Karen Little's Blog

Ted Talk to Myself

‘Real Art’ in ‘Real Galleries’ holds the attention of a viewer for about 11 seconds. It has been proven by major galleries who have videotaped visitors, that those visitors spend longer reading the ‘explanation’ of a piece of art, than looking at the thing! Outrageous! What a lot they miss out on by not spending time looking at something and making their own observations and stories. I can’t think of a single piece of art that I’ve seen anywhere….including skimming FB …that is worth that little attention……..I once spent an hour in a room with a sculpture by a Brazilian artist called Tunga. It was at Whitechapel art gallery. I couldn’t leave the room. People drifted in and out. It was something like a giant metal hair comb…metal strands of ‘hair’ leading to a kind of metal ‘club’ ….it was incredibly powerful. Which not a single other person who entered and left the room during that hour would have been aware of…..For me, the value in getting art students to sit down and do ‘their version’ of a piece of art, is most certainly not so they learn how to copy things. It’s to get them to look closely, spend time with a piece of art. Learn to take their time just looking, so they absorb the values a particular artist instilled in the piece. Question it. Hate those values if they like. Then they will be able to make their own decisions about what they want from their own work……In one of my previous Ted Talks to Myself, I brought up ‘With a Poet’s Eye’…an anthology produced by the Tate gallery, yonks ago….and how I liked Ekphrasis poets who looked closely at a piece of art….and used it as a Massive Springboard for writing something original and true to themselves. I hate when writers use art in a lazy descriptive way…but even then…people are looking closely!

Bartering

In a previous life, I’m pretty sure I perfected the art of bartering. It doesn’t fail me, even in the 21st century. I’m not great at the 21st century. Bartering is the ideal system for me. Based on a very important and flexible system, where value doesn’t involve exchange of money, it seems more equal. I’m naive about exchange of goods for money, though I recognise it has made the world ‘spin around’ for centuries.

Five poems by Karen Little

I am not a silent poet

The morning after

I explain everything while you’re sleeping;

how I got lost by the river, how the banks were

slippery as eels, how time slipped away, yet

got caught in the weeds at the same time. How

the hooting of owls hypnotized me. How the boat

called me on board; the turbulent water, the throb

of the engine lulled me to sleep.

I was alone, no one touched me, I wasn’t afraid.

When you wake, before I say anything, you assure me

you’d like to tear the lies right out of my throat.  I’m

delicately removing splinters, the needle still hot

from the flame. I feel like the rabbit’s foot dangling

from your key chain, the one you shake in my face. Not

lucky; more like severed, more, loss mixed with shame.

..

Fame

On the first day she learned not to wear underwear
or tight jeans: they mark…

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I have a ticket to see LP…But I Won’t Be Going……

I have a ticket  to see LP in London for this Friday . I love LP as much as I loved Kate Bush when I was very young. I saw all Kate’s rehearsals at the Rainbow Theatre back in the day …..met her and all that jazz when I was a teenage runaway. I had the chance to see her more recent show. I couldn’t go. Mentally I couldn’t go. I can’t go to the LP gig. It’s difficult to explain why I can’t leave my Trailer. I don’t see the point of explaining my multiple issues to people. Why would they care? It’s all ‘caring about yourself’ in the 21st century. I don’t have agoraphobia….I don’t hate the human race (I prefer animals) but it’s one of those months where I can’t trust myself not to lie down in traffic, can’t trust myself enough to have the attention span to look before I cross a road. So there you go…..

Art/Therapy

I’ve found a dozen drawings I did for my therapist a couple of years ago, ‘to explain my mood this week.’ I wasn’t keen on explaining it in numbers (explain your mood: one to ten)….especially as I have dyscalculia….and numbers are meaningless to me. I can’t say he appreciated them….but I did them anyway. It’s interesting for me to look back at them….

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Let Down….and I Will Survive…..

Gloria Gaynor….you made it all so simple! Being let down by people you don’t care about is Water off a Duck’s Back isn’t it? Being let down by People You Thought Were on Your Side….is a bit tougher. But…here we all are…. And there are so many Other People Out There…..who Step Up…..so here we all are ……Doing Much Better than Merely Surviving……

Respect

To get respect, you have to show respect don’t you? I think I’m respectful of others. I think that it’s often at the cost of respecting myself. The way this plays out in my life is that I ‘let people off the hook’ too easily, too often. When people make me promises, in my head I’ve already realised they probably won’t come through with them. I make excuses for them even before they let me down. Of course they have to ‘do their own stuff’….of course they have ‘their problems’….My childhood taught me that my needs were never going to be anyone’s priority. I find it very hard to put myself first. Mostly because….I don’t want to…..

Telling the Truth

I realised life is sad…decades ago. I don’t get over things. I get on with things. I like people who fuck up and still get on with it. This living thing. I don’t blame anyone who can’t. I try to like people who appear to be doing all right and feel the need to tell everyone about it. Because part of me realises that they are doing it to escape knowing…. that life is sad. I don’t believe ambition is real. Ambition would only be real if we knew what this was all about. Which we don’t. So I like people who get on with things without winning. Without trying to win ‘things.’ I like people who are kind inside but maybe aren’t able to show it. Why would anyone who has been kicked in the teeth over and over again show their vulnerability?

Sunday Self Portrait

I remember when Sunday was a hollow day. Lonely. That was when the rest of the week was so vibrant with people and life….that in contrast it felt empty. I didn’t know how to fill it. Now, every day is Sunday. And I love it.[image error]

Doing a thing ….my own way…

Long ago, drawing under the kitchen table while all kinds of chaos surrounded me….I realised in order to escape it….I had only to draw what was in my head. I was too young to think about where that would take me, far too young to care. It is still my only escape.[image error]