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Pages from the Codex of Rohonc.

The Codex of Rohonc is an illustrated book by an unknown author whose mystery rivals that of the Voynich Manuscript. It is named after the city of Rohonc in Hungary, where the book resided until 1838, after which it was donated to the Hungarian Academy of Sciences. The text is written in an as yet undeciphered language and writing system but is continually being investigated by scholars and aspiring cryptologists alike. The paper upon which the Codex was written has been carbon dated to the mid 1500s, though it is currently not known when the book itself was written.

In contrast to the illustrations found in the Voynich Manuscript that leave much scope for discussion, those evidenced in the Codex of Rohonc appear to have seemingly biblical leanings. Most of the imagery can be understood to be scenes as distinct as the Three Wise Men in Bethlehem or Jesus being crucified. These Christian figures would suggest the mysterious book has a religious purpose, but if that is the case then why is the text written in such a way that no one could understand it? Perhaps it was written by someone renouncing religion, and so the text is coded to hide this fact from the Church, or maybe the religious illustrations are to distract from the writing and the true nature of the book. I feel that because the illustrations would point to the book being theological in some form or another, I would propose that it is less likely to be a hoax. Of course, this is speculation, and part of the book’s allure.

It is interesting to note that the number of individual written glyphs in the Codex is ten times higher than any known alphabet - currently the list sits at 792 characters. However some symbols are scarcely used, which perhaps leads us to believe that the glyphs are encoded syllables or words, in which case they would be logograms and not letters. 

If the written codex is indeed a hoax, the very fact that it is compiled in to a bound book enforces the notion that there is a story to tell. The story might be a work of fiction, a recipe book or instruction manual, but nevertheless it is the format of the writing that alludes to the promise of decipherment. I have questioned this idea before with regards to the Voynich Manuscript and the Voynich Symphony. How much of our yearning to decipher the writing comes from the fact that it is a book? I wonder how much we strive to read and understand asemic works with the hopes of grasping semantic content for the sheer fact that we understand the book format to be a method of disseminating information. 

Regardless of what the true purpose of the Codex of Rohonc may be, it provides a point of discussion around the nature of the written word and its capacity to engross, fascinate and capture our attention. There are many conceivable hypotheses and educated guesses that can be reached, but it is my hope that there will always be a Codex of Rohonc or Voynich Manuscript to keep the passion for handwriting theory alive. I intend to continue researching ideas of constructed languages, universally understood languages, and also exploring the limits of the format and presentation of the written word; as this seems to be quite an integral part of how we approach our reading of both semantic and asemic words. 

‘Love understands all languages.’ by Hassan Massoudy, 2017 - ink on paper.

As a consequence of reading ‘Habibi’ my research found me at the doorstep of artists that integrate middle eastern calligraphy into their practice. One such artist is the Iraqi painter, Hassan Massoudy.

The images of Massoudy’s performative approach to his practice have motivated me to explore scale in a similar way. I have previously touched on scale in terms of a larger surface area, but continued to use the same drawing implements. What might happen if the size of the tools for drawing were also considered? I have always been fascinated by the performance of handwriting itself, and how the execution of writing is as important as the product. Whilst in a university setting I feel it would be beneficial to investigate this interest as it has great potential for further speculation.

Hassan Massoudy performing asemic calligraphies in his studio.

I have been engrossed in Massoudy’s book entitled, ‘Calligraphies of Love’ that offers quotations and poems around a general theme of love and shows how he has reproduced these sentiments in an asemic calligraphic manner. He explains that in doing this he enables a grasp of the inner meaning of the words. In a sense this is how I have approached certain areas of my practice, in particular the asemic translations of my own poetry collection, ‘anagapesis.’ I would describe it as an attempt to to depict the overarching emotive content of the source material as opposed to a direct and literal translation. 

Massoudy has become an important figure in the contemporary calligraphy community, chiefly amongst a new generation of calligraffiti artists. ‘Calligraffiti’ is defined as being an amalgamation of calligraphy and graffiti, creating a new form of street art that blends tradition and contemporaneity. The calligraffiti artist takes inspiration from words, not allowing themselves to be confined by language itself and making these calligraphic evocations into something elusive, fresh, and displayed in a public setting. 

