Post exhibition analysis

Imagining Antarctica exhibition at ArtsPost

I learned years ago that when someone asks whether an exhibition is 'successful', or 'went well' they generally mean 'did you make lots of sales?' Unfortunately , only a small proportion of artists have sell out exhibitions and as an 'emerging' artist it would be easy to get discouraged if that was the only or even best way to measure success.

Over my years of exhibiting I've learned to understand success along a number of axis including meeting my own exacting standards of quality, receiving attention and positive feedback, expanding networks and enjoying new opportunities, as well as making sales. By savouring and celebrating success in all of these areas I can be pleased with any achievements without being too disappointed by the things I can't control.

If I am able to look around just before people arrive for the opening and feel relaxed pride and enjoyment at seeing my own work, then I consider the exhibition is a success, no matter what else comes to pass. If I want to revisit the show during its season, and am able to look at every work without focusing on imperfections, then I have succeeded in satisfying my harshest critic.

I assess my success at receiving attention by asking whether my effort to get publicity were rewarded. Has the exhibition received attention from people beyond my own circle of friends and supporters? Is it reviewed? Am I mentioned in articles, interviewed, featured on blogs or otherwise given publicity that I didn't specifically seek by myself.

Positive feedback is collected in conversation at the opening, or later; comments on my blog or facebook posts, in emails from friends, acquaintances and strangers- I always make sure my contact details are easily available to take away from the exhibition.

I measure my expanded networks by counting the new names added to my mailing list, the new 'likers' on my facebook page, hits on and followers of the blog. Extending and reinforcing connections with collectors, curators, gallery owners and managers, art advisers and members of art organisations with influence carry extra weight in measuring success along this axis,

New opportunities that arise from an exhibit can include invitations to exhibit or submit proposals. My own pursuit of new opportunities is enhanced by being able to attach to my proposals the interviews or reviews associated with the exhibition.

Sales feels like the most difficult to succeed at, the thing I have the least control over and that I understand the least. At a minimum I hope to sell at least one work. If I can make enough to cover the gallery fee, I am relieved. If I make enough to cover all or most of the upfront expenses of putting on an exhibition, I feel richly rewarded. I look forward to a sell out show, to making a profit and to one day being able to support myself from making art.

Imagining Antarctica has been a success in all these criteria. My expectations were exceeded in every way. Examples include:

• I returned several times through the month to go see my own exhibition, partly to stay in touch with the gallery and meet viewers, but also because I felt pleased and relaxed around my own work.
• My efforts at achieving publicity were mostly successful, especially locally and on the internet. I was particularly pleased with this interview and this unsolicited review. I know of at least three more interviews/articles to be published over the next few months.
  
• So much positive feedback! I've been overwhelmed with emails from people I don't know, or barely know who have taken the time to tell me how much they like the show eg "Just stunning - perfectly executed and quite moving."
  
• On the opening night I was invited to participate in a group show of textile artists called Interlocked which opens this Sunday 2 October at Northart, Auckland.
• Three works were sold: Tipping Point, Melt and Plume, covering most of my upfront costs and relieving me from the debts I'd incurred to put on the show.

Overall I've experienced a boost, not only to my bank account, but to my confidence and my reputation. It feels like Imagining Antarctica has helped lay a strong foundation for pursuing my next goals with courage and persistence. If I'd only been counting sales, I wouldn't be feeling so well resourced for the future right now.

A visitor to the gallery poses in front of My Antarctica taking advantage of the permission to photograph.
She's much more likely to tell her friends about the show now that she has a photo of herself to share.

An Evening Sunrise

Its been a great joy to return to my collaborative altered book project with Bethwyn, Frugal with the Bruegel. We had a long winter break while I was caught up in preparing for exhibitions and she had a term and a half of teaching full time.


However, early in the year we had decided to enter some books in the Association of Book Crafts biannual exhibition opening in Auckland later this month, so that was extra incentive to overcome any inertia that might have delayed out altered book project further. We entered two books were more or less finished last year and two books that we finished this week. Here is one of the recently finished books, Sunrise, in its entirety.


I happen to be reading a lovely book by Diane Ackerman called Dawn Light: Dancing with cranes and other ways to start the day, which is a series of meditations on dawn through different seasons and in different environments. She is a favourite author of mine for peaceful, grounding yet uplifting prose. I also feel like this spring heralds the dawn of a new stage in my creative practice, as I prepare to lift my game up another few notches. So Sunrise is a very apt book to be sharing with you.


The base book 'Sunrise' was a perfectly lovely wordless meditation on a single dawn from a single perspective on a small rural village, in which a few quirky characters appeared. Bethwyn and I added an abundance, perhaps almost an excess of quirky characters and other additions to this, working on it in slow, occasional bursts for at least a year.

