..together we were flowing…
drawing in, drawing out, drawing forth….
Mixed media drawings – drawn blind in Dartmoor, Devon
1st August 2014Left Hand Side ‘This Is It’.
Right Hand Side ‘Everything is Here.’
Photo Credit – (Images of Veronique) Claude Heath
MOVING PRACTICE, MOVING IMAGE
24th May – 21st June 2014
This exhibition from Veronique Maria marks the end of an 18 month research and development project: Moving Practice, Moving Image. Between 2012-2014 Maria reviewed her entire art practice to date, in great detail and she particularly explored the way in which ritual, performance and film have played important roles throughout her career.
The exhibition will illustrate the artist’s journey from form to film, look back over the work she created between 1973-2013, and explore how performance and ritual has impacted on her work and life.
Examples of drawing, ceramics, and wood turning, earth work, installation, and fibre work, sculpture, performance, and painting will all sit beside her most recent work with the moving image.
Artist Talk & Workshop
Saturday 14th June
Artist talk: 11am-12pm
Workshop: 1pm – 5pm
Who’s it for:
Adults of all ages. No experience necessary. (Artists and non artists welcome)
Workshop – £10
Booking for workshop essential as places are limited.
Email: email@example.com to book your place
By listening to our body, trusting our intuition, and accepting that we are a part of a greater whole beyond the individual self, and that we are held by these things, we can learn to surrender to the unknown and take greater risks in our lives. This workshop invites you to stretch beyond your comfort zone and live a little more dangerously in order to deepen your relationship with your self.
NB. Workshop content may include a short walk. If this is likely to be difficult for you please speak to the gallery before booking your place.
About the Artist:
Veronique Maria was born in London in 1959, with Anglo Irish Indian heritage and was educated in London, Devon and then New Zealand, Canada and Singapore.
With a first degree in the crafting of materials such as wood, metal, ceramic, and plastics, (BA hons, Art and Design, Brighton) and an masters degree in mapping the psyche (MA in Applied Psychosythesis, Middlesex) she is interested in how we relate to ‘self’ and ‘other’, and how we express ourselves in the world.
From an early age she developed a deep respect for nature and a profound sense of our interconnectedness with all things. She explores this in her art work using craft, sculpture, painting, film, performance, writing and sound. Often moving genre, she attempts to let go of what’s known, in order to find something new.
Since completing two projects funded by Arts Council England, Orogeny, 2009-2011, and Moving Practice 2012-14, she was awarded a Helene Wurlitzer Residency in USA and spent three months in Taos, New Mexico. Living 8,000 feet up a mountain close to an Native American Indian Pueblo and their sacred lands, she has been exploring what her creativity is when there is no pre-planned project in mind, no expected outcome from funders and no internal or external judgements and pressures. Her project in the desert has been Deep Listening.
The HWF Residency in Taos offered space for a process of slowing right down, letting go and listening …very very closely…
Trust Trust Trust were the words that kept coming to me as I selected some essential personal and practical items for packing, and then peeled myself out of my home, away from my loved ones, into the car that was heading for Heathrow.
Actually, in truth, my packing process had taken me about 8 full weeks in total. Things kept going into the case or sitting close by, and then getting removed again. After all, what exactly would I need to take for my new life in Taos?
Let me rewind a little…In 2013 I was invited by the Helen Wurlitzer Foundation to live in an adobe casita on their seventeen acres of woodland for three months. The purpose would be to develop my art work in whatever way I saw fit. There would be no pressure for an outcome.
It seemed like a wonderful opportunity. I felt honoured to have been chosen and was curious about the residency, so accepted gratefully, even though I didn’t’t really know what I was saying ‘yes’ to.
What I did know was that I would be there in the depths of winter, and would probably see the winter snows thaw, and bear witness the beginning of spring emerging. I knew also that I would be living at a high altitude and that this may cause breathing and moving problems. Another thing I knew, and was excited about, was that I would be living in very close proximity to the Native American Indian Pueblo and sacred mountains. I also knew there would be 9 other artists (including writers and composers) living and working on the residency too. Other than that I had no idea where this journey was going to take me.
