Post exhibition feels
So, last weekend I did my exhibition. It’s been a very intense couple of weeks setting it up, while managing my work which is also quite intense in the beginning of the year. There are so many deadlines for reports and applications for funding the first quarter of the year.
The other day I visited a local school that I’m going to work with this spring, creating as much art as possible with around 80 teenagers at their school, and one of the kids asked me how it’s possible to make a living off of making street art. And I said it’s not really possible, because we work to make art free. But we also got to eat, and have a roof over our heads.
So I was very happy to sell my first ever canvas, Lily (2023):
It felt serendipitous to me that this particular painting got a new home:
“Every morning I set aside time to spend with my thoughts. I will light a candle, burn a piece of incense, draw some cards, make a pot of coffee, and sit down to write, for an hour at least. I get up early, I go to bed early, so that I can maintain this routine, because I need it. Some days I hardly write anything, sometimes I draw, and sometimes I can’t seem to make myself stop writing, and sometimes I meditate, and in that state I always see images.
One morning I was writing about how I psychologically speaking, died a few years ago. And that this - the me I am experiencing now - is life after death. I put my pen down, closed my eyes to see if I would embrace this idea or reject it, and that’s when I saw myself as a tree. I could feel myself growing from the seed in the ground, the soil and the sun and the rain nurturing me. I felt my roots deepening, connecting with all other life, and where I would have arms I felt a crown of branches and leaves reaching up and out, further than I thought possible, and it felt like my chest was about to crack open by the force of that image, and reveal life itself. And I knew that in the ground beneath me the tree, I lay dead. The me that used to be.
She was no more, but her end was the beginning.”
This exhibition, and my work, is at its core about transformation. In my exhibition text, I wrote:
“The subject matter of the work is the construction and reconstruction of self narratives, the storied nature of human conduct, and how human beings deal with experience by creating them. Through the re-use of materials such as worn out clothes, personal journals, plastic waste and commercial advertising posters liberated from the streets, Hanne also works with topics concerning time, transformation, re-writing our stories and revolution, on both a personal and societal level.”
It’s a strange exersice to write about one’s own work, but an important one I think, at least for me. It was also very interesting for me to hear people’s feedback on my work, and their questions. Many people really liked Anja, which for me is a very difficult painting to look at.
Some people picked up on the ambiguity of it, most people didn’t, and I really appreciated that. Anja represent to me not being protected, and shutting down. People saw the pretty flowers and the hands holding her, but not necessarily how the same hands were restricting her, trapping her.
On the other hand, almost everyone got freaked out by The Shrinks, and to me they aren’t scary at all. They are a little sad and frustrated perhaps, they have something important to say, they just haven’t yet for some reason. And their eyes are made with buttons from my grandmother, that I keep in a box that smells of her perfume every time I open it. The Shrinks also represents to me the time I worked as a therapist, and the courage of the kids in particular that I had the privilege to get to know and care about. I remember them with a lot of love, and melancholy, which is one of my favorite feelings because it’s so layered and rich.
My friends, Mari and Brandon played us some songs for the opening. Mari is a friend and old colleague from my days as a therapist, and we have shared some experiences through our work that creates a certain type of bond. We’ve seen each other at our best and also at our most vulnerable. And I was doing ok for the first few songs. I’ve photographed her many times during her performances, and also shot some of her cover art, so I know her material quite well. But then Mari introduced the last song and I lost it even before she started to sing it. For my previous show last year, Mari and Brandon sang me a translated version of Bob Dylan’s “Make You Feel My Love” because they wanted me to know how much everyone there loved me, and it made me cry like a child. It was just ridiculous how beautiful that was. And so for this show, they had translated Sade’s “By Your Side”, and sang it to me so that I may know that they always will be. And yeah, even writing about it now makes me cry. Music is as you know the cryptonite of art forms to me, it goes straight to my core. And having them sing to me surrounded by my art, my stories, my friends, my family, my life as I choose it, was an incredible way to celebrate my own birthday, because I was doing that as well. It’s a tradition now I intend to keep.
This movement that my work and their stories takes, where I create them from one place, by transforming an idea or feeling into something visual and tangible, by transforming the material, to then have the thing transformed again through being received by another who sees it from a different perspective altogether, which in turn transforms my understanding of my work, is incredibly therapeutic to me. The dialogue and interactive aspect of it is incredibly valuable to me. It really means the world to me that people engage with it, and accept my invitation to do so.
The fact that someone also wants to have my work in their homes, to look at, gives me a feeling that I’m not sure how to describe yet. The first piece I ever sold to someone, was to my friend James, who got this one after I showed some of my drawings for a group exhibition at our space back in 2021. I was so nervous for that, I was a complete mess. I will never forget how he just remained completely calm and gave me time and space to feel all the feels before I finally surrendered to the moment and let go of whatever it was that was going on inside of me, and helped me hang my drawings for anyone to see for the first time live and in person. I was so grateful for that, and still am.
It’s one of my favourite watercolors, and it was a little difficult to part with her, but I also felt my efforts validated. And then he got it professionally framed. I felt so proud seeing her like this, and that they wanted to have her on their wall.
I’m particular about the art and mementos that I have in my own home, and where I place them. I enjoy thinking about the people who made them, who I sometimes have the privilege to know personally, and the stories attached to the pieces. I am very lucky to have this home that I love, surrounded by colors and plants and art and art supplies, and to also have the gallery space at my place of work.
I work a lot, and I don’t make a lot of money, like most people who work in my field. I have a tiny studio apartment and can’t afford to go on vacations or buy new clothes or go to the hairdresser or whatever, but the fact that I get to do the things that I get to do, and the things that I want to do, is just fucking priceless. And so any and all support from you guys, is more precious to me than you might understand.
Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, thank you, for reading this, for showing up, for supporting me, cheering me on, and for being the awesome people that you are.