HOME WORK - art in lockdown
The production of art or none during times of lockdown, home reclusion, fear, illness and isolation
Paul King; Niamh Seana Meehna; Susan Hughes; Nollaig Molloy; Anna Nangle; Zara Lyness; Alla Fitzpatrick; Chloe Austin
This online project aims to offer an opportunity to show any kind
of creative work being done, planned or dreamed up during this time of lockdown, caused by the Corona virus: images, project descriptions, videos, art, craft, recipes, gym routines, games,
During this health- social and economic crisis and the official regulation that non-essential work should be done from home, art production is mainly limited to the available space in the kitchen or living room or the corner of the bedroom- if there is any available space at all. Home-work with all members of a household cramped together, partners, children or housemates, is definitely restrictive.
But what seems to be most difficult for all, not just for artists, is the fear of the illness, the physical distancing and isolation required to protect our self and others and its cruel effects on people, who severely suffer under the illness or even die. It's tough for our mental health.
Add the financial uncertainty many artists live under, being used to gig-or freelance work and having mostly lost their small income, forced to sign on to Universal Credit- if they don't already live under that scheme, the desperation is even more increased.
Below are some links for more detailed information, advise,help and initiatives.
HOME WORK wants to collate some examples of creativity in the widest sense, failures to do so, plans for a later date and successes. A validation which is of course questionable.
However, there should be a degree of editing of the material you see fit for a public platform. Most of all please do send a short description of the spatial-social- mental conditions you work under and a detailed description of the work itself.
Please send your material as a pdf (not more than 5 MB) to email@example.com
Paul King- workplace. 'My other girl isn’t in the photo. The plum painting is by Anna.'
I turned to painting during the coronavirus lockdown. I tried still life painting which is something I haven’t
done since school. I painted things from my kitchen such as tomatoes, peppers,
oranges, apples, onions. All these foodstuffs were ordered by phone from my
local greengrocer who delivered the produce to my front door. One thing I
noticed was how much nicer the fruit and veg looked compared to my usual big
supermarket shopping trips. We’ve always bought from our local grocer, but now
we are getting all our fruit and veg produce from there. The food produce
doesn’t have that uniformity of look compared to the big supermarket. Yes it is
dearer in price but it’s much more interesting.
The plum painting is by Anna.
I did my paintings A3 size. I
extended our dinner table and sat at one end. Sometimes I would have the whole
table to myself but a lot of the time I was sharing the table with my children
who were either doing their emailed homework weekly assignments or they were
creating their own artworks or sometimes they would join in with me on painting
the still-lifes, the fruit and veg from the kitchen counter. Firstly I used
acrylic paints, but then I used my Chinese painting brushes along with an ink
stone and an ink stick. The dinner table was very cramped when we were all
trying to work at it. Everything would have to be cleared away for lunch or
dinner. The sunshine was great coming through the window.
Niamh Seana Meehna - Workspace
The first written line will set-up the narrative for this
conversation, if I am having a conversation? I don’t know who I am anymore,
perhaps I did not know who I was before. I tried on lot’s of different hats, but really none of them
fit. I am not sure what my future self will be and whether I have a role in this
discuss. My practice and research investigates the work of Samuel Beckett, as a critical
lens to examine contemporary storytelling. I have found myself turning to
Beckett now more than ever. Not for answers, because the Beckett character is still
searching for the reason, but for, listening to the inner voice. Krapp’s
Last Tape (1958) for example, Krapp is accessing his past life through a tape recorder, as a reader
we encounter present Krapp and past Krapp. Krapp is self-emptying different
stages of his life, recording his
presence and patterns of thought. As creatives, we can learn a lot from Krapp, this system of recording investigates moments of presence and absence, the stages of different voices at different times of our lives.