If I arrived at a Frugal with Bruegel session feeling anxious or sad, a couple of hours of gentle silliness with Sunrise would make me feel good again.



Sunrise is also known between Bethwyn and me as the Uncle George book because of our extensive use of a couple of 70s kids books in which Uncle George takes his niece and nephew to the zoo and tv studio. You can play spot Uncle George if you want!


Some of the best contributing books to Sunrise were old primary school textbooks and story compendiums with images by many different illustrators.


Dinosaurs and other prehistoric life from evolution (and creationist) books were the final touches to tie everything together in the last session.


Unlike the art I make with textiles which is very conceptual, deeply researched, deliberately planned and exactingly executed, Frugal with the Bruegel is spontaneous, playful, casual, whimsical, intuitive and often ridiculous. Which is not to say we don't have rules, but only for us to feel no pressure and have lots of fun.





The point of making Sunrise was to lighten my heart in the making. If it has a message its only perhaps to slow down and look carefully, because there's a lot to see in every spread. Not only the weird incongruencies I pasted in, but the original illustration beneath is full of interest too. Viewing these photos on a computer screen its probably not easy to always tell what I've added and what was there first. At this distance I'm not completely sure myself anymore.





You can see the real thing, along with our other altered book submissions to the ABC book exhibition at Lake House Arts Centre, 37 Fred Thomas Drive Takapuna, Auckland between 31 October and 20 November.

Bronze vs Clouds

Here is my first finished little cloud. It's as big as two small balls of crochet cotton will yield, about 17x12cm. It casts lovely lacy shadows and spins in the breeze. I'm very pleased and want to make more.

I've started another cloud which I intend to be bigger, and more dispersed than this small ash cloud. I crocheted the first sphere while listening to a fascinating talk by Andy Lowe at the Waikato Museum about his experiences of installing Michael Parekowhai's incredible bronze sculptures at the Venice Bienale .

Micheal's huge bronzes weigh tonnes, literally. There was a piquant contrast between hearing about his heavy bulls and grand pianos being hoisted out of the Grand Canal and into the Palazzo Loredan dell'Ambasciatore versus the airy, almost weightless little cloud bubble taking shape in my hands as I listened. Of course packing, transporting and installing such crushable delicate pieces will bring their own technical challenges where ever they end up being shown, but I doubt block and tackle will be needed.

Eyjafjallajökull and Puyehue-Cordon Caulle

Imagining Antarctica is up in ArtsPost for one more week, so if you haven't seen it yet there's still time. Since installing it three weeks ago I have been having a rest from blankets, and besides catching up on paperwork and housework what have I been up to?

I had the flu for a week and didn't do anything. But before I got sick I finished restoring, at long last, my Adana printing press. Yesterday I inked up for the first time and printed 75 new business cards for myself. It was fun to remember how easy printing can be, especially on a little, user-friendly press like the Adana.


As a reaction against my single-minded focus on blanket stitching land- and ice-scapes with heavy wool blankets for most of the past two years, I have been crocheting light as air little mesh spheres. I've had an urge to make clouds for ages: the aurora borealis of Antarctic winters, the radiation leaking out of Fukiyama, the volcanic ash clouds that have grounded planes around the world recently.

In my first experiment I used up a small hank of thick creamy wool which gave three small gorgeous cloud like globules. New wool is beyond my means at the moment (the exhibitions have left me with some debt) so I've been checking out the haberdashery bins in op shops hoping to find a big stash of a suitable yarn for one of my cloud making ideas. The first thing to show up was a couple of new balls of fine crochet cotton in variegated greys.

Crocheting cotton hadn't been my intention (too fine, too slow) but the grey shouted the volcanic ash of Iceland and Chile. I've been making mesh balls, sort of 360degree doilies in various sizes. To make them spherical I'm experimenting with various home made starch recipes and methodologies. When the crochet is soaked with starch I stuff it with green wool roving to hold its shape while it dries

The next step will be to stitch all my little spheres together to make a small cloud of particulate matter suspended in midair.

An event

Bergs in foreground and Blizzard in background

Sunday afternoon's artist's talk and poetry reading event at ArtsPost for the Imagining Antarctica exhibition went very well. There were about 15 people in the audience, who seemed very attentive and asked good questions. I talked quite a lot about Antarctica and why it is meaningful for me, and how particular pieces in the show relate to my particular concerns. It was great to have the big My Antarctica relief map to demonstrate distances and identify places. Much of what I talked about is covered, more or less, in this interview with me published last week on Books in the Trees.

Part of my audience.
I've been unable to get a good photo yet of work on the wall behind them, the glass reflects the window light in the mornings so I need to go of an afternoon to document that part of the show.

I brought along a couple of props as well. My well-thumbed and much beloved copy of Kim Stanley Robinson's novel, Antarctica, which launched me on this creative path. I also did a small demonstration of how I needle felt the blanket layers to create colours and build height (and depth) in my 3D works.