As it turned out, living 8,000 feet up a mountain in New Mexico was fascinating but trying to make video art and at the same time stepping into the unknown waters of writing (well unknown to me) would be harder than I expected.
Having often changed art forms and written statements, blogs and academic papers to support that work, I thought I might try to write a screen play or a novel or something. I had felt I had a film inside me for years. The stories, mostly about love, loss and longing, and the transformation of form, needed to come out somehow and painting hadn’t’t been explicit enough for me, not for this particular topic.
In any event I would, and I was sure of this part, certainly manage to write some poetry whilst I was away.
All in all I was keen to let my creativity be free and be what ever it wanted to be.
Writing turned out to be much harder than I imagined. As I struggled to hold and organise my ideas in my head, I gained increased respect for the people who choose this as their life’s work. Apart from the fact that it seemed to be an even more insular and solitary art form than most, I found it incredibly difficult to keep a hold of and sculpt together all of my ideas. I could see shapes emerging, but there were so many to choose from and I kept getting lost or confused.
Inviting pure creativity to flow freely inevitably meant my creative process took some unexpected turns. The result is that I came back home to England with lots of curious seeds, a number of bizarre experiments and some unfinished ideas.
Most of all I came home richer in my spirit.
Whilst I was away I was often terrified and at the same time I was often incredibly nourished. I learnt a lot on this trip and nothing could have been preconceived. In fact the events are difficult to explain to you, even now.
Firstly, wrenching myself away from my home in England to travel to a continent I had never been to before was a task in itself. Childhood experiences of extensive travel and various traumatic separations had impacted upon me profoundly. I seemed to have developed phobias, fears and aversions to travel. As I started packing, months in advance in order to prepare myself psychologically for the maneuver, I wondered why it is that I always seem to need to put myself well out of my comfort zone, apparently ‘for my art’.
After the two day journey, leaving from the rolling softness of the south downs in Sussex and arriving in the dramatic mountains and extensive arid plains of the desert in New Mexico, and after taking several modes of transport, 3 cars, 2 planes and a bus, mostly with strangers, who became less strange to me as we went along, I arrived in Sante Fe.
I was sleep deprived and exhausted. I could hardly stand, let alone speak, and the effects of the altitude were hitting me harshly.
So when the 8 foot long conveyor belt for baggage reclaim at the airport showed no signs of my suitcase being on it, I thought it was because I was delirious. I soon discovered though, that my hold baggage had indeed gone astray. It had gotten lost during transfer at Dallas apparently, and no one knew where it had gone.
The fact that it contained all the important possessions that I thought I might need to get me through my three months stay in Taos, including valuables and personally precious things, made the loss quite distressing. I had been clinging on to the thought of those things in the absence of anything else familiar left in my life.
Except for what was on my back I had been separated from what seemed at the time to be’my life’. All my clothes, art materials, cameras, books, and sentimental precious knickknacks were gone. Whilst I didn’t’t think of it at the time, on reflection I realised it probably also consisted of all the most important things that I actually own.
It may seem a bit trivial, this loss, but the jet lag, sleep deprivation, culture shock and the effects of high altitude, had bundled themselves together with ‘lost life’ in the suitcase, apparently in an attempt to push me further to my emotional and physical edges.
As I struggled to breathe, orientate myself and settle myself it seemed as if I was pushing through treacle in slow motion.
A local artist who I had met on the Internet prior to my journey, and who had kindly offered to collect me at the airport explained “It’s New Mexico you know. New Mexico always seems to test us when we first arrive here.” She helped me fill out the relevant lost luggage paper work and the following day I look my small remaining bag, on the bus to Taos.
