If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again

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Artwork, illustration, perseverance

When I was nine years old my teacher was a quaint and quirky lady called Mrs Salt. Her classroom had a whole collection of sayings pinned to the walls, all intended to encourage her pupils to make the best of themselves. Sometimes we recited them aloud. The power of suggestion must have been great, for I still remember many of them – but the one that comes to mind most often is ‘If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.’

It’s a saying with a wide choice of application, but for me it mostly applies to artwork. In a quickfire world, it’s commonplace to turn your nose up at anything that doesn’t instantly deliver, to discard anything that isn’t perfect at the first try. But for the would-be artist most things don’t work straight away. It’s dispiriting to look at a failure, and easy to designate it ‘rubbish’ and hurl it into the nearest bin. But experience shows that it’s better to ask yourself both what’s wrong with it (‘everything’ isn’t an adequate answer!), and whether there are parts of it that actually do work quite well. Maybe the ‘good’ bits can be recycled, and a better way found to treat the ‘bad’ bits.

That’s the learning process, of course – problem solving and re-thinking – and it works for any sort of creative activity. It may take a few tries to get it right. I was thinking about this the other day when my working space threatened to collapse under the sheer weight of bits of paper with scribbles, botched attempts, paintings tried in different colourways and irate notes to myself to keep my hands clean. I had to clear up, and was struck by how many false starts there were for each of my little paintings before I was happy with the result. In an instant world, it’s a slow process, a reminder that creativity takes time and thought and puzzling out. There’s no rushing it, not really. Perhaps I should take a leaf from my old teacher’s book, and pin a notice on the wall, a plea for patience next time one of my artworks goes awry: ‘If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again’.

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Inspiration from a seaside museum

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Artwork, Dorset, inspiration, Lyme Regis Museum, writing, zoom

My first piece of work for the Lyme Regis Museum at Home project involved an old fossil. An ammonite, in fact, that lives on my windowsill. There it was – so I sketched it. It’s an appropriate object to focus on, as Lyme Regis was the home of Mary Anning, the famous fossil-hunter of the early nineteenth century. The project will move on to objects representing many other aspects of the town’s history, but as an out-and-out natural history freak, the fossils will always come first for me.

I attended, last Monday, the second zoom meeting for people who have joined the project, and it was an enthusiastic and joyous occasion. This is particularly delightful since enthusiasm and joyousness are in short supply for us all just now. It was so good to hear people talking about (for some, at least) their first attempt at artwork since their schooldays, or their first attempts at writing and poetry. You could almost feel warmth and happiness glowing off the screen. Some of them were already planning personal projects inspired by Museum at Home. After so much tragic and dismal news this past year, it was, so to speak, a real shot in the arm.

So, what sort of project are you going to undertake for this, Kath, you ask? Well, I shall look at everything, and attend all the zoom meetings if I can, and see what speaks to me. But the most likely answer is that I’ll produce an artwork based on fossil shapes, maybe with a poem (I don’t usually do poetry, so out of my obvious comfort zone). I might even physically incorporate the poem into the artwork. I might incorporate all the objects we study from the museum into the poem… It’s certainly got my brain cells working.

I think the project is nearly fully signed up now – but you can still take part: information on the writing and drawing exercises is downloadable from the website Museum at Home- Lyme Regis Museum.

Joining an Arts Project – without leaving Home

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Artwork, Dorset, Lyme Regis Museum, Museum at Home, project, writing

My writer friend Judi sent me a virtual nudge in the ribs the other day – a reminder that the Lyme Regis Museum at Home project was about to kick off. I was surprised, since it was the first I’d heard of it. Or maybe I just missed it in the welter of emails. Either way, I pulled myself together and registered to take part.

So last Monday I found myself taking part in a zoom meeting where I could meet other participants and hear all about the project. In short, it’s a writing and drawing project, spread over ten weeks, using objects from the museum’s collection as inspirational starting points. Writing and art – well, I couldn’t say no to that, could I? The following day my starter pack arrived (free of charge) containing further details about the project and all sorts of photographs, drawing ideas and writing prompts to get me started. It even contained a little sketchbook and pencil. The project is led by poet Sarah Acton and artist Christine Allison, so there is help to be had from both of them in the zoom sessions. Eventually there will be an exhibition of some of the art and writing created. The museum is necessarily closed at present – but just wait until it reopens. I for one will be visiting.

I think it’s great that I can take part in something like this despite being in lockdown. Lyme Regis isn’t a huge distance from here, but at the moment it may as well be on the moon. And yet, there we all were, meeting new people and taking part in this wonderful project. One zoom participant was in Canada and was up at 4am in order to join the meeting! And all this from a local museum in a small seaside town in Dorset.

If you’d like to know more, or perhaps join in, have a look at the museum’s website www.lymeregismuseum.co.uk/museum-at-home/

If you don’t enter you can’t win

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Bridport Prize, Dorset, Flash Fiction

The little market town of Bridport lies about sixteen miles or so along the Dorset coast from my home. It’s a delightful place in a pretty rural and seaside setting, but for writers it’s something else, too – it’s the home of the Bridport Prize. This prestigious annual event draws entries from writers around the world, and the categories of poetry, short stories, novels and flash fiction offer something for everyone, with substantial prizes for the winners. There is also a special prize for the top Dorset-based writer.

I send in a flash fiction entry most years, partly because it’s my ‘local’ writing prize, and partly because the process concentrates the mind and encourages precision. In short, I reckon it’s good for me as a writer. The 2021 competition is open now, and the closing date for entries is May 31. If you’re wondering what sort of thing does well, have a look at my entry for last year, below. It didn’t win anything, but it did make the flash fiction shortlist, so I must have been heading in the right direction.

Why not have a go yourself? You know what they say – if you don’t enter you can’t win. Home – Bridport Prize

Rising Tide

Every boat in that broad harbour lay beached on grey mud, strung out on their anchors, all quite unnecessary and unused, pointless until the tide came back. Mr Jacobson lay hidden in the stinking hold of a fishing vessel, his heart thudding. If he could only get to France he could escape the threats, the whole congregation of people that had hounded him. But not before the sea returned. How long would that be now? You could bribe a boat crew, but you couldn’t bribe the tide.

In the dark of the hold, all splashed with fish guts, it was difficult to mark the passage of time, except in the smell becoming stronger as it all dried out. Festering. Was his escape to be measured in the dryness and stench of fish-scales? He counted the beats of his heart, rise and fall, until he was quite convinced the sound could be heard outside. A fishing boat with a heartbeat. Would that betray him?

When the first subtle trickling along the hull echoed within, he missed it, dozing in exhaustion. But the more insistent sounds of the rising tide he did hear. And then the waiting was hardest of all, while the first unsteady attempts to float tapped and bumped the hull. It was another long wait until she finally lifted and swung to her anchor. Mr Jacobson, alone in the dark, was unsure whether it was safe, or wise, to entertain hope.