Self-emptying is a system I have been using to survive, cope, deal, accept and manage my terrain of thoughts. There has been a great deal of looking back, I wonder whether anything I did before now matters? Working predominantly within the area of performance, which is already an ephemeral media, I dismiss everything that happened before. Because, truthfully does it matter? Those images of X seeing Y have evaporated within the concept of ‘before’, they like me, have become irrelevant. As with the Beckett character, I have dislocated my body and mind from the memory of ‘before’. To survive, I have allowed my disembodiment to become my ‘New Normal’.
Niamh Seana Meehan - ‘Language Day’s’ 2020
What is your new routine like within this ‘New Normal’ ?
I waken too early, a side effect from an active mind. I embark on an act of endless scrolling,
scrolling and scrolling. Once I have been fed with the fuel that I somehow need to continue, I find myself in the kitchen. Bench meets cup, cup meets one level teaspoon of instant coffee (a familiar image enters, grabbing a coffee to go from the nearest coffee house, it brings me to a halt, I shake my head and just like that it's gone) coffee meets coconut milk, together
they meet hot water and a final stir from a spoon completes the task. I step into a different space, this stepping is important. Here, a number of activities can take place, reading, staring out the window, thoughts about dusting and counting the number of new freckles visible from the day before. Moving again, I take several steps up, to step into another space. Here is where everything happens. I collect fragmented texts, make lists; to-do lists, reading lists and shopping lists, I listen to the whispers, practice listening and occasionally, I see myself on a split screen talking to others. Recently, a more favourable task includes reflecting on previous written matter, looking at the space in-between the texts, searching for the overlooked spaces, invisible spaces and giving them a new voice.
Niamh Seana Meehan - ‘LIST SERIES’ 2020
When my attention wanders back out the window, I move again. I dress
myself in running appropriate gear and leave. Running was something I did ‘before’
thanks to announcements we are allowed to continue. However, these new runs are
different, time is no obstacle, there are no excuses. I am running to get away
from it, I run from the stranger on the path, I run to forget and the longer I
run the more my thoughts turn to my body, to the pain. It is time to be alone,
not fully alone as I cannot switch off up there. But, a playlist and volume control
manages it, or sorry, makes it bearable.
Niamh Seana Meehna - ‘RUNNING SERIES’ 2020
Returning, I shower, I wash it away. The hot water burns against my
blisters, the saltiness stings my eyes. I reflect on the miles and time, often
getting angry, time does this, I make false promises that tomorrow I will push
myself further. I return to my homework, I remain within that space until
someone comes and turns on the light. I get out my calendar and write down the
word of the day, today it is ‘Self-Estrangement’, maybe that is two words, but it fits on the line, there are no rules
here, within this space.
Niamh Seana Meehan - Language Day’s’ 2020 . Image credit; Performance Art Bergen ( HOUR : Bergen International Performance Festival) 2020
Niamh Seana Meehan is an
interdisciplinary artist currently based in Belfast. My practice investigates the work of Samuel Beckett as a critical lens to examine
contemporary storytelling. I am interested in the notion of the ‘empty’ page and the ambiguous
nature it can present. I set up performative ‘sites’ that examine the
in-betweenness for the text/reader relationship.
- The university closed. I had managed to move most of my essentials into my uncle’s house down the road where I’ve had a wee studio for many years. He is 68 and has had a triple heart by-pass but was relaxed and happy enough for me to come and go.
- My tutor, via an online tutorial, advised that I move my art materials home; he knew a lockdown was coming.
- My uncle said he’d prefer me not come to his house any more.
- I enjoyed setting up a studio in our back room, a bit like playing house. But I couldn’t really make art. I couldn’t really play fiddle.
WhatsApp, Facebook, Zoom, the internet.
These things revered for keeping us all supposedly connected were hurting my
head so much. I flicked from friends’ seemingly hysterical Corona-obsessed Facebook shares to unflattering selfie videos of people playing tunes in their
living rooms. I got utterly depressed at the fact that all climate emergency
conversations were off the table for the foreseeable
future and more depressed at the horrendous interiors of people’s houses. I
checked death rates in Spain once again and then stared at some congealed dog
fur on the carpet. The computer was heating up and almost burning my thigh.
