Equinox truther

peek out from grey

Fri 24 Mar

The past month has been a whirlwind, going from several rejections and having no discernible work in the future to solidifying three big projects that take me into 2024. In my seven years freelancing, I’ve never had my ducks lined up like this. I look forward to sharing some details soon.

My time anxiety and imposter syndrome kicked in simultaneously, making me think both that I didn’t have enough time to commit to the opportunities or, in fact, deserve them in the first place. I realise now that is just my ego questioning my value as it is accustomed to scarcity and uncomfortable with ease. My calendar is still a mess and there are some qualms about performing what I promise, but the most pertinent feeling right now is sweet relief in knowing I won’t need to pinch pennies and can take a break from the perpetual hell of job hunting 

For several years, I’ve just about managed to survive on bitty work, with a few bursaries and commissions, dropping into (alternative) art schools for lectures, doing online or in-person practical workshops and even a couple of paid residencies. I am so grateful to each person who has ever offered me opportunities, recommended me or invited me to contribute to their project. I am, however, running out of steam and need a change of plan.

Hyperproductivity and self-deprecation has historically suited this kind of gigging, where I sublimate all the complex and fractious labour of being self-employed in the artworld for the sake of optics. In order to maintain the illusion of being someone who isn’t constantly on the verge of being exploited by a temporary employer or their own damn self, most freelancers I know are forced to metabolise the bonfire of admin. 

I left London two years ago to divest myself of poisonous relations with labour.

So my year is maybe just starting, and if I was observing the Gregorian calendar I might be critical of how long it took to settle. However, based on the spring equinox, I am emerging at exactly the right time; a vernal rebirthing; propagating ideas and emotional leads that were dormant or had died back. This place works with the seasons, it is exposed to the elements and the nonhuman narratives provide lush backdrops for the humans inside to begin spinning their threads.

As I roll my bike to the front door and put on my hi-vis jacket and helmet, I check the time on my phone. I’ve received two texts from Milly, one asking whether I want to drop down their allotment, the other, a few minutes later, rescinding as there’s “a storm brewing”. I trust her, a Heanor native, then back away from the door and postpone my mission into town. I swap my steed for binoculars, my trainers for boots, hi-vis for fleece and head into the woods on foot instead.

Savour

In the euphoric abundance of spring

a scavenger is never bored and how 

could they be when every sprout or

shoot or leaf or flower is an invitation

to taste the wild novelty again?

In the surprise abundance of home

a scavenger is never bored and how

could they be when every crust or

core or pith or leftover is an invitation

to pull flavour back from the edge?