It is exciting to read on how widespread the visual poetry community can be found, and subsequently the impact it can have on other creative disciplines. I briefly mentioned after attending the ‘Seen as Read’ course about taking my work into a public setting, and it is encouraging to find that there is a community of asemic artists already doing this. So far the extent of my public art has stretched to QR code stickers, which in all honesty is as far as I am comfortable with at the moment. This year is about exploring ways in which I can share my work with my audience and I must continue to do so in a way that I am confident in pursuing. 

‘Habibi’ front cover by Craig Thompson.

I was recommended this book by a work colleague some time ago and bought it relatively quickly afterwards, but found the 672 page tome intimidating and I did let it collect dust for a while. Now that we find ourselves in lockdown again and creative motivation is becoming increasingly difficult to muster, I have decided that rather than merely float from day to day I will put my efforts in to research in the hopes that inspiration will strike.

I am pleased that I left this book for when I needed some artistic encouragement, it is the most exquisite book that I have read in years. ‘Habibi’ is a graphic novel about two former child slaves, and set in a fictional Islamic landscape. The children become separated and go on their own unique journeys into adulthood before reuniting and struggling to find where the other now fits into their life now that they are essentially familiar strangers. 

Thompson began writing ‘Habibi’ in response to the negative attention given towards the Middle East following the 9/11 attacks. He explains how the graphic novel was an attempt to better understand Islam and focus on the beauty of Arabic and Islamic cultures. In the creation of this contemporary parable, Thompson was influenced by calligraphy from the Middle East, adding that his interest in making a mark on paper and letting that be cursive shorthand for an idea is the origin of cartooning. 

Excerpt from ‘Habibi’ by Craig Thompson.

The calligraphy itself is stunning and has allowed me to see how the handwritten mark can be used to connect a story throughout a publication, and not just for isolated, single page narratives. The ebb and flow of the text and image coupled with the calligraphic elements allowed for a leisurely read of such a gripping story.

Though not necessarily asemic writing, the otherness ‘walls’ are torn down when the gestures of the marks are explained as part of the story. We are taught how the different strokes of the pen create words, and given a lesson of sorts as to how the language is constructed. The performative gestures are an important aspect of the narrative and in the concluding pages we learn about how these relate to the characters, their own personal journey and indeed the title of the book.

Excerpt from ‘Habibi’ by Craig Thompson.

Excerpt from ‘Habibi’ by Craig Thompson.

‘Letter of Resignation’ - performance writing.

This last year in particular I have started to become more comfortable with the fact that I am as excited by the performative act of making as I am by the consequential drawing or print. I think because my research has led to intense discourse about the disappearance of handwriting, I have become increasingly aware of this being an important aspect of my practice. As such I have started to document the process and creation of some artworks, regarding these performances just as important as than the finished outputs themselves. 

These drawings were mostly produced at home, but eventually became tiresome and monotonous. I think because I was limited to the desk in my bedroom, I felt as though everything was whispered and restricted. Once university began to slowly reopen I was able to get hold of a space big enough that I could really spread out, and when not confined by space I was able to shout about how I was feeling rather than whisper. This release was exactly what I needed to breathe a bit of life back into my practice and I am very excited by the results.

The following performances are titled ‘Letters of Resignation’. The title is an homage to the works of the same name by Cy Twombly, an artist that is widely recognised for his works that have quite clear connections to asemic writing. Furthermore there are many suggestions that can be derived from this title; letters in the sense of individual written characters, letters that we write in correspondence, resigning from a job and resigning to the fact that this is just how life is now. I enjoyed the multiple meanings that can be deduced from this, just as there are multiple ways that we can read and understand asemic writing.

‘Letter of Resignation’ - performance writing.

‘Letter of Resignation’ - performance writing.

I conducted this series of performances because I wanted to spread out and enjoy not being limited to a domestic space. I unravelled a roll of Fabriano paper and performed a series of asemic written works to music with a mop, a handheld jug mop, and a drawing instrument that I made with bamboo cane and string. These instruments are all evidently larger than a pen or paintbrush, and so in writing with these on the oversized paper I was making myself more aware that this performance was more of a spectacle than writing at my desk with a pen. 

