a science of qualities

For much of today I've been thinking about scientific process, following my last post on wax temperature. I have been making batik since 1990, so that's nineteen years (wow! is it really that long!). For much of this time I've had a good feeling for when the wax is not hot enough, when the room/ambient temperature is not warm enough, when the wax has crossed the threshold of 'good', and so on. The same with dyes, colour mixing, in fact everything to do with the batik process. Some I learnt from my early tutors Jin and Latif in Malaysia, but most "knowing" has been gained intuitively, through practice and observation and awareness... and over time. For instance I've never needed a thermometer to know if the room was warm enough for batikking - I came to realise I just had to consider what I was wearing. Anything more than a t-shirt and sweatshirt meant it was too cold.

My experiment last Monday in wax temperatures at different Tixor Malam settings was generalised/experimental. It was not set up to be controlled and perfectly measured, because I was more focused on the artwork I was doing. My thinking today was that if it had been a perfectly measured and controlled experiment (when it would be hard to also focus on artwork) , then that would give me precise results for only those variables (eg that wax mix). Another experiment would be needed for each variable. How maddening is that?

But more than maddening, I feel such a method takes away knowledge and understanding rather than giving it. If I heat the waxpot from calculations based on test results rather than on an innate awareness of what is necessary, garnered from experience, have I lost something fundamental?

Which led me to thinking about A Science of Qualities. I first heard about this from Brian Goodwin, I think at a talk he was giving at the University of Plymouth a few years ago. It is akin to Goethean science, and draws on impressions, intuition, sensory perception and sensory imagination, context, history, seeing in beholding, appropriate response, dialogue and consensus, and evaluation. It was so exciting when I first heard of this approach - inside me was singing 'that's what I do!, that's what I do!', meaning it's how I approach working on a painting or design. Or visiting a place, seeing a new phenomena, travelling, whatever. I don't do it in such a structured coordinated way nor with an ability to add headings to each element of my process, but what I do resonates with the pattern.

The Science of Qualities allows both the essence and the bigger connections to be expressed, through seeing the whole rather than the parts (holistic versus reductionist). But somehow I don't think it is appropriate to demonstrate wax temperatures - but now I think: why not? Isn't it easier to tell someone that from experience I found if I am wearing more than a sweatshirt the room's too cool for successful batikking than to say from experimentation I found that the thermometer must be above a particular temperature? Although it's easier for them to measure their room with a thermometer than to get me to stand there with or without sweatshirt or more... the idea for them to learn their own clothing level is much better, as their space may have variables I have not accounted for (drafts, higher ceiling, different humidity etc).

I think why I've gone the reductionist route on much of my sustainability research is that, supposedly, there's more cred to the results. I can say x y z with certainty rather than 'in my experience' which anyone could dismiss as artist waffle. Sadly.

I dug out a few articles about A Science of Qualities - this one I've read before, it's long but page 3 has a few appropriate paras. There's also this and this. Page 5 here (scroll down) describes a newish book by Brian Goodwin which is now on my reading list.

UN international year of natural fibres

The UN's International Year of Natural Fibres is launched today. Its objectives are to:

- Raise awareness and stimulate demand for natural fibres;
- Promote the efficiency and sustainability of the natural fibres industries;
- Encourage appropriate policy responses from governments to the problems faced by natural fibre industries;
- Foster an effective and enduring international partnership among the various natural fibres industries.

Lots of events around the world are planned for this year, including in Britain an International Conference in London in December (though it seems more directed to industry than artistry) and an international textile conference in Leeds in September.



Another exciting conference:

Making Futures - the crafts in the context of emerging global sustainability agendas.

Organised by Plymouth College of Art and Design (PCAD), it is taking place in September 2009 at Mount Edgcumbe House, near Saltash in Cornwall. I hope to be there!



And, because some things come in threes, the next issue of Selvedge magazine is themes around 'Frugal'. I was asked if I'd like to advertise but as well as not knowing what I'd be advertising I feel it goes against the essence of what I'm trying to do. The magazine is beautifully produced with gorgeous photography, and even the adverts are a pleasure to look at, but it has a large readership and global circulation. Being just a humble artist I want to get on with things quietly and minimally and appropriately and... frugally. Self-promotion there seems arrogant and loud and wrong, for me, in this context. But I am looking forward to seeing the next issue.

textiles now

Last Saturday this lovely book arrived in the post - Textiles Now by Drusilla Cole. I got so excited when I picked it up, thinking 'I can feel it! I can feel it!' and running my fingers across the textures while staring blankly into space. I'm not going to tell you any more about that so you can have the delight too if you get the book yourself or decide to hunt it out it in a bookshop or library. I do have a habit of feeling textures with the tips of my fingers. Sometimes it worries people! But texture is just wonderful, and touch/feeling an under-appreciated sense.

