I’ve realised it’s now forty years since my art college graduation. There’s a certificate somewhere on the bookshelf that says I have a degree in Fine Art. The certificate doesn’t look like a genuine document so it fits well with my dissertation about art forgery.
“But what is Fine Art?” people ask. No idea, but it’s a term used in frilly lettering outside galleries showing the kind of art that would have been sneered at by any of our tutors. In 1984, anything looking like a craft was discouraged. Printmaking was a grey area, but it was tolerated.
For the first few years after graduation I was a member of some printmaking studios. There were group exhibitions and teaching sessions. Then there were the ‘back to work’ schemes. These assumed that all work took place in an office, so there were basic maths and literacy classes. Meanwhile, I missed deadlines for creative opportunities which required proof of concept and skills. Helpful jobcentre ladies would ring prospective employers, saying “She’s got a degree in graphic design!”. When I pointed at my CV (again), they’d say “isn’t that the same thing?”.
During the last four decades I’ve collected a lot of rejection letters. Some of them were quite expensive.
Criticism from a friend, in response to my suggestion that his recent work was less joyful than he’d described. He has worked much harder than me, obviously. But I wondered how it feels to make Art from someone else’s words. I like the idea of forgery, which was the subject of my Art college dissertation. So I experimented for a few minutes. Wrong paper, wrong colours, but it was enjoyable making this.
berry daines 