My new hurdle was adjusting to having no phone, no car and no Internet. For some reason all my pre-existing securities were rapidly falling away from me. I was alone, on foot, and gripping on to my last remaining bag, my back pack, as if my life depended on it. Then with all the energy and determination I could muster, I eventually summonsed the courage to lie down, rest and let go.
I had no choice but to be fully present to the moment, to connect deeply to myself, my body, my creative voice and the immediate environment and to listen clearly.
Who would I be when I had nothing, knew no one and made nothing?
Like most of us in the Western world, I had come to rely on technology to link me up to my personal and professional support systems. Back in the UK I had used these technologies to keep ‘connected’ on line, via phone and in person and my car was more like an extension of my body than a separate device I used. It took a lot of adjustment for me to accept I would have to now work without these security blankets.
Just as I felt I was doing quite well with making those necessary adjustments to being in the unknown flow of things I hit another edge. A few weeks in to the residency, having successfully made a short video and written about 30,000 words of a novel/screenplay, my computer completely crashed. It left me with a blank blue screen. Staring into this nothingness I wanted to cry and catch the first plane home. This felt like the final straw. I now had no access to word processing, calendars, contact lists, video files. Everything was gone.
After taking stock of the situation I began to consider how would it be to surrender more deeply to these tests, and simply ‘listen’ more acutely to my god, my creativity and my higher Self, the Great Universal Spirit, the something ‘other’, what ever that is, that indescribable, ‘unknown’ thing that seems to hold us from within and without. What would it be like to listen to that voice much much more than ever before and follow that force, that energy, follow it blindly, whatever, (and I really do mean WHATEVER) it was calling me to do and be?
I pondered this a while and then decided to step into the task with both feet.
By the time my watch battery died I was hardly fazed at all. I felt as if I had pretty much lost everything by that point. I was peeled back to basics, vulnerable, raw, naked.
I left my ‘dead’ watch on my wrist as a comforting connection to my son who had gifted it to me on my fiftieth birthday. What ever happened I would have him with me. But I also knew in my heart of hearts that he was with me, watch or no watch. My grandmother used to say she wanted to be free of ‘things’. She didn’t’t want to have clutter around her and she knew she could hold love, and precious moments in her heart. I tried to remember this lesson she had taught me as I felt my loved ones within me and I continued on as ‘normal’. The abnormal unknown had in some ways, by this time, actually become the norm.
Once I had surrendered to the natural flow of all things, everything started to slip into place and make so much more sense. The process of listening and surrendering became like a meditation, a spiritual practice, a way of being, which I consciously returned to moment to moment.
I was challenged time and time again as I was invited to manage extremely difficult emotional situations across the seas too. So far from home depression, anger, excitement and separation were all held across the oceans as I worked on keeping calm and letting things be fine, exactly as there were. I was of course powerless in this situation and the extent of my powerlessness was extreme. I could do little other than simply be.
Curiously, the more I surrendered, the more things came to me that I could never have imagined. And the more I was in the flow, the more incredible things happened.
I often found myself on difficult and demanding high wires, and all the time I kept listening and walking forwards. The more precarious the situation, the more depth of listening it required.
I often noticed myself saying to myself, “now I am here doing this, and now I am here and its like this.” And the ‘this’ and the ‘that’ that I was doing were mostly things way beyond my wildest dreams and fantasies.
Presenting my art and process to 350 people at the Taos Film Festival and chatting with the audience as if I was sitting with a friend in my lounge was just one small example of a challenge and unexpected result that occurred there. As I walked across the stage telling myself to ‘stay in your body, stay in your body’, I found I was not only thoroughly in my body and relaxed but I also felt as if I could have stayed on stage with the mic and chatted there forever. This didn’t’t fit with the shy stage fright person I thought I was.
Nothing was the same now and these heightened experiences of being fully present were becoming more and more incredible and indescribable.
By the time spring came, having lived like this for several months, I understood in my body, something about life that I had previously only known in my mind before.