My mother was always a prolific letter writer with a refreshing, if frenetic, writing style and just before she died (5 years ago) her correspondence became more intense. In the months after her death I came across half-written letters lost down the backs of radiators or forgotten amongst the pages of books.
I am getting better every day.
(dated the week before her death).
She instilled in us, her family, a foundation of writing skills and a confidence in the value, to both writer and recipient, of communicating by post.
Some art postcards from my
I laid out my collection of postcards on my bedroom floor. Dust disturbed by moving the postcards was caught by uncharacteristically warm March sunlight. I was overcome with an indulgent love and admiration both for the objects themselves and for myself for having the tenacity to compile these gems. I sifted out the ones I really could not part with and came to terms with parting with the rest. My heart raced as I let my postcard-people associations run faster and faster.
‘Hmm, something Irish-kitch for Kelsey.’
‘Oh that one is perfect for him, although it’s highly unlikely that he’ll reply to me, does he really deserve it? Maybe that one instead…’
‘Well that’s clearly got Alison written all over it.’
‘Oh where is something incredibly sophisticated yet causally understated for Caroline? God, the pressure!’
The slow, offline, stillness and quietness needed to conduct letter writing was a medicine, like a cold drink of water gulped down to quench alcohol-induced dehydration in the middle of the night before falling back onto the pillow. I wrote to old friends and almost-strangers. Postcards went to Canada, New York, Norway, England but most went to Carryduff, the Ormeau Road, County Down and County Antrim.
Postcards and letters ready to
post and deliver.
I found that writing a letter to someone was like praying for them - musing on one individual in their absence. Sometimes I would tell a story, a random memory sparked by the postcard I had selected: “I think I got this when passing through Sligo with a passive-aggressive boyfriend for a romantic weekend which turned out to be a hellish nightmare.” Or my nostalgic memories of whoever I was writing to: “Do you remember we drove all the way to Laghy for a session that was already ended, Ciaran blocked and wearing velcro-fastening shoes?” Sometimes I would just describe exactly what I saw out the window: “Frida is sun-bathing, as usual”.
And then the replies started
coming in. A slow, fragmented record of lives on beautiful postcards
hand-selected just for me, or reams of paper or bright card.
I am so relieved Paul is not here to experience this.
We are now working from home. Feel rather worn out by it already.
Cycled to the Lagan Meadows today to try to get some vitamin D + dose of nature in case they start restricting movements. It was so lovely lying amongst the gorse in full bloom.
I’ve just painted my nails pink.
You mentioned not having your art rhythm yet and maybe you do, but it’s different now, we are all different now. I don’t even like the same music I liked just a couple of weeks ago.
I’m enjoying walking in the park and noticing the trees coming out.
Dear Susan, Love from Laurence.
I miss going to galleries.
This has been written because I wanted to and not because Arlene Foster suggested writing to friends!
The fire reminds me of you.
Dreams can and do come true!
This is a great time for learning to do new things, so I am learning how to roller-skate.
I’ve just been to the shop for milk and white bread in plastic gloves.
I am not much of a card writer, but I’ll give it a go!
It’s consoling to see the birds building nests as normal and flowers coming out and hoverflies enjoying the uncut grass. They don’t know about the coronavirus.
Some people say I’m brave, but I’m only brave in the things that don’t really scare me.
I can’t believe it’s May tomorrow, the time has warped seemingly, and I wasn’t aware of April passing.
How are you doing with being stuck inside? How are you passing the time?
Three blue pale speckled eggs.
To Suzy thank you for saying I did well on my bike. Love Enid
We lost a lamb
Three large velux windows serve as TV screens for watching the stars, clouds and birds but right now I would kill for a swim in the sea. My own letter writing and the arrival of replies has slowed down as new rhythms have established in people’s lives and we have mostly adapted to become busy and productive once again.
box of ‘RECEIVED’ letters is a precious record of March-May 2020, of buds
bursting and space made for meandering thoughts.
