A Curly Wurly Research-Practice

What is meant when we talk about ‘artistic research practice’? Does anyone really know? What’s the difference between practice-led research and research-led practice? Or between practice-led and practice-based? Does it matter? Are these absolute terms that look the same to me as you?

There’s this lovely quote offered by my Fish-partner-in-crime and font of all arty knowledge, Jill Howitt:

‘Using practice as research is indicative of an integrated approach where the roles of artist and theorist/commentator aren’t clear cut. Paul Wood discusses a traditional split between theory and practice a, ‘palpable division of labour’, where artists made art and critics, historians and theoreticians wrote about it. He then describes how theory and practice became ‘compacted’ as artists tackled political and philosophical issues and theory became a, ‘material force in the world of cultural enquiry’ (Gaiger 2003).

That’s only a small example of the (scarce) writing out there that tries to define the relationship between knowledge and practice, which I think accurately reflects where I feel as someone who is genuinely engaged in ‘political and philosophical issues’. I want to share how I personally consider the relationships between theoretical knowledge and artistic making as a ‘material force in the world of cultural enquiry’.

And, true to my thinking, it involves chocolate.

First understand that theory and practice really aren’t two separate things for me; I actually find it really tough to detach one from the other. Thinking and making are absolutely two sides of the same coin.

Except each side of the coin never meet, so that’s a crap analogy.

I instead liken them to two strands of a Curly Wurly that weave back and forth. For those British readers who have lived in a cave since Curly Wurlys were launched in 1970 (or those living elsewhere in the world) they are a brand of chocolate-coated caramel bar made by Cadbury’s. They’re recognisable for their form of three flattened, intertwined strings. And they’re absolutely delicious.

Imagine that one chocolatey string represents theory, and another represents making. Research-in-practice is about knowing which lane – or chocolatey string –  to focus on at any particular moment so that we can progress our thinking. Sometimes a little bit more contextualisation is needed, whereas at other times it’s about doing something practical and seeing what you can learn from that process. Sometimes it’s about translating the themes and concepts of one process into the other. But the crucial point is that each part builds upon the other as part of a back-and-forth interwoven, chocolatey conversation.

But alas, dear reader, remember there are three strands to a Curly Wurly.

Reading theory or making research are very active processes and are important in helping you to drive things forward in your practice. They are both excellent forms of research and do a great job of supporting the development of the other. Sure, you can have an interesting research-practice with those two strands alone… but it’s not quite a Curly Wurly. And we’re not here to scam ourselves out of metaphorical chocolate.

Now feel free to disagree with me, but I believe this last strand is receptiveness.

By that, I mean the process of opening your literal or metaphorical ears to listen to the world around you. To listen to chance. To the intangible. To yourself. To your values and your evolving needs and perspectives… all of which has the potential to influence, deepen, or re-situate your creative practice.

This might emerge in any number of forms. It could present itself as an overheard conversation, a meaningful life experience – such as a mental crisis, parenthood, spiritual awakening, or in my case breaking your back – or you might experience a pull towards to certain books on a recommended reading list, or you might have a strong gut feeling about something that you can’t quite reason away. Sometimes it’s a conscious knowing, at other times it’s unconscious. It could even take years down the line before the important pennies drop.

For the last few years, I have been trying to open up my own channel of receptiveness within myself, within my work – and life – and empower that quieter contributor to be a more active driver in deciding where my research-practice goes. Intuition, listening to the ‘unknown’ and a responsiveness to ‘the universe’ has become increasingly influential in where I’m going. And it’s much more exciting than the lifeless way I used to work!

Since listening and responding to ‘fate’ in this way contributes to learning and shaping your inquiry (i.e. influences your chocolatey strands) I stand by the idea that it’s a valid form of research that ought not to be overlooked. In my opinion, a Curly Wurly research practice needs to allow these three strands – the intellectual (the theory), the practical (the making), and the receptive (the listening) –  to build upon and enrich one another within a weavy, balanced, group conversation.  

You need all three to have a rich, satisfying bar of research-practice, which for me, oscillates between research-based-practice and research-led practice. Or in other words – according to my understanding – between responding creatively to someone else’s theory and research, and generating my own making-based research that adds to the wider conversation.

I have found Curly Wurly thinking to be a useful way to consciously and constructively consider and reflect upon my artistic practice. Yet I think that under the surface (unconsciously?) everything is much more rhizomatic than we realise. I know that I build simultaneously from multiple nodes of inquiry – I pursue a whole bunch of different ideas or practices that feel right or which catch my interest at any given time, even if they aren’t obviously linked or related to the original thing I was intending to focus on.

More-often-than-not, I find that most of it ends up connecting anyway…. and before I know it, I’ve got a rich tapestry of interlinking thinking and making laid out front of me. I occasionally need to step back and identify the common themes in the tapestry, but the evidence of unconscious pursuit is always there waiting for me to see it.

I also think it’s important – as an artist practitioner – to recognise that everything I make has been influenced by a million different things, including things outside what I consider to be at the core of my artistic influence. Consider how, everything you have experienced, learnt, or felt has led you to this precise moment in time, and has inevitably influenced – and will continue to influence – your perspective and approaches.

I have finally learnt to trust that wherever my interest goes is the path I need to be on and that it will build upon my inner rhizome – even when I don’t see the immediate connections. And that Curly Wurly ‘receptiveness’ is about listening to my own innate sense of direction as much as anything external.

I highly encourage others to embrace Curly Wurlyness. To conclude, simply trust in your intuition and see how it enriches your making and thinking!

PS – This article was not sponsored by Cadburys! Although if Cadbury’s is reading this – I will accept a lifetime’s supply of chocolate for promoting your brand thank you.

References

Gaiger, J (2003); Paul Wood, ‘Art of the Twentieth Century’, in Jason Gaiger (ed.), Frameworks for Modern Art (London, Milton Keynes: Yale University Press, in association with the Open University, 2003).p.39-40

Image courtesy of Ruth Hartnup