Ofcourse I had encountered flavours of this on some occasions, sometimes, but I had never before embodied it so deeply and for such an extended period of time. I had lived this way for three months. It had been a long meditation practice.
It’s difficult to explain where this brings my art practice to now. In many ways I am still processing the experience and am waiting to see what happens next. I so hope it was deeply and permanently embedded within me; that it wasn’t’t something or somewhere you get in Taos, that fades after you leave. Time will tell of course. Only time will tell.
It’s my task now to keep being here, present right now and to trust and not to worry.
In this culture, climate and existence, its not as easy as on retreat in Taos, ….and I am working on it.
I don’t know how this experience will impact on my art, work, or life but what I do know is that my ability to trust now is far greater than it was before. I can somehow accept more easily that we are all transitory, part of a greater whole and that we have no control and can’t ever really know what will happen next.
I have an experience myself working without a formal project to work, not producing in a conventional sense., and when everything about me has fallen away, and I am raw, naked and exposed.
As a result of this experience my relationship to my existence, the existence of all things, and to existential tension, seems to have changed.
I came home with a piece of experimental writing that incorporates script for a screen play, memoir, novel, dialogue with my psychotherapist and poetry. Its written in layers and time isn’t’t a liner thing. It jolts and jumps between moments, life times, and experiences and it seems to me, is like one of my layer paintings. All being well it will for a chapter in a book about psycho-spiritual psychology, about to be published later this year and I will work on it more to created a larger piece of work in the future, perhaps the screen play I dream of.
For now though, I want to simply give thanks for the feeling of peace I have gained and my acceptance of what is. I am now able to watch and wondering without struggle or need to direct and work things out.
I am looking forwards too, in a new ways…
I have a solo show opening in R-Space Gallery, Belfast, Northern Ireland at the end of this week. It opens on Saturday 24th May and continues through to 21st June.
This is a very exciting opportunity for me. Its the first time my video work will be given such priority over my other work. My video, ‘I Cannot Help How My Heart Feels’ will be shown as the main piece in the exhibition and will be presented as an experiential installation as it is projected on two adjacent gallery walls.
Examples of my other work such as wood turning, fibre work, ceramics and earth sculpture, live art, performance and painting will also be represented in this show. I am thinking of it as a sort of mini retrospective – showing work made since 1973 through to 2014. I have committed my life to art and now, aged fifty five, I feel it’s an important time to reflect upon where I have been, evaluate what I have done, and consider where I am going and what it has all been for.
I will be flying over to Belfast to deliver a talk and workshop on Saturday 14th June and the subject open for discussion and exploration there will be ‘Deep listening’.
I believe passionately that art can change the world and that when we reposition it within our individual lives and our society, it can support us to lead healthier, happier and more fulfilling lives.
My time in Taos has helped me renew my energy around this belief and I am now newly focused on my mission to get art repositioned in our daily lives.
One starting point for this is to get my own art work out into the world more, and to share it and my ideas with others where ever I can.
I am currently creating a new web page which will be live on my website soon. It’s called SHOP and will have works for sale clearly identified there. With SHOP and galleries selling my original paintings and multiple print runs, all of various sizes, and public galleries such as R-Space Belfast, exhibiting my work, I hope to be able to make my art work more accessible to everyone from now on.
Beyond that I am currently meeting with a variety of clients working in interior design and architecture too, and supporting all that, I am writing about my ideas on art from a psycho-spiritual perspective.
Hopefully there are always going to be changes in how we see the world and how we respond. I believe art can play an important role in that process because of how it can invite and challenge us to change our perspectives, to re-look, and be open to new and otherwise unimaginable possibilities.
What has changed most for me in this recent trip is the way that I view listening. I now listen and respond to my sixth sense with more confidence and I notice too, (perhaps as a result of this new found confidence) that my ego has settled down a bit more, and that even my ‘I’ is resting back too.
It seems to be another place within or beyond my self that comes forwards now and chooses where I am pointing. As I listen carefully to this new directing power, I notice how my mantra comes more easily now… trust, trust, trust.