I write every single day, therefore I perform every day, and yet I was not consciously aware that the performance was taking place. It is interesting that the change in writing implement made me acutely alert to this fact. This is definitely something to think about in terms of the context of how or where the performance is taking place. 

Does a performance need to be documented or witnessed in order to describe it as a performance? If I sit at my desk and write a letter, is it any less performance as it would be to do the exact same thing but go live on social media whilst doing it? Is every act of writing a performance, or is it a performance because it is labelled as such? I have begun to read more about some artists that explore performance in their practice in the hopes of learning more about why this method of communicating my ideas has peaked my interest.

Inoue Yûichi

Inoue Yûichi in his studio by Itô Tokio, 1984 - photograph.

‘Katsu (Sound of Metal)’ by Inoue Yûichi, 1977 - ink on paper.

Inoue Yûichi, was a Japanese artist who began working as a primary school teacher, before retraining under the tutelage of calligrapher, Ueda Sokyu. He came to the practice later on in life but is now regarded as one of the most esteemed Japanese artists of the last century. He co-founded the avant-garde society for calligraphy which in turn saw his push for liberation from calligraphy’s traditional roots, advocating documentation of the calligrapher’s physical movements and energy as being equally as paramount as the textual pieces themselves. 

Yûichi depicts traditional Japanese kanji characters, having been predominantly inspired by traditional masters of Japanese calligraphy, but performs them in such a way that has been likened to abstract expressionist action painters. This meeting of Eastern and Western culture culminates in a performative practice that is a pure expression of being in the present moment. He allowed himself to enter a state of calm that is standard practice of the Japanese art of ‘Shodo’, which connects the mind with the body. This calm state of being is thus expressed in his written performance. 

Nakajima Hiroyuki

‘Calligraphies Sonores’ by Nakajima Hiroyuki, 2018 - performance at Villa Cavrois Lille in France.

‘Shizen’ by Nakajima Hiroyuki, 2012 - performance at Galeria Nobili Milano in Italy.

Nakajima Hiroyuki is a performance artist, also from Japan, but learnt the art of Shodo from a young age. Hiroyuki understood that the art of calligraphy was highly sought after, but recognised that it had the potential to surpass tradition. He began to create abstract artworks based on his deep knowledge of Japanese calligraphy.

Not long after he began exhibiting his calligraphic abstract forms, he introduced elements of Tai Chi in to his practice, aiming to establish the process of calligraphy by way of performance. He begins his performances by standing in a meditative situation, as per traditional Shodo practices, and then in one swift movement he creates his written thoughts as an evidence of that point in time.

Hiroyuki says:

“Every work of "Sho" is created in one continuous motion, and therefore cannot be repeated or re-written. The power of "Sho" lies in this feature of non-recurrence. Even if you draw the same letter ten times, ten different forms will arise spontaneously.”

I am drawn to the sense of calm and quiet in both Yûichi and Hiroyuki’s performances. The influence of Zen Buddhism and traditional leanings makes for a great basis on which to build from. They utilise traditional ideas in conjunction with contemporary art practice to create performance writings that are not only dynamic but also speak of their cultural backgrounds. 

James Nares

James Nares is a multi-disciplinary artist whose practice includes; film, music, painting, photography and performance. He uses these methodologies to explore ideas of physicality and motion. 

In the 1980s Nares began creating what are now his iconic brush stroke calligraphic paintings. These paintings document a gestural and expressive moment, a record of motion across the surface, and are inspired by Roy Lichtenstein’s own depictions of brush strokes. 

Nares suspends himself on wires above the canvas in what looks to be a slightly precarious Mission Impossible manner. This inclusion of an outside source in which to aid the creation of the painting further enhances the idea of performance, bringing an element of true action to the forefront of the drawing. The innovative employment of the wires does add an extra dimension to the works, though I would tend to think that they are required for logistic purposes as opposed to it being performance art. Nevertheless it is an interesting way in which to create a drawing, and an added point of interest. 

‘Girl About Town’ by James Nares, 2017 - screenprint on paper.

‘Damian’ by James Nares, 2014 - screenprint on paper.