Textiles Now has around 250 pages of contemporary textile art. Gorgeous colour, form and texture in sections - 1 Constructed, 2 Dyed, printed and painted, and 3 Mixed media and stitched.

A couple of my river batiks are in the second section - Source of the Penpont and one with a long title that was abbreviated to De Lank Camel which will mean little to many but confuse North Cornwall folk who'll know it's the name of two major rivers (and yes, I am a little annoyed about the amendment). The full title is De Lank near the Confluence with the Camel. See them on my website here and here, but not here right now as the colours don't fit with those of the cover.

There are also batiks by Isabella Whitworth, Pat Hodson, Dorothy 'Bunny' Bowen, and Betsy Sterling Benjamin, and dyed felt pictures by Helen Melvin amongst other artists work or names I admire or recognise.

The book is not oriented to artists working sustainably or towards sustainability, but there are some included. For instance Helen Melvin's and India Flint's work is with natural dyes and Bunny Bowen has researched soy wax as substitute for paraffin wax in batik. At a stretch my river batiks also fall into the sustainable approach category by utilising whatever was around to apply wax for resist or, as I usually describe it, using scrap, found and home made tools.

It seems right to combine sustainable-approach art alongside - how to describe it? other art that hasn't deliberately incorporated such methods or materials, rather than keep 'eco-art' in an elitist niche. I know organic farmers who think this way... their approach is that it is just a different way of farming (though they obviously think it the better way!). By keeping in with the mainstream those others won't see organic as elitist so shouldn't feel 'threatened' or 'looked down on', and are more likely to be open-minded as to the benefits of organic and negatives of their own practice (and vice versa?). These farmers are good role models for me...

'Textiles Now' is published by Laurence King, where you can also view some pages. But you don't get to feel the cover!

procion dye shelf life

Procion MX one year shelf life? Tosh! Who started this myth? I've tested it using 18 month old magenta (red MX-8B), yellow (lemon yellow MX-8G) and black (Kenactive black K2647) and 11 month old cyan (turquoise MX-G) - all acquired at the same time (I think). They looked fine after painting, but once boiled the cyan obviously didn't fix well, as shown in the first photo. (I made the colour wheel ten or more years ago - the centre has 100% strength primary and secondary colours, with tertiaries also showing in the outer ring. The two in-between rings are primary and secondary colours at different dilutions).

I wasn't convinced by the depth of the test's black either, but serious-black always has been an issue with Procions.

Tucked away on the studio dye shelf were several pots of older dye, some even dating back to 2004 (first opened date), and some unopened pots. I was surprised to have such a collection - usually I only look when ordering new dye. There's also a stack of empty pots. Well-meaning I've intended to send them back to the supplier for re-use but haven't yet taken the final necessary step. Perhaps I should make this a little job for this week. Luckily I had an unopened cyan (though different supplier) and black (and magenta).

I ran a further test, as shown in the second photo where the year of first opening a pot is also shown. Even when painting the cyans the 2007 pot could be seen to be lighter than the 2005 and 2008 pots. To ensure it wasn't a mixing error on my part I made up a further pot of 2007 cyan, shown above the magenta where it (erroneously) says 2008 - I decided against opening a new magenta as the 2006 colour was fine.

A surprise was to find the 2006 black I was previously unsure of now looking better/darker than the old 2005 and newly opened 2008 batch. The 2003 magenta looks as good as the 2006 one, and all lemon yellows (2004, 2005, 2006) looked equally good - though as demonstrated in the colour wheel differences in tone of yellow aren't easy to grasp. For many years I have mixed lemon yellow (and advised students similarly) at a slightly higher concentration than other colours, because it seemed to need it. Perhaps I once had a 'dodgy' yellow and needed to then but this test shows there's no need to. Well that's good for resources and pocket!

To sum up, three dyes opened 18 months ago (at time of purchase) have lasted longer than one opened within the last year (also bought 18 months ago). Another dye just opened (purchased in last year?) is also inferior to that opened 18 months ago. Dyes can fix quite adequately even at five years old.