Susan Hughes is a mixed media visual artist and fiddle player from Belfast. She has just completed Year 1 of MFA in Belfast Art College. Her upbringing, in an urban location, in a family with a wide breadth of interests by parents passionately engaged with the natural world, has instilled in her a distinctive curiosity and eye which informs the content and sensibility of her work.
Time is change. We are all waiting for our lives to go back to normal,
what will be normal? Looking back, it was a blur. We all rushed to come back
home to be with our loved one's once we had the unsettling information about
Covid-19. A journey that would usually take six hours from Belfast to Kinsale,
felt like minutes. Panic and worry combined with hunger for security and
safety. New emotions have been experienced, new experiences have been felt. The
way I see, hear and feel things have been intensified. I have never appreciated
the sensation of touch as much as I do now. I have been stripped and divided
from what I believe to be every-day life. Adapting to this has been
challenging. Am I doing too much or too little? My routine has changed but it
continues to change. Sometimes I wake up early, most days I do not.
Chloe Austin - Kitchen table/Studio desk
Time is irritation. There is no space here for me. The kitchen table is now the substitute for my MFA studio space, the one I never got to say goodbye to. I did not realise it would have been the last time I would hang my work up on its walls. I do not think any of us knew. Living in a world of the unknown, is this our reality now? I feel on edge and some days, my temper is short. It is hard to focus. There are noises and distractions all around me. During this lockdown, I have been back living with my two twelve-year-old twin brothers, they like to scream. I am on edge but learning to breathe deeper.
Chloe Austin - ‘No Sound Like Home’, Video Still
Chloe Austin - ‘Fanacht’, Video Still
Time is patience. Patience is not failure, it is appreciating what you have been waiting for. Three cigarettes later, I write, “Go back in time and never start”. Four cups of coffee later - splash of honey and a drop of soya milk, I add, “Don’t start what you can’t finish.” I will stare at a blank page and before I know it, it’s 4PM and I have had five coffees without putting the pen to paper. Procrastination is part of my process. Leaves fall from the trees surrounding me, falling between the corners, the gaps, the folds. I find myself watching the most mundane things but imagine them to be so much more. The clothes on the line sway with the wind, they are waiting to shelter. The shadows of the leaves create new shapes, making stories for their children. The sun on my skin makes my hand stick to the paper I am writing on. Which one craves the other most? Every black object almost burns me. Light is attracted to darkness. This gives me hope.
Time is acceptance. It is waking up in the morning and making the most of it, whatever “it” is. I clear my throat to say nothing to anyone, not yet. I have had many different thoughts and responses throughout isolation, but one has significantly consumed my mind. Reflection. I document my dreams and my days. I create video sketches and write texts. Sometimes I burn them, sometimes I incorporate them into my work. Documenting how I have been spending my time, along with some thoughts regarding my past, I have understood more. I have accepted more. Not every path will be smooth, not every corner will have a pleasant surprise, but how will we react? While touching my desire for self-regard, there is less tension in my bones. This is the time where I feel everything and nothing at once. I have accepted what has and has not happened. What has been and will never be.
Time is now. What keeps us
together when we are apart? Combining fragments of performance, language, video
and text, I aim to convey the aesthetic of confinement. Even though I continue
to be confined, my art encourages my mind to run free. This is time. This is
time and I am not out of it.
Chloe Austin - ‘Burn’, Performance-to-camera. Image by Megan Devitt
Austin is a visual artist based in Belfast. She recently completed her MFA
degree at Ulster University. Through creative writing, performance and video,
Austin often questions the effect on the body due to our digital environment.
The work aims to capture the struggle and fragmentation of language, performing
the body and its relationship to new technologies. During these unprecedented
times due to COVID-19, Austin’s work has explored, more vigorously, processes
of division and otherness, closeness and distance. With techniques of doubling
and repetition, her work challenges the desire for human contact. Austin has
exhibited in various venues across Ireland and UK, including GOMA Waterford,
Cork Film Centre and Catalyst Arts Belfast. She is also Founder and Director of
Re-Vision Performing Arts Festival.