Janine Antoni

‘Loving Care’ by Janine Antoni, 1993 - performance with hair dye. Janine Antoni’s work sits in the space between performance and installation. She addresses everyday activities such as eating and bathing and transforms these routines in to art, chiefly using her own body as her method of conveying these ideas. 

Antoni has performed pieces where she has scraped away at both lard and chocolate with her teeth, as well as washing away exact replicas of her face made from soap. The piece I am most drawn to is ‘Loving Care’, a performance whereby Antoni mopped the floor with her own hair, soaked in ‘Loving Care’ hair dye. She explains that in doing this she learns and reconnects with her body, finding an understanding with what happens when she puts her body in such an uncompromising space. I am reminded of the body prints by David Hammons and the performative prints that I studied in the Research Practice module. Hammons expressed a sense of cultural identity by using his body as a matrix for printing and mark-making. 

Antoni could also be seen to be putting forth a thought-provoking address of antiquated views of femininity in the domestic setting in collusion with action painting. Mopping been seen as a domestic chore and action painting popularised by abstract expressionism which was predominantly populated by men. 

This is a great instance of performance drawing, an example of the artist claiming the space as her canvas, and forcing the audience out of the room as she did so. Again, I enjoy the sense of performance art as a means of describing one's identity, this case being an emotional articulation of gender identity. 

Franz Erhard Walther

Politisch (Political), no. 36 by Franz Erhard Walther, 1967 - performance.

I came across the work of Franz Erhard Walther during my research of the Fluxus movement. He is a German artist that rose to prominence with his participatory and activated sculptural works. 

‘Werksatz’ is a series of roughly fifty wearable sculptures that are activated through audience interaction, and an exploration is made of the demands that they place on the human body. These demands are furthered by the possibility of the relationships that the objects prompt between additional participants. The fabric objects consist of a multitude of openings, fastenings and straps that encourage the user to wear and initiate them, either as a solo performance or as a collective effort. 

Walther explains that the motivation behind the wearable sculptures was to understand the negotiation between dormant and active states. This in turn suggests how the materiality of the works might change the body’s behaviour. It is also interesting to note how some of the pieces depended upon the audience’s ability to achieve an awareness of harmony within the structure, making the piece a confrontation as opposed to a simple Happening. I do like this sense of participation from the audience, if it weren't a risk to health and safety this would be something I would have been keen to explore at my end of degree show. Perhaps urging the audience to create their own asemic works in response or alongside my own. This is still food for thought for further study, as restrictions begin to ease.

Körpergewichte (Body Weights), no. 48 by Franz Erhard Walther, 1969 (performed in 2008) - performance.

Nancy Murphy Spicer

‘Hanging Drawings, 20 successive drawings, unique and unrehearsed’ by Nancy Murphy Spicer, 2015 - installation and performance.

I met Nancy Murphy Spicer as an undergraduate student after she gave a talk to my year group about her drawing practice. I have since read that she created a participatory drawing performance that questions the very nature of drawing. She establishes the line as a sensuous object that can be touched, moved and manipulated. The result is a participatory installation that invites the audience forth to engage with the line and create their own drawing.

It is an interesting conception of the physicality of drawing. The artist has brought forth the tools in which the drawing is to be made, but ultimately it is the spectator that activates its agency as a drawing. This notion not only melds the roles of artist and audience, but also gallery and art studio. 

The hanging drawings also touch upon the idea posited by Hiroyuki about the same drawing never being able to be repeated - ‘even if you draw the same letter ten times, ten different forms will arise spontaneously’. This is a thought that I have come back to multiple times throughout this course, the idea of the multiple and the edition. I am a printmaker that is excited by the accidental and incidental unplanned marks, and so the notion of works that can never be repeated is something that I have explored time and time again through print, drawing, writing, and now performance.

‘Hanging Drawings, 20 successive drawings, unique and unrehearsed’ by Nancy Murphy-Spicer, 2015 - installation and performance.

‘Everything that I’ve wanted to say but haven’t had the confidence to until now’ publication.

The ethos of this module has been to discover creative ways in which I can connect with my audience. Since the cancellation of this year’s end of degree show I have been conflicted at the prospect of a digital showcase and have been researching ways in which my work can be received in the physical sense. In a world where we scroll past artwork and give thoughtless ‘likes’ and ‘thumbs ups’, I wanted the reception of my work to be more considered and thoughtful and make my audience slow down for just a moment.