How to ensure newly purchased dye will be of a higher or equal quality to that 'past its shelf life'? I just don't know. You rely on being supplied with fresh stuff; suppliers aren't likely to tell you if it isn't.

Over the years I've bought Procion MX from three British suppliers. I used to buy cheaper dyes from one just for workshop use (when I was running lots of workshops), but wouldn't use them in my own work because the colour intensity wasn't as good. I shrugged that off as inevitable considering price difference (the 2008-opened cyan and 2005-opened yellow are these dyes, and yes I think the 2008 cyan is marginally lighter than the 2005, but not as pale as the 2007).

Maybe it all began changing when ICI's patent on MX dye ran out and anyone could then manufacture them. One company has been more open than others saying their MX is manufactured in Indonesia and naming the company.

For sure Procion does have a shelf life, though. I found out the hard way in my early years of batikking. It was a commission for a magazine front cover, with the possibility of the next two issues too. I was chuffed, flattered and very scared to have such a prestigious (and well-paid!) job to do. Very close to the deadline I went to boil out the wax - and one major colour bled bled bled! All the impact of colour A against colour B was lost - the design balance skewed and it just didn't buzz any more. There was no time to re-do it, I was too tired and wouldn't have had the subtlety for fine canting work at that eleventh hour. Devastated and despondent I had to explain what had happened. As expected they decided not to go with it despite me asking them to adjust the colours digitally back to how they were originally (at that time I had no computer and no idea whether it could be done). I felt so unprofessional... But a happier ending - some months later they came back to me - they'd decided they liked the design and would attempt colour correction. It was published but the colours they came out with were different from mine.

So... the conclusion on Procion MX dye shelf life is: demand suppliers state how old the dyes are when you buy them. Write not just the date of opening on the pot but also the date of purchase and manufacture. Test them immediately - if they are weaker than the 'old' dyes, hmmm... Don't want to fall out with the suppliers, but really I think they would need to give an explanation.

Of course, if I become a 100% woad dyer, I won't have this problem. Or rather, I very probably will but it's different as variations in woad colour will be as much down to nature and the annual crop - not wholly the grower's responsibility. Synthetic dyes are meant to be consistent.

irony and purpose

Next month the Renewable Transport Fuels Obligation comes into force requiring biofuel to be included in 2.5% of petrol and diesel. It is now widely known (see here and here) that most biofuels are now discredited for being more damaging than the fossil fuel they are meant to replace. Not just for increasing greenhouse gas emissions but for putting up global food prices and destruction of pristine habitats such as rainforest.

The irony of a fuel designed to reduce greenhouse emissions but that actually increases it is not lost on me with my predicament over the direction, future, purpose of my art. My batiks reflect and interpret the natural world and/or environmental issues in the hope of inspiring or enlightening others to appreciate and live more respectfully with nature. But until recently I had minimal consideration for the consequences of their actual existence... not just the materials and processes used but the fact yet another "object" had been created and added to the world of consumerism.

edited 7 April

dilemma

Over the winter of 1998 and 1999 I was in Isan, better known as North-East Thailand, mostly in a small village called Sang Khom on the banks of the Mekong. I had been there eight years before and had always wanted to return. The Mekong is a huge lumbering and beautiful river forming the border between Thailand and Laos, and Isan, being little affected by tourism, seemed full of traditional character and "place". As everywhere, globalisation was making inroads, but hadn't overrun. I travelled around the region and also into Laos, to another small village Vang Vieng.

Back in 1999 I also had been pondering my creative direction, unsure whether there really was a future for me in batik, in Britain at least. The medium struggles to be accepted by the establishment as "fine art" (despite employing drawing, painting and printmaking skills let alone design and colour theory ones). I have never felt comfortable calling myself a textile artist, as my sewing skills are such to make my mother weep with shame. Yet I wanted to belong... somewhere, and if that meant change then change it would be.

So alongside this three-month holiday I intended to practise working in acrylics. Why I settled on them I'm not sure, maybe because of the strong colours, maybe because other people's work in acrylic inspired me to think it was for me. But I struggled... the paint dried up so quickly! The heat! The heat.