Demonstrating preparing the wool for felting (this and photo above taken by Janice Meadows)

It was a treat to read lots of poems instead of the two or three max required in the group readings I participate in occasionally. I read my Antarctic hero poems, and some with evolutionary themes relating to the Deep Time work I showed last year along with others from the extraction series relating to my mining pieces seen in Melbourne earlier this month. And various unrelated poems of a science fiction bent. All 15 poems were written within the past two years, so even though I don't feel like a very productive poet (and certainly this year has been a bit dry on that front) I could see I'm not doing too badly, when they are all gathered together as on Sunday.

Me and My Antarctica (photo by Marion Manson)

Poems and Interviews etc

I'm very honoured to have my poem 'Ponting's Genius' featured as the Tuesday Poem on Tim Jones' blog Books in the Trees. It's one of the Antarctic poems I will be reading on Sunday 28 August 3pm at ArtsPost, surrounded by my Imagining Antarctica exhibtion. As well as the Antarctic series I will be reading other recent poetry, mostly relating to same environmental themes that inform my visual arts plus plenty of science fiction poems like Cake (coming out in Enamel 3 next month).

And in the special bonus artist's talk portion of the event I will be discussing my visual art- the thinking behind this exhibtion, and my technique. Questions welcome (though you may find many of your questions answered in the interview that will be appearing in Books in the Trees later this week).

* * *

Here's some of the print media attention I've received this month.

In the Waikato Times Arts Page on 19 August. The lovely photo is by Jody Saturday, a photographer friend with an extraordinary talent for taking flattering portraits. Despite my wan, worn-out countenance lately she managed to make me look good, along with Melt. (The Waikato Times link takes you through to the full story)

In Riff Raff 3, Hamilton's 'edgy' arts magazine I got a full page of photos of my stitching.

Opening Antarctica

Imagining Antarctica is at last successfully installed and opened. Its wonderful to see all the pieces I've made over the past 18 months finally all unpacked and hung together, filling the space beautifully.


There is more to say of course, but truthfully I feel a little shell shocked and completely inarticulate. The lead up to last night's preview was intensely exhausting and stressful. Right now all I want to do is sit in the sun and reread favourite novels.


If I had been up for making a speech at the preview it would have included a lengthy list of thank yous, worthy of an Oscar winner. My deep gratitude goes to so many people who have provided all kinds of support, but most especially to those whose help has been practical and/or saved me from crisis. Stuart Briden, Grace, Emily Rumney and Stephanie Chalmers each contributed with invaluable advice, materials, curation and/or installation and without these professionals my work would not look nearly so fine. Chris Fairly and Robin McIntyre have been tireless transporters and interested problem solvers. Lynda Johnston saved me from being buried under boxes of finished work by offering secure storage. Anna Littler, Sarah Oliver and Eleanor Lefever Taschen have all saved my sanity on more than one occasion in the past months. But most especially I must thank my parents, Norman and Martha Simms, for their ongoing generous assistance is what makes my life as an artist sustainable. Also they make really excellent opening food.

Box o' Bergy Bits

The technical term for small icebergs is bergy bits. I kid you not. I am finishing off the last iceberg for next week's Imagining Antarctica exhibition. Already I have a box of seven completed icebergs, which I think of as my Box o' Bergy Bits. All the finished ones got measured, priced and labelled today. Whew. Another job ticked off my list.

Last iceberg, to be finished in the next five days.

F*** Your Donation

Opening night

I've just returned from a whirlwind four days, three nights in Melbourne. I installed Spoil at the First Site Gallery at RMIT, attended the opening and then flew home. To cram all of Spoil into the checked baggage requirements of Air New Zealand, some assembly was required in Melbourne, so I spent several hours in the gallery stitching the stacks of gold coins to the acrylic mount.

Levelling the hanging gold

This was definitely the loveable problem child of my three pieces. Lovely assistant curator Kellie Barnes (who also let me stay at her house), patiently spent hours up a ladder with her arms above her head measuring and tying, while I stood at the base of the ladder, supported the work and complained about my own sore arms.

Kellie hanging gold

It was totally worth it, as the hanging piece looked exactly as I had intended and attracted a lot of attention at the opening. I was really delighted with how Kellie and Andrei Davidoff curated my installation with me, so that as visitors approach the main gallery down a long low corridor, they see all three pieces lined up. The gold hovering in the distance looks every bit as ethereal, science fiction-y and enticing as I hoped it would. The contrast between it and the low leaden weight of the grey spoil heap is balanced by the opencast Australia piece in the middle, which does not reveal much from a distance and required visitors to come close and lean in to see inside.

