Jogging slowly, closing a circle
I'm not a very good runner, in fact it's probably unfair to call me a runner at all. Once a week, sometimes twice if the weather is extra perfect, I'll go for a ~5km run. While I do some running I'm not much of a cultural runner, I don't expound anything, think it's the best or try to convince anyone that there's some biological/evolutionary basis in the meaning of running.
For years, probably 25 years, I loathed running. All through school it was a chore and everything about it sucked. From the PE teacher blowing their whistles, to the sheer repetitiveness of doing the same run again, to how bad I was at it, I just had absolutely no interest in going for it. Chest heaving, phlegm stuck in my throat, burning legs, going in circles - fuck that right off. A few times as an adult I got more into running, I'd run faster (though not longer). Then I'd stop. Start again, then stop. About 4 or 5 years ago, though, a few things clicked for me and I found myself enjoying running (though I am quite happy to be quite bad at it).
For me, the following things are key:
a) No music. Keep it quiet and my mind wanders.
b) No laps, circles or loops.
c) Track nothing other than if I've gone or not and whether I enjoyed it or not. I don't want anything other than after work, sun out, happy to be done for the day, one foot in front of the other, everything looking so gorgeous in the evening, mind working away, sometimes talking to myself.
I think that many of us can fall into traps of wanting to overly quantify something - just to know how much we've done. But, for me, I know I'll do more, and do it with more joy, if the process is the outcome. I want to run because I feel good. If I run a bit further, harder, shorter, or easier that actually doesn't matter at all. I'm not an athlete, I won't be breaking any records, ever, but it is good for my mind, body and soul to be on the occasional jog. It tangibly does matter that I do this, but it doesn't mater one iota how well or badly I do.
d) I will never run a marathon, I have a hard cap at about 35-45 minutes where I just don't give a shit anymore and want to be done.
I used to work with a colleague - Tony - who was in his mid-fifties, fit as a fiddle and a great teacher. He would constantly describe himself as a plonker. He once said, at a staff meeting, something like 'look, I'm a plonker. I'm not the best teacher, I'm not the smartest guy, I don't have every gift, but I just keep going, keep putting one foot in front of the other, I think that's why we get there'. I really loved that, I think it's so insightful. There are billions of people, I'm likely never going to be the best at anything, probably not even the best at anything in my suburb!, but putting one foot in front of the other, sometimes slowly, sometimes more quickly, sometimes more joyfully, sometimes with a bit of a groan, that's how things get there.
This is really freeing. If I'm not going to be the best I can start to leave the shit that I don't like. I'm not going to be the best runner, so I don't try and do sprints or marathons (which I don't like), I won't be looking to be the best so I don't track anything, which gives me more time on the stuff I like. Plonking, in other words, is a stupid phrase that's about something really smart: the freedom to do less crap because you're more dogged.
I think this is similar to how I approach art. When I started trying to make art it was a mess. My photos were bad, my writing was better, but not great. I had these really immature day dreams of blowing up on tumblr and that never happened (nor should it have!). I feel like each year I grow more and look back 2, 3, 4 or 5 years in the past and can see what I could have done better, which I think is a good sign. Like Tony, I'm a plonker. I just keep trying and going. I don't think I'll ever be particularly lauded, noticed or known - and that is so OK. But I do think I'll continue to please myself and see new things in what I do, which feels like the real win. Because I don't have to make any specific successes, I'm free to ignore the seedier parts of the art world, the haughtier hobnobs, the more userous competitions and the more problematic places and just build things I like for no other reason than I think they're a good idea.
For art, the following things are key:
a) If the scene feels like a scene, leave it.
b) If it feels like a scam, leave it.
c) Most big tickets are small wins, treat everything as potentially a good (but not great nor career-defining) option
d) Build what works for me, don't try to fit in with what already exists. I'm no big deal, but I've built a few platforms, a company and my own art, so I feel like I'm getting there.
e) If I don't enjoy it, I don't do it.
I suppose I'm a bit more dogged (and hopefully a bit better) as an artist than a runner - and yes I HAVE read that Murakami book (though so long ago that I can't remember much about it) - but I like the feeling of being out there doing something, regardless of how good or bad I am at it, or whether anyone notices or cares. I remember making really bad land art by sculpting flowers together, and it was a gorgeous morning. Joy is sort of the point sometimes, isn't it? Sometimes we can take everything too seriously, want to be better, best, noticed, seen, out-performing others, out-performing ourselves - but why? Does anything feel as good as just following an interest? does anything feel as good as just having a go, without expectations or pressures? Do the internal compasses actually help me, you, us feel better or do more? I like art and running because they expand the world for me, and I want to enjoy that as much as possible. To me, that's what plonking is about - just sticking with what feels good and is necessary, regardless of how you measure up in that moment.
As promised, I have an exhibition opening soon. Due to COVID it's friends and family only, but if you're reading this, plot twist, you count as a friend. For those who don't know, I've spent the last 3-4 years making work about deliberate killing of Wedge-Tailed Eagles here in Victoria. Motivated by a bizarre and gut-wrenching crime, I drove to every nook and cranny in the state photographing eagles, where they've been murdered, tools used to kill them and the psychological space that puts me in. I'm really happy with the work and hope to show it off a lot over the next few years. Come on out if you can (and if you can't dw, there's more coming soon :) ). Opening is the 27th of January, 6PM Manningham Art gallery.
Reply to this email if you'd like to come.
Otherwise, that's all from me. Photos in this newsletter were made when it was too hot to go out and I had some markers to play with.