For months I had thought about making a publication at the end of the year that would consolidate my third year work in the form of a newspaper. My interest in the newspaper as an object was peaked by Guy Bigland’s workshop where he explained that the newspaper was a dying medium. I think this resonated because of the research I have carried out with handwriting falling under this same seemingly antiquated umbrella. On reflection, I felt that the newspaper carried with it connotations of either formality and seriousness or gossip and celebrity culture. These associations are difficult for audiences to disassociate with, despite what the actual subject matter of the publication may be, and so I decided to rethink my ideas of how to present this collection of works. I think because this publication is taking the place of an exhibition I had ideas of it needing to be grand and formal, when in essence this would detract from what the work is actually about.

I had samples from The Newspaper Club sent to me in the post which gave further insight in to how my publication might look. One such sample was of a zine, which I began to think might be more appropriate for what it was I was trying to say. The paper quality is of the same standard as a newspaper, so the audience reception would be similar to how they might approach this traditional form of relaying information. However the size is smaller, and as a result is much more intimate. 

The works found in the publication are a personal account of the pandemic. This includes the relentless lockdowns and periods of isolation, the loneliness that ensued as a result of these, the dire predicament of working in the hospitality industry throughout the whole ordeal and my feelings towards this, and finally the rare moments of quiet in between the anxiety, and how my creative practice has been a constant crux right from the beginning of the pandemic.

I feel that experiencing this work in a tangible way is paramount to reading the emotive content it offers. Contemporary society is oversaturated with digital media across a great many platforms and I did not want my story to get lost in a split second of someone’s screen time. Social media and virtual showcases will be used to share the work but these will only communicate so far. The publication will undoubtedly exist on multiple platforms, but I would like it to predominantly be experienced in the physical. 

‘Everything that I’ve wanted to say but haven’t had the confidence to until now’ is how I described this collection of drawings, prints, poetry and performances in a presentation that I gave earlier in the year. I noted it down as I really felt that it rung true to where I currently stood, not only as an artist but within myself as well. 

‘Everything that I’ve wanted to say but haven’t had the confidence to until now’ publication front cover - monoprint on paper.

The format of the zine itself communicates various aspects of my practice. It is divided in to two sections, Side A and Side B, a reference to cassette tapes. Dividing the publication in to chapters alludes to the sense of narrative that is present in all aspects of work. Side A addresses the negative moments of the pandemic and Side B has a much lighter tone. At the beginning of each section is a playlist, a reference to the layout of my sketchbooks. At the beginning of each sketchbook I begin a playlist that is personal to that book. When I reflect on past sketchbooks I know how I was feeling and what I was thinking by looking through the playlist. Side A is comprised of songs that I listened to when I was feeling down, and Side B was during the times I felt more optimistic and motivated. I have also made a QR code for each playlist so that the reader can further interact with the zine and listen to what I was listening to when when making the works that they are flicking through. QR codes are also very topical at the moment as they have become a part of our every day life, from checking in to locations with the NHS Test and Trace app to reading and ordering from a menu at a pub or restaurant. The inclusion of the QR code adds another dimension to the publication that combines traditional ideas with contemporary purposes. 

‘Side A’ playlist - monoprint on paper.

The zine contains a narrative of asemic works that respond to the current global crisis, some of these responses address the days where I struggled within myself and became outward reflections of inner feelings, and some respond to the hierarchical dynamic that became apparent in the hospitality industry. A few of the asemic works have been paired with poems that I have written in the last year. I chose to appropriate these as monoprints, a nod to the work I made before I rejoined the course (and have continued to explore throughout),  a further reminder of how far I have come and how much work has progressed. 

Side B offers works from my performative explorations, where I began to utilise my practice to cope with and overcome my lockdown struggles. The first of which is from the ‘Exhale’ performances and the second from the ‘Letter of Resignation’ performances. I wanted to include screenshots from the videos so there was a feeling of animation and movement as the reader journeys though the pages, but did not want the appearance of these to distract from the aesthetic of the publication. Therefore I printed these on the offset lithography press. The finished prints almost look like mid-20th Century American high school year book portraits - adding to the traditional tone I was hoping to achieve. 