Upheaved from Belfast, not of my own accord but forced by COVID-19. I
made the decision to move closer to my boyfriend and my family to the
Sligo/Roscommon border. I decided to flee, leaving behind most of my
possessions in my college studio in UU and bedroom in South Belfast. I have
grieved and continue to grieve. I feel forced into some sort of state of
mourning. Not comparable to those who are actually mourning the loss of a loved
one, I mourn the loss of time with my friends, finishing the artwork for my MFA
degree and losing my cherished time in Belfast city. I knew it would eventually
come to an end. Pre-COVID, I still had time to process a transition from my
home for two years to my home for the foreseeable future. But the transition
has been abrupt and I have felt quite displaced since leaving Belfast.
Nollaig Molloy- Interiour of caravan, 2020
Slowly but surely after struggling to concentrate and dealing with fluctuating emotions, I now feel closer to my creative voice. My concentration has somewhat returned and the gradual ability to process ideas is making a comeback. Pre-COVID, I was exploring the material of rock salt and performative gestures of working and toiling the landscape. Two site visits to the Kilroot Salt mines in Carrickfergus in March of 2019, crystallized my source material. A material extracted from 1500 metres below the feet of Carrickfergus’s residents, rock salt is a material formed from the Triassic period and is the geological footprint of a sea.
I now continue to explore these ideas but under the weight of current circumstances and its relentless presence. I think of the front line workers, their value and the value of safety of workforces as they navigate this unknown terrain.
Stripped of my MFA studio and now finding myself sitting in a small caravan at the side of a Sligo mountain, I use this space to think, read, draw, sing, and try to work with precarious editing software. The caravan is 12 foot by 7 foot with a ceiling of 6 and a half foot at most. Its interior is painted with shimmering and light reflective paint. Gold and blue-tinted silver cover the walls with red trimming emphasizing the cupboards and drawers. I inherited the caravan with this décor along with a small cardboard cut out of a depiction of Jesus Christ, blessing this ‘house’. Once housing my boyfriend’s family holidays, the caravan has given me respite, privacy and a space to think. Easily darkened in its transformation into a photography studio, electrification reached the door very shortly after I moved in. Like most studios that artists have come to expect, it is unreliable for warmth in cold weather and reliable to be stuffy and too hot in the heat.
I spend my time in the caravan
reading, joining Zoom meetings, watching online videos, and try to clear my
head through writing. I enjoy contemplative acts but I very much enjoy being
practical and doing work which involves moving my body. I have a keen interest
in exploring the process of making and how ‘things’ are made.
Nollaig Molloy - Study of a visit to Kilroot Saltmines, charcoal, watercolour, pencil, 2020
Nollaig Molloy - Study of a visit to Kilroot Saltmines, charcoal, watercolour, pencil, 2020
On a very hot lockdown Sunday of which week I don’t remember, I decided to make a birthday gift for my mam. For a while I wanted to make charcoal and knew she would appreciate the gesture. All I needed was to be found in the back garden; wood, a metal bucket, kindling, a metal lid with a hole in it or a metal cover which would provide a gap and last but not least, time. I foraged through seasoned and unseasoned wood supplies, the honeysuckle from the year before mixed in with last week’s ash tree cuttings, would fill the bucket, though they might yield different results. Protecting the spread of flames, I set a space to light a fire underneath the bucket surrounded by a barrier of stones and propped up by three concrete blocks. These would support the bucket while taking the heat and allowing the breeze to flow underneath, keeping the flame alight.