Spoil viewed from the gallery entrance

I enjoyed watching people engage with the installation at the opening. It seems to invite physical responses... not just your standard gallery looking pose. One guy couldn't resist touching all the pieces, but mostly people peered, bent, leaned, crouched and circled most satisfactorily. I tried to get people to tell me what they thought it was about before I answered their questions about my own intentions. Most people picked up the mining references pretty effortlessly, but there were also some food interpretations (cakes, kumara mash)- no surprise there!

Snow Progress

I'm feeling a bit calmer this week than I have been for the past month or so. It helps to have cleared some finished work out of my tiny studio into temporary storage, and very reassuring to be chewing through my to-do lists. For example, the melt water tunnel piece (Melt) is now finished and mounted. I really want to make another one, more of a straight crevasse version, but I won't have time before the exhibition, so this one will just have to represent all meltwater features for the moment.


And I'm making good progress on Stragusi (another wall relief showing wind blown snow features). Now that I've worked with beautiful ice blues of Melt, my standard white on cream stitching seems a little bland, but the textures and patterns of this piece more than make up for the monochrome palatte.

Counting down

Attatching Blizzard to its (hand-me-down offcut) acrylic mount using buttons.

Three weeks until the Melbourne opening, a month until Imagining Antarctica opens in Hamilton.

The momentum has definitely tipped towards completion. More work finished than not, more work nearly finished than merely started, more work begun now than not. But the work, both finished and unfinished, is pushing hard at all my limits; limits of time, money and most of all space available to realise my vision.

This is the point where it becomes impossible to maintain any illusions that I can operate independently or am remotely self-sufficient in my creative work. I gratefully accept all offers: storage, transport, materials, help, advice. Well, advice is always the most difficult to accept graciously, but I am trying!

The everyday challenges of life feel like an unbearable affont for slowing down the pace of my frantic preparations. Another flat tire on my bicycle, incorrect prescription in my new spectacles, damp laundry, spilled food, bills I can't afford, relentless rain or missed connections all seem disproportionally dangerous for the threat to derail my attention from the deadlines.

I'm on an emotional rollercoaster that feels rickety, precarious, desperate. But, underlying the fear and exhaustion are my memories of going through all this before. I've skidded along this same terrifying path and survived in the past. The memory of my proven capacity to do this is what enables me to sleep at night. I know the secret of success, which is to just keep going. To take the next step and the next step and the next, no matter how hopeless or pointless or useless I feel. Just keep going.

The swirly mustard beneath is an old quilt that forms an integral part of my studio equipment, propping up and/or protecting work as its made.

Melt in progress

I know, I know, the one I'm working on is almost always my favourite, but this piece, called Melt, really is my current favourite. The luscious ice blues of the glacier's melt-water tunnel are so deep, so rich, so creamy yet pure, and this time its my best yet graduation of hues. The sensual curve of the tunnel's negative space lined with satisfyingly plump layers of needle felted blanket are irresistible. I feel sure that Melt will be snapped up as soon as the exhibition opens.

There is also an elusive nostalgia associated with this piece for me. The top layer of ice blue thread on creamy felted wool reminds me of something I knew as a baby- perhaps a bonnet. That's it, a white woolen bonnet with satin ribbons in a classy 1960's style, covering my baby-head against the Canadian snows.

Open Cast Australia

The second third of the Spoil installation was completed the other day. The map at the centre and the images of flowers and animals and indigenous Australians around the outside are from a vintage souvenier table cloth. I sewed on tiny red beads to represent active mines.This piece is almost as big as the spoil heap element of the installation, over half a metre across (as the crow flies).

Stitching the rusty and golden brown threads onto orange blankets to form the sides of the mine, and beading the map reawakened my desire to someday make a leisurely roadtrip around and across Australia. My Cape York expedition a few years ago gave me a taste for the outback which has yet to be satisfied. I find the textures, patterns and comparatively limited palatte of hot desert to be as engrossing, in their own way, as the textures, patterns and palatte of Antarctica's cold desert.

Three views of icebergs

Break Up (detail)

I've recently finished stitching three iceberg pieces. Break Up, the large 2-D embroidery is at the framers right now. An iceberg tip with two towers is has joined the box of other smallish iceberg sculptures (where it is the biggest in that collection).

Newest two tower iceberg tip

And the monstrous full iceberg with below water base is all stitched up, but my Plan A for mounting it isn't going to work. I like to lie awake at 4am and imagine alternative plans that can be achieved within the budget and timeframe. Suggestions more than welcome.

My iceberg base lolls about still unsupported

With all this bergy goodness in my life at the moment I was excited to hear Gabby O'Connor on Radio NZ National's Arts on Sunday programme talking about her beautiful iceberg art. I wish I had time to get to Wellington for a look at it in City Gallery, the photos on her blog are amazing! Her iceberg base is over 12m long and made out of tissue paper on a geometric structure. Stunning, grand, gorgeous! I'm in love. I hope my Wellington readers will go along to her show and then tell me all about it ( E!)