The Temple Of My Desire – Veronique Maria 2009-10
(ceramic and oil on canvas 300 x 150 cm)
The practice of Druidry encourages a more intimate relationship with the earth and this, in turn, enables us to deeply explore what it means to be embodied. Our experience of being physical beings in a material world encompasses a spectrum of sensations and emotions, from intense joy to deep pain and sorrow. The strength of Druidry is that it seeks to embrace and value all of these and in doing so, potentially brings us into a mindful relationship with life and self. An artist whose explores this relationship between the earth and the body, and the depth, richness and beauty that embodiment can bring, is Veronique Maria. She has made sculptures and earthworks; massive, richly textured canvases and, more recently, wonderfully sensual and beautiful films that she calls ‘moving paintings’. Veronique Maria creates her paintings by firstly getting in touch with a particular feeling and then allowing that feeling to work through the body onto the canvas via texture, colour and form. The images are layered over time with a depth of textures that make them appear three dimensional, as if they were taking shape and rising up from the canvas – ideas birthing into form; emotional experience embodied in paint and clay. Her most recent work has moved into film and explores the nature of Ritual – of how these simple acts performed with mindfulness connect the earth and the body with spirit, helping us to feel a part of ‘the natural flow of all things’. I include here a film of Veronique Maria working on a project of large canvases, inspired by the creation of Mountains. It is fascinating to watch and listen to her speak about the process. Please do check out her website too. Click here to watch her beautiful ’Moving Painting’ and for links to her other films.
Philip Carr-Gomm 4th April 2014
Veronique Maria in conversation with performance artists Alexandra Zierle and Paul Carter (Zierle & Carter) reflecting on rituals and performance in Fabrica Gallery, Brighton.
Veronique Maria: I think it would be good to talk about what’s happened since and the reflections of looking at the footage. What I want is some exploration around that place that I was in when I was doing the work, because that felt so important. Do you know what place I’m talking about?
Alexandra Zierle: Yes, completely. I remember what we talked about. I was just wondering when you looked back at the documentation whether that would reflect, whether you could actually see the different moods you were in – when you look at it? Or whether the visual now completely takes over and what the documentation means now after there has been a timespan in between and maybe the memories of the actual experience of performing might be lessened or take over when you look at the images as well and whether it gets replaced by the images and by the documentation you have on the computer now?
V: I think that there’s a massive gap between what happened, what I was intending to do, hoping to do, what I actually did, and what was documented. I keep thinking, I imagine if you were photographing someone making love you would photograph some visual thing of the external. You wouldn’t necessarily get the intimacy of the internal. Heart to heart, soul to soul connection. That intimate experience. It kind of feels like that. I think maybe something of that could be re-moulded from the material, somehow, through editing. What did you see going on in Fabrica?
A: It felt like, once it had started, just placing the first pieces onto the floor onto the metal, it felt like you really had entered into a different mode of being and you were just rolling from there. It all unfolded very naturally, very organically. And especially on the first day. It felt like there was something from you from the inside – which material to use next, and what was the next step. And there was a confidence there as well, as to what the next thing was to do.
V: I know what you’re talking about but how can you really describe that?
A: It is more about how it looked from the outside. We worked with the clay and then there was the interim space and it felt like you were moving away from what felt familiar. It moved to really being quite intimate with the space, and looking at what surfaces you can use for which material as well.
V: It feels like now, when I think about the footage, it just shows me what I did. Like proof. Because I look at the images and I feel a bit baffled.
A: Baffled in what way?
V: It does feel like a big stretch, feels like I took a big step into another realm or expression.
Paul Carter: The feeling of being baffled, is it that it’s a sense of ‘how do I find myself in this’ in relation to your earlier work, or is this represented differently to your other work. Or is it a sense that the images didn’t communicate the essence of what you were trying to explore, or is it both?