usual occurrence for my practice, I couldn’t miss the opportunity to video
record the event. With the help of my boyfriend we tended the fire and kept
continuous heat, unsure of how long it would take. The fire was added to over
the coming hours. Covered with a makeshift metal lid and providing a gap to
allow the gases to release, I watched through the camera lens as the flames
surrounded the bucket. The pine tree branches and needles were great kindling,
glowing red and orange before turning white. I watched through the camera
screen, glancing back and forth at the fire between my eye and through the
cameras. To look after the camera and fire at the same time, became tricky, so I eventually chose to lose out on footage and tend to the fires needs and
Nollaig Molloy - Study of a visit Kilroot Saltmines, Charcoal, watercolour, pencil, 2020
It was my first ‘mostly’ solo experience making charcoal. It needed my time, my full attention and I needed to keep a vigil. The camera power starts to run low, I decide to conserve its batteries. My attention to the screen has pulled most of the much needed attention away from the charcoal. I realise too late the flames have snuck in under the lid and ignited the honeysuckle and ash. The experiment and birthday gift is stopped. Welding gloves in hand, I strip the lid from the bucket in one swift swoop and I pick up the bucket, turning it upside down. The oxygen is cut off, quenching the contents and ending their burnt ash fate. Pushing soil around the rim of the bucket, the escaping smoke is smothered. I will only know its fate when I return the next morning and give the contents time to cool down, revealing what could either be charred or dust remains.
My mam received her birthday gift.
Nollaig Molloy - Charcoal, 2020
Nollaig Molloy is a visual artist based between Roscommon,
Sligo and Belfast. She recently completed her MFA at Belfast College of Art
Ulster University. In past projects she has developed craft-based workshops
that supported journeys on a 53 kilometre-long lake, alongside facilitating the
transmission of live radio broadcasts. She has experimented with locally
sourced and harvested materials-to-hand extracted from the North West region of
Ireland. She positions herself into spaces and environments of industrial,
social and historical significance which are effected by material resourcing.
This is the most exciting thing to happen to me in the last seven hours since I woke up.
It’s an image from the live feed of Georgia O’Keeffe’s garden in New Mexico.
It’s just as she left it. Local High School students keeping it up as part of their studies.
Nothing happening nothing achieved I don’t think I am an artist because I don’t work hard enough. I don’t work. No first love.
I would rather lie on a bed in a heated room in autumn with bright sunshine outside and watch the nighttime garden of an artist who worked very hard, all her life, in the desert, on the other side of the world than get up and make my own art or dig my own garden.
Anna Nangle- home workplace
My sister sent me a garlic bulb, a variety especially selected because it grows well in the coastal conditions we both share. Plant on Anzac Day, harvest on Remembrance day. I broke it into cloves, nine, and drew a plan on the post pack of the spacings and size plot I would need to plant them. Then the May full moon came and went. Now I have to wait.
An artist makes things better according to my teacher
And I am not making things better. I am not making things. full stop.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I am making a line from full stops. One full stop then four spaces. One full stop then four spaces.
Everything from tiny dot to universe is you
Anna Nangle- Ghost Ranch
Anna Nangle is
an Australian artist who has just completed the first year of an MFA at Belfast
School of Art. On March 18th, 2020 she was forced due to Covid-19 to return to
Australia and her home in a coastal town on the south-east coast. She is a
conceptualist so much of her art making in lockdown has been done in her head
while lying on her bed and looking out at the sky. On her last trip to the
university library the day before it closed she went to find a copy of Jonathan
Swift’s Gullivers Travels for research towards a planned work about the Goddess
of Liberty sleeping in Cave Hill (Ben Madigan). While there she was struck by
the library angels and found a copy of W. G. Sebald’s Rings of Saturn. This
book has been a talisman for her throughout lockdown.
currently working from my kitchen table and board with a couple of trestle
legs. I am a member of Pollen Studios and access is too tricky at the minute,
travel and parking is too expensive. Income is significantly reduced with
gallery and university closures. I am missing working with clay and I had just
started experimenting with porcelain slip and linen for the now postponed Linen
Zara Lyness -Cooker
I had started exchanging drawings with one of my MFA buddies, we both feel our drawing skills need sharpening, and suggested a similar activity to the Pollen members, so we have been sending and receiving all types of mark making work to each other. It has been a lovely way of connecting and motivating each other.