Screenshot from the ‘Exhale’ drawing performance - offset lithography on paper.

I understood that in order for the publication to be assessed and meet the criteria for the newly adopted blended learning approach to teaching that I would have to decide upon a method of digitising the zine somehow. I thought that scanning in each individual page or submitting it as a .pdf document would completely undermine what I was intending to achieve, and so I collaborated with filmmakers, Tom Crane and Lianna Denwood who documented the zine in their own creative voice. I gave Tom and Lianna a copy of the zine and allowed them to produce a short narrative that highlights the quiet tone of the book. They included fragments of songs from the playlists that give prominence to how the audience might engage with the QR code playlists, in effect the soundtrack is both narrational and instructional.    

Presentation poster that summarises my practice in three words - digital rendering of mixed media works.

Throughout the last three years as a Multi-Disciplinary Printmaking Masters student my work has endured a development beyond that which I could have ever anticipated. I began the course very unsure of myself and felt incredibly out of my depth, suffering from imposter syndrome and a feeling a general uncertainty that I was a right fit for the course. I have since undertaken a series of modules that have; taught me the basic principles of printmaking, shown me how to understand research as a practice in itself, allowed me to develop ideas in a supportive environment, encouraged me to consider where I would place myself as a creative in a professional context, and ultimately, to produce a body of work that consolidates all of the above. My work has developed quite substantially in this time, beginning with figurative printmaking and ending at the complete opposite end of the spectrum in abstraction. However the concepts at the heart of the work have always remained constant. I have always strived to depict an autobiographical narrative, but the aesthetic, the depth of thought and research have progressed.

At the beginning of the academic year I had surmised that visual poetry and asemic writing were a means by which I could communicate a personal narrative. I had spent the previous year touching upon the theory of asemic writing, and using the skills I had learnt in the printmaking studios to develop ideas and explore this newfound and exciting visual language. Because I had established an area of interest and a research methodology, I sought to utilise this final year to try to locate my audience. I achieved a mindset of discerning that the end of the masters degree is not an ending as such, but the beginning of my career as a creative practitioner that is using the end of the masters degree to segue in to a professional context.

In terms of putting my aims in to practice, I submitted works to a multitude of opportunities, open calls and exhibitions with the intention of placing myself in a professional context and locating my audience simultaneously. As time progressed I understood that I am a representative of more than just one community of artists. I am a Masters degree student, a queer artist, a conceptual artist, a performance artist, a book artist, a visual poet and also a researcher. Therefore, by not defining myself as a fixed identity I was able to explore more avenues and test more places where I might place my work. I submitted works to assembling publications and exhibitions, both digital and physical. The networking that I have carried out as a result of this determination has led to further opportunities, such as exhibiting at Bristol Pride and reaching out to artists whose work touches upon asemic writing in their practice.

I have finally developed my website as a space to host a digital portfolio. A lot of open calls and opportunities ask for an online presence, and I feel a website is considerably more professional than pointing people in the direction of your Instagram profile. I initially made my website to serve as an exhibition space for the Practice in a Professional Context module and for the Bower Ashton Library artist-in-residence exhibition. I am glad to be able to use this space as a permanent display for my work, rather than the awkward digital exhibition venue that it has been - though these were necessary at the time to adhere to government restrictions and social distancing measures.

I have regrettably not become as proactive as I would have liked at engaging with social media. I have grasped that it is a useful means through which ideas can be shared, but I still feel an awkward disconnect with the concept. Perhaps this is because the algorithms mean that there is no definite strategy to employ to get people to actually see your posts. I would rather put more emphasis on encouraging my audience to physically engage with my practice. I have achieved this by collating the work that I would have exhibited at the end of degree exhibition in to an edition of 150 publications that I will share with as many people as possible. I will post this portable exhibition to those that supported me in fundraising for the project, those that I would have invited to the exhibition at university, and I intend to submit the publications that are left over to various libraries and artist’s book archives.

