#allaboutipswich

Regulars at the Dove St Inn are used to the occasional visit from musicians performing at The Regent down the road. Drinkers however checked their glasses last night as members of the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra tipped up for a pint, instruments in hand.

Kelly Will, barmaid and artist in residence at The Dove, and a writer for IpswichSpy, tells the story.

It was just another Wednesday night working, when suddenly groups of people start piling through the door, and the mutter of, "there's something on at the Regent tonight" is heard. Each ordering a pint of local Real Ale, no one takes any notice except to frown at the masses wanting food, having not pre warned us.

"All the Philharmonic are wanting pies" exclaims Dom, my colleague. Wait, the Philharmonic, it can't be, not in Ipswich? Presenting the next customer with a smile, I notice that he's wearing a ruffled white shirt... "just out of interest, what group are you, performing at the Regent tonight?" I ask sheepishly. "Oh we are the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra" he casually states back, clearly expecting the barmaid to have no clue who is he talking about.

The room starts spinning, only me and the apparent musician in front of me in the bar. I ask him to repeat. Suddenly I am a child, and I've just discovered Santa Claus. The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra are in the Dove Street Inn, and I've been serving them drinks for half an hour. I nearly fall over with shock, only woken by the screech of "Kelly, there's food on".

Having seen the RPO play the Movie Gala at the Royal Albert Hall in June 2014, all emotion and memory of their musical beauty suddenly comes rushing back, overwhelming me. Remembering how the resonance of the French horn penetrated every corner of the Royal Albert Hall, particularly during scores by Composer John Williams, I well up; I cannot speak, let alone serve beer. The musician is still in front of me. I inquire where the French horn player is. Of course, he is drinking at the table in front of the bar. My head and heart now putty, I manage to request their autographs, and manically state that I must hug the French horn player. Each horn player at the table shocked by my reaction, hugs me, and passes my journal around, to be signed.

I intend to research and discover all types of creative’s; artists, musicians, poets and writers who draw inspiration from being in the moment. I hope that this source of information will help me to understand my own practice and reasoning behind it, thus assisting in development of my work. 

Generally what I find most interesting is where the individual seeks and draws inspiration from, thus creating a motive for their outlet. I find myself most fulfilled and inspired by nature, and being in the midst of it, however I find I can only output work when in a social scenario; this intrigues me. I want to discover why this is the way I tick, is this true of any other creative person, if so what can I learn from this?

The continuation of observational drawing, using my sketchbook in situ will then be influenced by my study and may develop or evolve over time. What will not change is my practice of having a sketchbook on my person, with the intention of documenting the moment. What will change is that I will document other creative’s I come into contact with through the means of my blog; my creative peers.

“In all these cases and more the openness and ambiguity of language has offered artists the means to provoke and suggest, urge and instruct, compelling the viewer or rather, the reader to explore realms beyond the physical presence of an object in a gallery.” Tate, 2014.

So much of what I write and say is dependent on context- the context of what is happening in the moment.

Text doesn’t put the art in context, but puts the moment in context, but the art is the moment. 

I find this difficult to describe and dictate, because I live in the moment waiting to be captured and capture, I can manipulate the moment by adding text that is not relevant.

The text and the sketch are the moment that I’m living in and experiencing – impossible to capture them in one piece – means its something that’s living, breathing and captures real life moments because it needs to be explained and discussed with the viewer. 

Falling in love with the captured moment - documenting each moment that I fall in love with through word or sketch – my muse is the moment. By looking at the work and motives of photographer Henri Cartier Bresson, I hope to develop an understanding of my own motives. “It is an illusion that photos are made with the camera… they are made with the eye, heart and head.” Cartier-Bresson, H.

Relationship between images and text - does it matter if the context of the content is the same?

Am I using the text as narrative, instruction or statement? I will research the ‘enigmatic marriage of text and image’. Lubbock, T (2009) in the work of Ed Ruscha to inform my own practice. 

Painting the pages based on where I am: In a pub – beer or wine, in a coffee shop, tea or coffee. Why? Does this affect the content – in what way? Is it important? What am I trying to say?

I'd like to begin documenting the contact between viewers and myself during situ – comments made – overheard and direct. Often the fuel for my drawings, I find the reactions and responses of people entertaining and often encouraging. 

Over the past few months, I’ve learnt to say yes to the right people and circumstances and equally no with the rest. Thus, I have experienced some brilliant places and people.

Last week I joined a group of people on a “Poetree” walk in Offton Middle wood. Amongst some that I knew and some that I didn’t, it soon became clear that we were all going to get on, and were all there for the same reason - the connection. After a miles walk along the road and field edges, we finally reached the wood. A woodland verse was handed to me to be read, which I did without question. Not wanting to waste a moment, i fell into the beautiful greenery unfolding before me, it’s roots connecting to mine as I entered. The rush, no words can describe. Filling each of my chakras, first my heart punched with a burst of adrenaline, next my stomach, butterflies slowly waking and spreading their wings, and finally, my head… Filling with every sense running through me, overflowing to the point of dizziness, my arm reaches out to the nearest tree, as I steady myself, and I smile.

On Sunday, by invitation I attended a step dancing entertainment afternoon… I had no idea what I had agreed to, however on arrival it became clear what direction to afternoon would take. A marquee set in the beer garden, we entered the ‘Worlingworth Swan’ for hydration before settling in front of the small stage set up inside the tent. Seeing the wooden beams inside the pub, and the furrowed brows of the flat capped chaps as they detected strangers, I knew I was going to have fun here. Soon the dancing began, and after a while of studying the faces of those watching, I decided to sit outside to sketch the exterior of the pub. Around me I could feel the eyes piercing into me like lasers from every angle, and I smiled to myself. The performance I was creating intrigued these people more than what was happening inside the marquee, totally absorbed in what I was doing, and yet completely aware of everything happening around me… Of course the first brave enough to “come and have a peep” were a few children, completely in awe of what I was doing. Soon followed a mum, a Spanish woman named Goretti. Full of questions and interest, I explained to her that once sketched, I would paint with Guinness, to create a sepia wash. Often a raised eyebrow returned at this statement, instead I was welcomed with a glowing face of wonder and intrigue. After giving Goretti a card of my details, I continued working on the drawing, feeling content to have connected with another while working.

My favoured place to write, in particular blog posts, is on the bus to my sisters. For one hour and ten minutes, I fill what would be empty travelling time, with thoughts and words. A rural journey between Ipswich and Eye, and Eye and Ipswich. Now on the second part of the journey, I’m on my way home from spending time with my sister, niece and nephew. However today, my sister was also looking after her friends little girl. I can safely say that the past few hours have been the best form of contraception… Listening to this child screech, question, criticise, I did my best to not let this ruin my time with my precious family.

Whenever I venture out to this part of the county, something inside me alters, I feel a longing for the countryside; almost homesick, but in a sentimentally pleasant way. While typing this on the bus, there are 7 people scattered around me. I have headphones in so to absorb what I am doing. 1 of 3 men behind me is talking particularly loudly to a woman closer to the front of the bus than the back, and is therefore interrupting everybody else on the bus. I wonder what in these peoples minds leads them believe that this is how to behave socially?

For the past 2 weeks I have been thinking about a 500 word essay that I am required to write to mark the beginning of a new module at uni. A “learning agreement”, stating what I intend to do for the next 6 months, the journey I intend to take and how I intend to get there. In the context of this blog, writing comes completely naturally, however when I am told to write something, blank. I’ve scribbled odd notes onto scraps of paper, however I struggle to form these into structured sentences. After 20 years in education you’d think it’d be more natural now?!