The peaceful surroundings of river, horticultural activity on its banks, distant hill and forest views, rice padi and banana plantations, butterflies, spiders and lizards, Buddhist monastery gong rings, and village life ticking over was astoundingly inspiring. Ideas for batik kept leaping forth, I scribbled them down, making sketches and taking photos for reference. Within a few days I knew: I am a batik artist, it's how I think, it's how my work evolves, it's what I do, it's what I was meant to do. I am a batikker, and will have to make it work, somehow.

I resolved to forget acrylics, and concentrate on initiating a series of batiks inspired by Mekong culture, agriculture and wildlife. It would have been great to have started the batiks there (if workspace and sourcing all materials and equipment were possible) but I knew I couldn't make enough in the three months. And besides, it was also a holiday!

Once back in Cornwall I was completely fired up and began the batiks straightaway. But somehow I got sidetracked into furthering the water movement series I'd started before I left, inspired by streams and rivers here on the moor. I managed to work the two projects side by side for some years, concluding the rivers work with an exhibition in the Indian King in Camelford in 2003. This show was an eye-opener for me, indicating that the way forward definitely was (though I hate the commerciality of the phrase) themed exhibitions. More than that, exhibitions themed around rivers. And I was halfway with the next, the Mekong...

But in 2004 I found myself starting a part-time PGCE (post-graduate certificate in education, post-16 education). Although an existing artist-PGCE student advised I should forget about getting any art made during the course, I foolishly felt I would be able to keep some batik going. But in the first term I was throwing away so much dye - not being able to get back to it before it 'went off' – that I consciously stopped batikking. The PGCE ended in 2006. And my headspace was elsewhere. So elsewhere that I haven't been able to pick up the Mekong thread from where I left off. I have tried several times to re-inspire myself... well I am inspired to do it but the art would be coming from completely the wrong place. It would no longer be emerging from within but would be created from a detached, external, emotionless place. And I just can't do that, I need to feel, breathe, live my work not do it as something like a mathematical equation.

So my dilemma: I have half an exhibition made, and the chance to show the whole caboodle in a good wildlife gallery in 2009. Should I force myself to complete it – maybe even going back to Mekong country to get re-invigorated - or should I just admit defeat, that time and circumstance has lost me that opportunity and just as my practice is evolving all new work should also reflect that I have moved on.

I do know what I want to do next, it has been hanging around ever since the moorland streams exhibition, just waiting for Mekong to complete.

I know the answer. I just don't want to feel I'm letting down the wonderful people of Sang Khom. Not that they are expecting anything, but the exhibition would be my gesture at giving something back. A recognition and respect for what they have and who they are.

talk talk

I feel bad for not posting more pictures. It's difficult when I don't have relevant ones – I didn't take my camera away with me. Nor my sketchbook. I decided not to as I was travelling light. But... here is the invitation to the Batik Transitions exhibition at the Museum of East Asian Art in Bath – bit crumpled after being in my pocket for the day. Great exhibition - stunning traditional and contemporary batik.

Where I had an interesting conversation too. A lady whose passion in life was doves had found my postcard "Tradition of February 14th" (see Robin, another opportunity for a pic) and, after hearing I was in the museum, found me and asked why it didn't include doves. Apparently her late husband, another fanatic, had written books about them. She continued his work through involvement with a newsletter for a society devoted to doves (memory bit hazy). She was always on the lookout for pictures to include, so if I ever did make one...

Had I been driving (=rushing), I'd have left the museum already and we wouldn't have met. Or if we had I would have felt rushed and not able to linger over such a conversation.

Which leads nicely in to the second conversation referred to in my previous post. Wandering around Bath choosing where to have breakfast I settled for a coffee shop chain selling fairtrade coffee with tables outside. The coffee was welcome but the croissant cold. A man sat at the next table and began talking. The manner of conversation sticks in mind as much as our conversation itself.... it was straight out of a Graham Greene novel. He was a journalist. I imagined him stopping there each morning with a cuppa, watching the world going by, greeting and sometimes chatting with passing locals. Waiting for a lead into the next story. And I was a new face, so worth enquiring about. I wondered if I'd pinched 'his' table.

What did we talk about? The media's influence over people (he had recently not-renewed-contract with the local paper because of its increasing reliance on headlining negative non-news to increase sales), merits of museum trends towards interpretation over simple display and label of many more items, positive life without television and childhoods outdoors mucking around in nature, similarities between all political parties these days and equivalent lack of democratic respect, and the local council's disregard for its residents and their much-loved public building it was demolishing. It is always encouraging to find similar thinking elsewhere in person and not just 'anonymously' through the internet or campaign groups. It may not be a revolution that's coming, but change in the next few decades surely will be revolutionary, and it is comforting to know others are stepping outside 'the system' to seek positive change... especially someone with the influential skills of a journo!