V: It’s not about the images, it’s about ‘how did I get myself here’. A surreal kind of feeling like this is the right place, and doing the right thing for right now, for me, but what am I doing here, how did I get here? I’m stepping into this commitment of ‘this is the work’. You know Laurel or Hardy used to say ‘that’s another fine mess you’ve got me into’. There’s a part of me going – ‘now that’s another fine mess. Look, look what you’ve done.’
P: There are two things. One is the presence of another person witnessing this – even us without a camera could potentially shift how you were working with the materials and then there’s the added element of a camera of which you know you’ve organised and it’s going to be your material. How is that?
V: There was a moment where I was doing something in my usual way. I mean it wasn’t really my usual way because it was still in a public space, so it still felt exposed and I still felt vulnerable. But no body was there documenting or really in that immediate space. I was really conscious of that.
A: Did it feel different?
V: I felt in a rush, ‘whilst no one’s here I’ll quickly take the essence of this assemblage.’ It felt like I was gathering something up quickly whilst no one was looking. It definitely felt freer. The fact that you were there documenting, witnessing, I felt self-conscious and I had to get over that. But once it started to flow, when I put the sand on the first piece, and then we had to stop because of the documenting. At some point we had to stop, and I did worry – ‘oh my god, what if I don’t get that flow back again?’ It makes me think about child birth, about sometimes you’re pushing and sometimes you’re just letting the flow happen.
A: So I’m still wondering how it felt for you, how you could keep your intention and your prayer alive throughout the dialogue?
V: Maybe it’s just about being with the intention and with the material and letting it flow or not flow and letting it do what it needs to do and when the flow comes, just be in it. Because I wasn’t aware of any cameras, there was a moment when I was sprinkling the sand when I didn’t care about anything. I was flowing somewhere and I was just going to go there. It was as if a lot of the time there was so much resistance or so many parts of me I had to get out of the way. My head is coming in saying ‘get that image, that will look good’, or ‘is the light there?’ There was a moment where I let all of that go and I was somewhere else, I was with the material in the space.
P: If you want to do this again, maybe you have documenters around and you hold the space and they’re just going to flex with you. Because the structure was finding itself throughout the process, and now you’re looking back on it and you’re finding that the structure may not be the right structure for it.
V: I do think that it’s like a smorgasbord of experiences. I do feel like it’s perfect to reflect back on all the different ways of being – with the tripod, with the camera, or just with the action.
A: It really depends on where you want to go with it – whether the complete extreme end would be that there is no documentation, and you have an audience instead, and they are the documentation – they take it away with their experience and their memory of encountering you and the materials.
P: The moment you choose to use video or image, essentially you’re making images and that comes with a frame. The action’s going to be contained within the frame and all this sort of stuff.
A: It can also highlight it as well.
V: The camera was where I was. I’m wondering what I cut off by saying ‘just my hands’, now, on reflection.
A: It’s interesting when we talk about intention and whether the intention comes across in the actual image. I love the quality of hands and their gestures and movements, they’re a soulful tool, but I guess that when you see the whole body you are much more used to reading the whole body.
P: And the body as a whole and whether it shows it relaxed or heavy, or whether it’s sort of more uncomfortable – all of these elements give a sense of how we would read intent.
V: The reason I said don’t show my body is because I just feel so uncomfortable with the way my body looks, so I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t bear to be looking at footage of myself. But maybe that’s the next step – I just have to get over that.
A: You could even use that in the work – your relationship with your body. Then the relationship with your body and the material. How they relate to each other and how prayer comes out of that, and what the prayer is saying – what’s it about.
V: That’s what you said when I said about the space. I was really uncomfortable about the space being so… You could use that, you could really work with that uncomfortable, haunted, intimidated stuff that was going on for me about the space. You’re right…
A: For me, it’s very interesting material having these limitations and conflicts, that go on. It’s a form of giving birth again to something new, forming those conflicts and looking at them in a new, creative way. Actions can come out of it and ways of interacting with materials, and how your body sits with that. It can be very gentle, it doesn’t have to be dramatic.