The sewing machine has been dusted off and I have stitched masks and scrubs bags for local organisations as well as relearning how to crochet using a variety of long and stringy materials. Very pleased with the texture of the ripped bedsheet.
I found a
great chair for my back on the mezzanine floor of the Orpheus building in my
first year. It has seen several floors and studio spaces from the Orpheus to
the new building in the college. A plaster disaster saw the whole seat caked
white with hardened plaster and it required some repair in 2016. It had already
been named the Captain's Chair, as that is where many Big Decisions had been
decided, so while I was attempting darning for the first time I thought I might
as well give embroidery a go. It has recently had open seat surgery because the
sponge has been under duress during lockdown and crumbled to dust.
Zara Lyness - Captain's chair
Zara Lyness - Captain's chair, detail, back
My garden has also seen some serious attention, well timed, as we have tested some Bbeyond online performance art and Bebedebee meetings. The weather was good, so I joined in from the garden.
I did a week-long Instagram project with an MA Art Therapy student. The drawings generated from conversations about art therapy and as a result were more abstract that other Covid-19 sketches.
Like many areas, my neighbours have developed a stronger connection through what's app. We are lucky to be in a quiet cul-de-sac and during the good weather we have had the garden chairs out, well socially distanced, for drinks and company. For VE Day I set up a bunting line and all the youngsters contributed by drawing and decorating paper triangles. From WW2 imagery to Darth Vader and a well sellotaped small teddy, it was very jolly.
I am hoping to get back to working with clay very soon and am paired with another MFA student to do an @mfafineartuub Instagram takeover at the end of the month.
Zara Lyness - fractured drawing
Zara Lyness - ink- leave- ho-sho tracing paper
I have finished my part-time 1st year of the MFA course at the Belfast School of Art, we don't know what sort of access we will have in the next semester. The studio situation in Belfast is also an issue for Pollen that we can do little about just at the moment. For the time being I am just keeping myself occupied and connected.
Zara Lyness is
a mixed media artist based in Pollen Studios and Gallery in Belfast,
Northern Ireland. She makes performance work and sculptural objects, often
combining both. Her practice progresses through play and repetition,
autobiography, interaction and a lowering of barriers, allowing the viewer
a space for recognition and dialogue. The value and significance of
objects and materials, (implied and perceived), is an underlying motive in the
forms she makes.
Zara Lyness - string and bedsheet crochet
Sara Lyness - leapfrog
'This is my home work space, where I edit my videos, photos and do my painting. The desk is positioned under the window for optimum light. My desk is covered in paint much like everything else in the room over years of use. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it clean.'
Alla Fitzpatrick, workspace during Covid-19
'Here is a collection of some of the work I have completed during this quarantine period. It is a collection of painting and photography.'
Alla Fitzpatrick: Garlic / Car
Alla Fitzpatrick: Squares / Friend
'This is a painting I did of a car. The car is old, but it is clearly well kept as you can see the shine off the back of it.
Materials: acrylic paint on paper.'
'This is a painting I did at home during quarantine times. I was having a bad day and the preciseness of the lines and squares cleared my head.'
Materials: acrylic paint and black permanent marker on paper
'Here is a double exposure of my friend mixed with a photo of the sun in my room which iI edited to makepink using photoshop and the light in my room. I mixed the photos on snapseed software and I liked the effect it gave.'
Photos taken on an iPhone 8.
'My final image. Here is a double exposure of a garlic. I liked how the sun shone on the netting of the garlic. The aesthetic is quite calming and soft.'
Alla Fitzpatrick studies at the National College of Art and Design, Dublin.
a-n The Artists Information Company
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BA Fine Art (off campus) at Belfast School of Art
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ACNI Artists and arts organisations offer free activities to help people stay well at home!
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The Double Negative Self-Isolation Culture Special: Free Film, Music, Art, Essays, Books and More
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