It surprised me to hear a businessman acknowledge the changes we are facing over the next twenty years will be greater than any he has seen in his lifetime (of 50+ years, at a guess). This was on the train back to Plymouth, a Saltash businessman absorbed in his laptop with mouse at arms length across the table. We began chatting at Exeter. You know how sometimes conversations lead to you saying something that makes you jump aside and look amazedly at your statement wondering where it came from, whilst also recognising it's what you knew all along. I proclaimed:

"the only thing that matters from now on is knowing how to live off the land".

I think those without this knowledge and the ways of nature won't survive. I'm not in the survivors camp... yet.

Our statements emerged during discussions of the nature of art, its role in the future uncertain world – with some unexpected parallels to our earlier London Olympics logo conversation.

While considering the merits or not of the logo, the media's influence again popped up – how it will have shaped many people's opinions even before seeing the logo. Our conclusion was to have more faith in Wolff Olins (a highly respected design group even when I was a minnow design student), that over five years the logo might well evolve into something (in my opinion) more appropriate. But I didn't and don't believe that just an intellectual approach (ie rationalisation of what, why, when, who, where etc) is enough - if it doesn't feel right. Feelings and instinct should have more respect and be listened to.

As I see it, art's intrinsic value is lost today because of the disconnection most people have with art. The oblivion to it. Yet music on the radio is accessible to everyone despite different tastes (sometimes too accessible, thinking about thumpity thump car stereos). But which came first, the loss of purpose or the disconnectedness?

The Saltash businessman feels it is partly because other media have taken art's place (eg television) but it's also about education, that young people these days don't learn to retain knowledge or facts because they are otherwise so easily accessible eg through the internet. At a simple level, you could compare learning times tables with use of a calculator, and certainly I was one of the last generations to learn maths without calculators.

But I feel the cause of disconnectedness from art is deeper-rooted and longer-lived, not just a young person thing but a whole society thing. In traditional societies designs had meaning and spiritual significance, and were respected as part of everyday life and culture. Perhaps they were the media of the day, influencing people in the way modern media does now. But traditional art wasn't and isn't about sensationalism, fashion and sales but about customs, values and knowledge, how society should be, how the natural world is, and spiritual interaction with the natural world. Knowledge gleaned through generations and handed down in art form. Yet traditional art has evolved over time without losing its meaning. So what happened to ours?

Has the written and read word replaced this former visual language? Much more information can be given and taken through reading than could be incorporated into a design (I think!). But is knowledge understood and retained in the same way as it might with a familiar design or pattern? Can the read and written word initiate physical, emotional responses like art can?* In the same way calculator use has obscured mental arithmetic, has reading and writing obscured visual ability? If this is true, the Saltash businessman would be right in blaming education – whether the traditional 3r's (reading writing 'rithmetic) or current literacy and numeracy policy initiatives.

Art has a societal role... it is community art. But community art in Britain is close to commodified. Sometimes government policies are being delivered or targets met – varying from year to year and government to government. Sometimes community art is just a means for artists to earn a living through projects instigated and funded by agencies outside the very communities. Sometimes community art is brilliant but it still doesn't have the reach of traditional art. Art for the community surely is more attitude than career...

I still haven't found the answers, but both conversations opened up new ways of looking at the dilemma. And reminded me of the value of slow travel, slow life – the value of having time for other people and other places, of time to contemplate. Does slow art have these same values, is slow art akin to traditional art?


*Not confusing the read/written word with the spoken/sung word, or wanting to upset poets!

carbon costing

Knowing where and how to start calculating the carbon cost of making batik... that's something I've been pondering for some time. I feel the onus is on primary producers and suppliers to give the carbon cost of their produce and products - from which the true cost of making batik can be deduced.

Despondently I've thought that time is some way off, especially if buying from small scale producers. These individuals seem unlikely to have the time/money/know-how to calculate their own carbon cost... or so I thought until today, when Gossypium's latest e-newsletter arrived. Gossypium is a major importer and retailer of organic fair trade cotton clothing and textiles from India. It says

"Enough cotton for a t-shirt requires 2 square metres of land and will take 8 months to grow. In that time the cotton plants will absorb 3 kg of CO2 while growing. The t-shirts will travel 9,500 km by sea, emitting 0.002 kg of CO2 per t-shirt."