V: So, as witnesses, what did you witness? Because I know you were focusing on the job in hand of documenting…
P: I think what I witnessed was your courage to explore a new way of making work. And that was important for me, regardless of how the documentation… Of course, I hope that it was wanted, but I came away really like… You’ve made an important step, that’s what I witnessed. I know it’s in this place now of feeling uncomfortable, perhaps because you’ve taken that step and it’s only one step in relation to thousands of steps that you’ve made before that were around a particular art form, and this is the one step that makes it outside of that. But yeah, I think there’s something really important in there to be explored and it’s quite important – well not important -that it feels uncomfortable, but it shows something that really has the potential to be transformed, or to be birthed, or to be shared…
A: Do you feel uncomfortable with what happened in Fabrica?
V: I didn’t feel uncomfortable
A: No, it was more about when we talked about the body when the word uncomfortable came in. I felt quite uplifted, it just felt like you really stepped into your power a little bit. Once you started going you were in it and you knew exactly where things were going next and you were just flowing in the space, there was a really nice dynamic. And a kind of inner drive, that really allowed you to do it – it became very natural. It felt like you were completely embracing it and doing it. It felt very satisfying, and fulfilling to be there and be witnessing it. It felt from what you said that this is something you have done so much outside of your practice as more of a preparation process. To me it makes perfect sense that this is the practice. It doesn’t take away doing any of the other works you have been doing, but this is also the practice. You’re making it visible, it’s a big step.
V: It’s really helpful to know what the impact is on an audience. You were there witnessing, you were the audience, and it had an impact.
A: It helped me to be able to touch the material – I was very drawn to it. It felt like, with Fabrica, that you lay the foundations. And you were walking on the ground – I mean, you were literally laying foundations! There are so many different branches that could come out of it. It could go completely into film, still image, and it could go into even more detail. Or it could go out, you know, forget about the camera. So it could go in any direction or have multiple sides happening at the same time.
Veronique’s film work evokes a sense of transience and without alarm, gently reminds me of the continuous passing of time. It seems her acceptance of change and the inevitability of death has evolved from her relationship with the natural world.
Veronique’s career started in sculpture, before moving into painting and recently progressing into film. I became Veronique’s assistant at the point of her progression into video. On researching and contexualising her work I saw similarities between the prolonged scene filming of video painting and the ephemeral sense of time in her piece ‘Vanita’.
In video painting a scene is filmed for a prolonged period of time, with very little camera movement. At first, the result appears to be a regular, motionless painting. On closer inspection, the works are in fact moving, portraying a sense of the impermanence of time. Emerging in 2001, after the publication of Hilary Lawson’s ‘Closure’; directed at what Lawson saw as the “impending crisis of postmodernism”, this new art attempted to avoid closure and approach openness by eliminating the still image – an image frozen in a specific space or time.
Video painting has since become hugely popular, with certain galleries now dedicated to the art form. The Open Gallery, based in London, was formed in 2006 and solely exhibits video paintings – a form of art that really began with a philosophy. In addition to this, exhibitions focusing on this new art form have taken place at high profile venues including the Institute of Contemporary Arts, The Hayward Gallery and The Miami Ice Palace.
As well as their similarities to video painting, Veronique’s moving paintings are also closely linked to the still-life painting style ‘Vanitas’ first executed in 16th and 17th Century Flanders and Netherlands. This style aims to remind viewers of the transience of life, the futility of pleasure, and the certainty of death.
It seems to me that in both her static painting and film, Veronique builds on video painting and the ‘Vanitas’ still-life style, as she celebrates life and death through fluidity, layering, and her deep sensitivity to nature. To me, Veronique’s static paintings elevate themselves way above the ‘frozen image’ condemned by Lawson, and approach a reassuring openness that is simultaneously comforting and humbling.
Kate Davey. Art Historian and Writer. August 2013