THE PERSONAL PHILOSOPHY : 0

This will probably be the most honest piece of writing I’ve written to date. I feel it’s important, while equally destroying my insides. You make the work you’re supposed to make, for yourself that is. And it takes a while to get there, to mature into what you see the vision manifest into or towards. The date is 11th June, it’s 5:48pm. I’m sitting in my North Greenwich studio which I’m about to pack up in 16 days. I am unsure if I’m going to post about this today, in a month, or three or maybe even a year. I’ve had to turn off the fan while I type this down, and maybe truly, this is something I never want to see have the light of day. But that feeling in itself is probably why this set of words should be read by others.

I paint right? And for the 3years of my practice, I have either painted things with guilt or slight shame. Yes I love my work, especially my recent work and ‘The Looping Human’ and ‘Daily Sugar’. But even these come with some angst, or, as I’ve said, shame. For the many black paintings I've made which rightfully have their place and I love so deeply, as for once, I am communicating my inner thoughts, and this is a task. A task that feels isolated, one which is sore to my extroverted soul.

Previously I’ve embedded optimism into my work or rephrased parts of life to read like other easier, or more digestible themes of life. The body of work, Labour of Love was one of these moments. Where I covered up a human longing with the sentiment of ambition and work; where truthfully the latter is so present in my day-to-day reality. I can and often do throw myself into a task for hours and days, neglecting connection and even physical health. This isn’t a flex. This is a fixing of the moment, pushing the pin. This is a daydream or a contextual exploration of my nightmares from a 3rd person's metaphysical standpoint. Quite possibly the shame comes from, the lack of lightness in my practice. And I know, there are those who say there is nothing to be ashamed of, this is your artist’s way. This is absolutely work I had to make, be this even unpleasant to myself.

You see, my practice entails 3 key themes. Spirituality in an Islamic context, human (female) autonomy, and the unseen world. These 3 themes are dispelled in a more public realm through slightly more familiar concepts. Death, angst, feminism, ambition, romance, and political constructs. I do wonder who will buy my works, and why they do, for many times I can not always describe what is being communicated in each piece without my heart wanting to explode a little. Ergo, poetry. I write and paint complex, rich, and heavy things; even when it’s beautiful like human connection. Quite possibly maybe it’s my capacity to feel so much which drives my practice. I want to share my work, while simultaneously running away from it. Which all in all, is like my sentiment to this waking life. One where I love to be surrounded by my people, while equally longing to run away where no one knows my name, who I am, what I do. To continue this very solitary life. Therefore it is no surprise, like with any healthy relationship, my practice has provided this safe space. One which enables me to face up to who I am, and the questions I ask myself, be it if I even exist in these questions.

It’s said, and something I am told and experienced at an intimate range, an artist’s life is one of sacrifice. I am told when you reach a moment of spiritual enlightenment, angst turns into something new, or rather reduced. And I am also told, this is a point where many of us fail because we didn’t persevere. My soul is not one which will let me stop so again, I find I’m working to my detriment, which is also, very much my joy. Last week I was asked to record a 6 min transcript of what my work entails and why, and what the challenges I face when making my work are. And oh my word did I keep this surface level in many ways as to help situate my practice for those who may not know anything. As the aforementioned, there is this guilt and shame around discussing heavy topics. And maybe this is part and parcel of the female anatomy I am healing with each word or painting. I would however rather this manifest in my work than overflow in my everyday external coffee hours where other’s hearts are at play. Maybe even then, there are a few of you who say, this needn’t be concealed. And here’s the kicker, I’m actually doing just fine. This is metaphysical angst, after all.

POINT OF CREATION 

All comes to a point 
Creature of all creation
Turning corner 
From ruins from rights
In the best hour 
Within unrealised realms
All unseen and all in dreams
Where all efforts play a part 
In their marriage together 
From all heavy-handed ebb 
To eventual sweet subtle
Honey suckle flow 
There’s a stream down below
That I wish to float 
I have tried many times before
To see where my hands rest 
On imaginary doors
We are only running still
From shore to shore

ALL EFFORTS

They say once you’ve found the position. A route to the helm which we call life, between the heavens and our feet. No excavated raw wound burns quite the same, and no scream is made in even louder sounds, externally forever, and ever increasing. Volume and sound. The skin raises and itches and your nails dig in. The clock hand moves slow and your reality is something else. But now my dear instead, it’s quiet in here. Invisible hands guide me into musk-scented cells. And the walls are cushioned and tenderness is real as a dull knife’s edge. And the screams? The screams are silent in your head. All efforts drown me, in goodness till the end. 

‘All Efforts’ 2023. Acrylic, charcoal and chalk on raw repainted cotton. 70 x 110cm. Available for purchase.