(in old money, that's 21.5 square feet, 8 months, 6.6 pounds, 5,900 miles, and 0.004 pounds)

But before I start skipping joyfully (spilling wax in the process) thinking using-cotton is assisting with reducing carbon emissions, I need to compare these CO2 absorption rates with an alternative crop on that 2 square metres of land. And with not-growing, ie leaving it fallow; and with the land being left in its natural state. (There is no comparison to make with so-called conventional agriculture with its nitrogen-based fertilisers: nitrous oxide, produced during cultivation, is another main greenhouse gas).

Cotton agriculture: I believe cotton plants are sown/planted each year rather than cropped year after year. Whichever, what happens to the 8 months of absorbed carbon after the plant is uprooted, ploughed back in, fed to livestock or whatever? Is it re-released to the atmosphere - even if for only 4 months until the next 8 month absorption starts? Or does that re-absorption count as a permanent lock-up of carbon, for as long as cotton is grown on that 2 metres?

And balancing the needs of the world's t-shirt wearing population and sustainability, how long must my t-shirt last before my turn comes up to have another from that 2 square metres? Can that two metres worth clothe the world's over-population?

I've a lot of respect for Gossypium, especially for publishing the carbon figures. I'm sure they wouldn't have "spun" them just to look good... but there's a bit more to find out yet.

Something else I've been pondering... a scientist who could help me with the carbon, chemical and more-besides understanding is becoming a necessity. I know my limitations!

Batik in Malaysia

Diane Gaffney recently told me that Malaysia is hosting a second KLIB batik convention this autumn. Although I think their last one was more concerned with clothing, fashion and commercial batik than with fine art batik, I would love to go simply because it is in Malaysia (where I learned batik in the early 1990s) . I could catch up with a few friends, eat durian (can't remember when the season is) and roti canai, practise my rusty Malay, and then shoot up to Northeast Thailand to chill out and catch up with things there. After I finish this commission, I will be working again on what I loosely call the Mekong batiks, inspired by my last visit to this area. So everything seems to slot in (though haven't thought about financing it yet!) including the excuse of not having had a holiday away for years.

At the moment I am researching and writing an article for the Batik Guild magazine on climate change and batik practice following both the IPCC's (Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change) recent report 'Mitigation of Climate Change' and the British government's Draft Climate Change Bill of March 2007. News of the convention makes me wonder whether international get-togethers are still "a good thing" - or the right thing - considering all the carbon going into the atmosphere from participants flying there from all over. In terms of communication, learning, sharing, inspiring and general buzz they can't be beaten... but at what point do they become unsustainable? On the other hand, this kind of specialist networking is a useful "tool" for spreading new ideas... maybe even sustainable batik practice! Might the positive effect of one outweigh the negative of the other?

Or maybe it's fine for international get-togethers to be in and for those countries (and their citizens) who cannot be considered primary creators and maintainers of "the problem", such as Malaysia. After all why should they lose out because of our lifestyles? Why should they cut back now too, when their starting point is way less consumerist, on-demand and carbon-intensive than our existing one? We in the west will have to show a lot more willing and action I reckon before the rest of the world can be expected to make sacrifices to reduce greenhouse gas emissions.

organic fairtrade cotton has arrived

Last week three parcels arrived containing organic fairtrade cotton - mostly metre lengths for me to test for wax and dye qualities. Following my research into 'conventional' cotton production I vowed to find a sustainably produced cotton - or two - to become my standard. I last tried several years ago, but found dye take-up not satisfactory and the type of fabric not ideal (an admission: I am pretty ignorant about different fabric types - but for sustainable practice I need to learn more about all my materials).

I have two percales (one natural and one eco-bleached) and a soft voile from Greenfibres in Devon; two calicos (one hand loom, the other powerloom, both unbleached) from Fabrics Ltd in mid-Wales; and a handloom (I think a calico) from Bishopston Trading in Bristol. Greenfibres also supplied me with a small sample of Nettle Mix fabric, 90% cotton/10% nettle to try.

It was such a joy to open the packages, especially Greenfibres' and Bishopston's, because of the care they had taken with packing. They seemed to come with love, care and meaningfulness - just as my Riverford organic veg box does. It's part of the cycle of things that makes something not anonymous or just a commodity. It places an onus on me to maintain and enhance this aura and pass it on. I believe this is what Maori call mana.