Inevitably the current global crisis affected my practice quite dramatically. Access to university facilities has been sporadic throughout the last year, and this lack of consistency meant that my creative outputs have been staggered as a result. The weeks of isolation and multiple lockdowns hindered motivation and consequently, creative development. This feeling of disconnect that I had with my practice led to a period of reflection. I realised that not having access to the facilities meant that I did not feel the pressure to adhere to printmaking traditions, and that I could explore the more conceptual side of my work from home. This deeper understanding that I had gained of where I want to push my practice led to a much broader body of research, and I found that the gesture and performance of writing was as exciting to me as the works on paper themselves. Both research and performance have peaked my intrigue in the last six months and are areas that I would hope to explore further as my practice progresses after the course has ended.

The coronavirus outbreak affected more than just my university studies, it was also quite damaging to my mental wellbeing. Consequently I have utilised my practice as a coping mechanism throughout the latest lockdown. I have used it as a means of documenting everything that I have felt and experienced in the last year, this includes working in the hospitality industry throughout the whole ordeal, and in particular my feelings towards the treatment of hospitality workers. My third year work has told the story of the pandemic and three lockdowns from my point of view. The various periods of isolation and the loneliness that ensued had a negative impact on my mental health, and so I adapted these feelings into a series of breathing and drawing exercises that became daily rituals that formed a big part of my routine in lockdown.

The repercussions of the current situation meant that I faced many obstacles that required a degree of problem solving. The most notable instance was my time as artist-in-residence at Bower Ashton Library. I developed a body of work from found poetry that I was initially unable to complete due to the nation being locked down. I took to social media to ask my followers to send a found word, from which I could make a lockdown poem and print to send to everyone that had submitted a word. This was a wholesome project that kept my mind occupied in a time of uncertainty, and also a gift for everyone that took part. Upon my return to university I was able to complete the found poetry artist’s book, but the nation went in to a second lockdown just as I was about to exhibit the work. This challenged me to digitise the book that I had made and attribute a QR code to it that I plastered all around the city. My aim was for a new audience of passers-by to find my exhibition by chance, continuing the ethos of found poetry in a whole new context. I also spent the remaining budget from the residency on making the book into lo-fi zines that I could also distribute, wanting as many people to physically interact with the book as possible. I was particularly proud of this project, it showed that a little determination could enable me to see my ideas realise themselves in surprising and creative ways.

I have proven to myself that I can fulfil everything that I had proposed at the start of the year with very little in the way of facilities and materials. The majority of my final year’s worth of work was conducted from my bedroom with a roller and some etching ink. This low maintenance method of working is completely transferrable to anywhere in the world, which really is an exciting discovery to make so early on in my career as an artist. Armed with the knowledge that I do not necessarily need studios to develop ideas, I had the confidence to propose a project to an artist residency in rural Italy. I will be placing myself in the community and examining through first hand research how ideas of asemic writing and narrative might translate in a setting where the language spoken is not my mother tongue. I am intrigued as to the otherness of language, and how a language that I do not understand might be transcribed visually. The proposal itself is also transferrable, and has the potential to be explored on a global scale.

There is much scope for further research within asemic writing, and handwriting as a whole. I have enjoyed having the masters degree as a part time constant, but the nature of this part time study has meant that I have not been able to dedicate as much time to my practice as I would have liked. Asemic writing is an under researched area of study, and it deserves more time and commitment than I have been able to afford in the last few years. With this in mind I intend to write a proposal for PhD research. I am keen to explore ideas of asemic writing, narrative and comprehension, and will utilise everything that I have read and learnt in the last two years in particular as a basis for this proposal.

‘Dead Letters’, varied edition of 50 - relief print on watercolour postcard.

I have been reflecting on the minimal amount of physical work that I have made this academic year and this is in part due to the lack of access to university facilities. Disheartening as this may be, it has been a necessary restriction due to the current global crisis. With creative motivation being difficult to muster at the moment I thought it might be productive to rethink past works. The project that I spent the most time on was the ‘lostalgia’ typeface that I made in isolation. I spent a lot of time on this project, most of which was incredibly intense as I was unable to leave my bedroom. It might be cause for regret to not have experimented further with their limitations, however they may unfold.  

‘lostalgia’ typeface - lasercut plywood in portfolio presentation box.

