I crocheted a jumper for my friend’s birthday earlier this year, but last week I saw it for sale on their Vinted page. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, and now I feel really resentful. Should I ask for it back?
In the field of ethnography or social anthropology, there is a well-known essay called The Gift (1925) by Marcel Mauss. How pretentious am I, calling on outdated and no doubt questionable texts – and from shaky subjects such as anthropology? But my point is that the crocheted jumper should be understood as a talisman. For a friend to sell your gift is so wrong that it makes me wonder if they may have lost their faculties. Could they have dementia? I have recently experienced caring for a family member who has Alzheimer’s. Being on the receiving end of this type of offensive action might be part of a slow realisation that your loved one is losing their tact. I hope I can give you the confidence to approach your friend and ask them why they are selling your handmade gift. I would advise a gentle approach: explain that it worries you, and that their action seems to you to be an indication that your friendship is ending.
I gave my parents a lot of the work I produced during my art foundation, because they told me they loved it and wanted to display it around the house. It’s been three years, and my sculptures are still stashed among my childhood possessions in the spare room… Do I take this personally?
It might surprise you, but I think this presents an exciting opportunity. Why not curate an exhibition of the works in the neglected room? You could spend time with your parents, explaining your work to them, as well as the concepts that are coursing through contemporary art. Introduce your parents to ideas around the display, provenance and journey of artworks. Demonstrate the difference between works being placed in a room with no considered space or association with the other objects in it, versus the considered display of art. The exhibition itself will become a point of conversation, and could even generate new works. Air Guitar (1997), Dave Hickey’s book of essays on art and democracy, might be an appropriate reference. In it, he discusses the idea that the artwork itself doesn’t matter, it’s the buzz and human interaction formed around it that is of interest.
I’m a professional ceramicist and recently my sister has asked me to make over 40 vases for her wedding, all for free. She has always had a lot more money than me and she’s never really understood why I went down the creative route. I want to show her I love her, and I am really happy for her, but this has made me feel really undervalued. How do I broach it with her?
Immediately, almost before comprehending your message, I thought: spreadsheets! People seem to grasp information in this format without becoming emotional. I suggest noting down your labour as well as the cost of glazes and electricity used to fire the kiln in a spreadsheet and sharing it with your sister. Then, you can demonstrate your generosity by offering to free up extra time to be creative and add some ‘extra flair’ if this initial budget is considered. Explain that in the time frame, and without a budget, your normal workload will suffer. The work for the wedding, which needs to be beautiful, might not be as considered and ‘special’ (which is what you both want, after all). Can your sister help with the money side of things, as you smile and press a printed copy of the budget spreadsheet into her hand?
I went to art school but a few years ago I sold out and now have a corporate job. Every day I go to work I have to put on my ‘professional persona’. Is it a dangerous road to go down to turn my work into some sort of performance art, if only to avoid the ennui?
I have always loved the stories about the art career of Jeff Koons. I am not sure if it’s true, but apparently he worked in ‘the city’ and earned a fortune, and through this he made whatever expensive artworks he dreamt up. Another example is the American entertainer Liberace crying all the way to the bank. But my favourite guru is Frank Zappa (whose business model is explored in the 2016 documentary of his life, Eat That Question). These are all examples of very alternative attitudes to business and creativity. I’d say be as layered or as playful as you can within role play. And why not consider the boundaries as blurred? My troupe also recommends a book: Steal as Much as You Can (2019) by Nathalie Olah.
My partner and I recently watched Titanic, and she got a sudden burst of inspiration to paint me. Unfortunately, I don’t think the finished piece resembles me at all. I want to be supportive, but I’m slightly insulted by it. What should I do?
This is extraordinary. Is the portrait like the original: are you posed on a chaise longue, wearing nothing but a jewel? I am imagining Edward Gorey’s macabre illustrations and wondering how awful the painting really is. Is it so insulting that it’s akin to The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890), in that you get to remain eternally beautiful? Your question is the best short story in a few sentences that I have come across in ages – almost outsmarting Patricia Highsmith! I am totally overwhelmed by the romance, sweet nature and ugly outcome all sewn together in your scenario. It reminds me of Lucas Cranach the Elder’s painting Cupid Complaining to Venus 1526–7 in which Cupid is stung by bees after stealing some honeycomb, reminding us that love is sweet but comes with a sting. Just wonderful. I can’t describe how much I appreciate your exquisite moment. You are in love! Have you offered to paint your partner in the same way?
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