For one of my PGCE (postgraduate certificate in education) assignments I studied ancient wisdom, and Maori culture in particular. This was to learn the place of art and craft in their culture, how their art and craft skills were and are passed on and how sustainability and ecological knowledge related to that. About mana I wrote:

Mana is a spiritual power residing within people. It is conveyed from craftspeople into their work, imbuing it with value. Mana accumulates through the user, wearer or owner, and the collective knowledge and history of the art. Wholly unassociated with monetary worth, this value is also not connected to intrinsic meaning or beauty. As such, mana is not easy to translate though 'prestige' is commonly used.

Greenfibres' cloth was wrapped in grey tissue - possibly unbleached and recycled tissue - and tied with a ribbon (like a present!). This was inside a brown paper (slightly padded) sack taped together with paper tape.

Bishopston's came in a cloth bag, which if the graphics weren't so ugly, I would use (will try overdyeing it and then use it). The fabric was inside a plastic bag in the cloth bag, which was also in a polythene bag but this was the postage one.

Fabrics Ltd used no polythene other than a documents holder on the outside of the brown paper wrap they used. Open the paper and there is your fabric exposed to the elements - refreshingly trusting of the postal system. Their graphics is worse than Bishopston's... but they can be excused by being a small family business just moving into organic fabrics (the other two are seasoned players).

Some of the packaging has been re-used to send half the cloth to Caroline King who will also be testing them. She is moving back into batik after an absence of some decades and wants to start out how she means to go on. Isn't that sensible! Create the right habit from the start...

And I, I will not only be testing, I have been charged with a responsibility I wasn't expecting...

Here and There

Last week I had batiks to deliver for an exhibition at the Museum of East Asian Art in Bath, and another to collect from Worthing that is due to go to Saltram House, Plymouth next week. Two others came back recently from Salisbury. Normally, meaning previously, I would have driven my work to/from these venues. But last November when I had to stop driving (medical reasons) I turned to couriers for deliveries and collections. It seems like a good and the right environmental thing to do, saving a bit of carbon here and there. But last week packing the work for Bath left me wondering whether there was more to it.

Upcountry trips can tie in with catching up with family and friends, having a break/holiday, and seeing what's happening elsewhere - all important to one's wellbeing and outlook. Sometimes delivery costs can be shared by taking another artist's work. In this case combining Bath, Salisbury, Worthing and Saltram into a single trip might have been feasible.

The biggest downsides of not taking work yourself is in not meeting the curator and staff and establishing a personal relationship, and in not seeing and getting a feel for the venue and museum. Indirect delivery sort of commodifies exhibiting, which - not being where my art is meant to be - is a feeling I don't relish.

It took most of the day to pack three batiks for Bath – to get the right balance between a tight well-protected fit yet not making it too complex for re-packing by the gallery staff. Well ok, the day also included collecting the (re-usable) crate and (re-used) bubble-wrap from my work storage in Launceston (via lift with friend), and preparing relevant paperwork. If I was driving it, the work could have been suitably wrapped in less than ten minutes! Oh how I would have preferred the adventure of travelling for the rest of that day, never mind the next spent waiting in for the courier...

But a little niggle in my memory makes me search out:

Be content with what you have;
rejoice in the way things are.
When you realise there is nothing lacking,
the whole world belongs to you.

Tao Te Ching, in verse 44, Lao Tzu (translation Stephen Mitchell)

My urge to deliver and collect work personally could be a bolshy reaction to my authorities-imposed driving licence surrender. But with peak oil apparently in sight, using couriers more often and seeking out and sharing deliveries with others should become the norm. By chance someone from the next village was working just 100 metres away from the Worthing venue and brought the large batik back by car last Friday. A friend is also exhibiting at Saltram and will take my work – and me – along with her next week... yee ha! A personal visit!

I have just remembered! I have another batik awaiting collection from the Soil Association offices in Bristol! Hanging on until someone is going somewhere you need obviously carries its own risks.

Have I reached any conclusions here? I don't think so. Further questions arise over the merits of work being on show so far away; and how my delivery/collection position relates to the position of those viewing a show who may have driven some distance to get there; and the collective carbon footprint of visitors to that exhibition...

Suppose all the stops were pulled out to produce and deliver sustainably... and yet the exhibition itself became a net gain for global heating?