Another series of ongoing works that I have undertaken since the start of the pandemic is that of postal art. The resurgence and emphasis that has been placed on correspondence in the last twelve months has been more than apparent. I have taken part in many projects that utilise this idea and it has always initiated a sense of hope and optimism waiting for the post to arrive. After submitting to various Fluxes-inspired mail art projects around the world I would like to take it upon myself to conduct my own mail art intention. I feel that the typeface I made in conjunction with the postal service might breathe new life into the two currently stagnant projects. 

Submission for ‘Postcards for Perec’ mail art project and exhibition.

I was thinking about the individual characters from my typeface and how the letters are simply sterile. The lack of gesture and emotive content render them empty and static in comparison to some of my more gestural drawings and prints. Therefore I would like to impose meaning upon them. 

I recall an album I used to listen to when I was in my teens by the Finnish rock band, ‘The Rasmus’ called, ‘Dead Letters’ that offered a definition to the title in the album booklet. It states:

‘A dead letter is a letter that has never been delivered because the person to whom it was written cannot be found, and it also cannot be returned to the person who wrote it.’

I propose a dual meaning to this definition, and offer that a dead letter not only references a letter in the postal sense, but also in the written sense; a written letter that has no meaning is also a dead letter. At this point I must state that I am referring to overall emotive meaning, and not semantic content. Asemic writing still ‘means’, it just offers no semantic meaning. 

The project that I set in motion incorporates both definitions and transpire as a series of postcards that feature a series of the dead letters on them, to be posted (and hopefully not to become a dead letter in the postal sense). The selection of letters are printed intuitively in a variety of combinations. 

‘Dead Letters’ album by The Rasmus, 2003.

I have also taken inspiration from a printmaker whose work I have followed for many years, Camilla Taylor. 

Taylor conducted an artist’s talk through Saddleback Gallery that I was fortunate enough to listen to online. In her discussion she explains how she has an almost spiritual dedication to the materials she brings in to her studio. This obligation ensures that the materials are used in one form or another. For example; discarded prints will be upcycled into new artworks and zinc etching plates will be melted down in order to make sculptures from them. This notion furthered my desire to really get the most from the letterforms that I had made, seeing it wasteful of not only the material, but also the time and thought that went into their production. 

In response to the pandemic and feelings of social isolation Taylor made a series of new works with the idea to post them to her audience. She made a series of symbols prompted by events of the year and each print depicted a different variation of the stories, thus creating a conversation between artist and viewer. 

I enjoy the way Taylor has utilised the mail art concept as a means of bringing the gallery situation in to the viewer’s home. It has become increasingly difficult to sustain excitement at the prospect of yet another digital ‘exhibition’ and so this seems to be a resourceful way to safely bring art in the physical sense into your audience’s domestic setting. At the end of the second year I produced a digital showcase of my Professional Practice module; a diagrammatic view of the exhibition space I would have liked to have shown in. I feel that the method of sharing work that Taylor has implemented is much more authentic and it has encouraged me to think along this train of thought in preparation for the lack of an end of degree show in June. 

Asemic text by Emily Dickinson, 1859 - ink on paper.

A fascination with Brice Marden’s Etchings to Rexroth series of prints has led me to a subcategory of abstraction called ‘Asemic Writing.’ The word Asemic is defined as having no semantic content, it is a form of gestural mark making that resembles the written word but in fact is purely abstract. It is described as being similar to free writing rather than writing to produce an articulated body of text. The open nature of the abstracted calligraphy allows for an understanding to happen across all linguistic meaning, thus a piece of Asemic text may be read by a multitude of different people regardless of their native tongue. The reader becomes a co-author of sorts in that they decide how to interpret and investigate the Asemic text.

There are a number of notable artists that have paved the way for Asemic writers. One of which was Man Ray who created a poem that was comprised purely of lines and dashes. Henri Michaux who was inspired by automatic writing and asian calligraphy began to write wordless calligraphic pieces that he referred to as ‘interior gestures’. The most exemplary textual abstraction in my opinion is the back catalogue of Cy Twombly. His illegible and wordless Asemic mark making explores a language that is completely universal.

‘Paris, mai’ by Man Ray, 1924 - ink on paper.

‘Alphabet’ by Henri Michaux, 1927 - ink on paper.