I Like It.... What Is It? The processes behind my mixed media artworks

If you've followed my work for a while, you'll know that I'm best known for my mixed media works. But unless you've seen them in person - or have engaged in an unhealthy level of instagram stalking - it can be hard to decipher exactly what these artworks are.

So I thought I'd take a few minutes to explain some of the processes I regularly use in the studio, and how they come together to create these mixed media artworks. And in case you're stumbling on this post completely by accident and have NO idea who I am or what I'm talking about - here's an example of one of my latest mixed media works.

So... what is it?

I think of these works as three-dimensional collages or assemblages. I weave layers of clear nylon to create a platform that will hold my materials. Typically these will be dried flowers, petals, leaves and watch parts, but sometimes I'll use other found materials including costume jewellery, glasses lenses, stone, charcoal or rope. I tend to lean towards materials that hold a history - through personal use or in telling the story of the land. And I'll build up these materials so that the piece feels layered, textured and immersive. Here's an image of the same work from an angle so you can see what I mean.

This three-dimensionality (is that a word? We'll go with it anyway) means that two rather lovely things happen to the works. Firstly, as you move around the works you can find different details and qualities that you might not have spotted from another angle. Secondly, they cast shadows - so they can look very different on an overcast day to a sunny day. And I think - though this will have to be a post for another day - that those qualities of texture and shadow might be quite important to the ways we inhabit the world.

Weaving

So we'll start with the three-dimensions. To create these works, I have cases made bespoke for me, which allow me to weave a mesh directly into the frame. This mesh is made from fine, clear nylon and can create the illusion that the materials are floating. It's so satisfying to see the result, but it does mean that hours and hours of labour are effectively invisible - which is somewhat less satisfying. Fortunately, I have my lovely assistant Jess with me in the studio, and she is the best invisible-weaver I've ever come across.

To help us along, I've also created a tool - affectionately referred to as the 'Magic Stick', which allows us to pull out alternate wires when we're weaving.

Ok, it's not pretty, but it does the job. I also reverse-engineered the bobbin mechanism of the sewing machine to improve our methods further. Honestly, there's not a lot I love more than finding clever solutions to very specific and under-appreciated problems.

https://video.wixstatic.com/video/897e67_446385fd79de4e74a45f66686494e7ac/1080p/mp4/file.mp4

We'll usually weave three layers of nylon in total - so including the back panel of the case, I have four layers to develop the work over - starting with the back panel and working my way forward.

Collage

I call this step collage, but it's not a true use of the word. You can think of the works as an odd amalgamation of collage, decoupage, assemblage... but essentially I'm creating compositions by layering different fragments to make a new whole.

The first layer - developed over the back panel - is where the piece really gets its identity. I'll design the overall composition, the colour and texture combinations. Sometimes I'll take inspiration from a word, phrase or story and it will shape how the work develops. Other times I'll start with a particular flower or clock face and let the works grow organically from there. For the pieces with watch parts, I'll draw designs directly onto the panel to find the shapes I want - to later erase those drawings once the initial watch parts are set in place. The design can change and evolve over the other layers, but here I'm really defining the parameters of the work. The materials are adhered to the panel using clear, industrial strength glue - which ensures that the works are durable, but also requires a good level of dexterity when working with the smallest of petals and watch gears. It's not an endeavour to take on when you're tired and/or grumpy.

Once the back panels are complete, we'll weave the next layer of nylon and start over again. The compositions continue to change and evolve over these layers - usually developing from the initial design, and sometimes taking unexpected turns.

Developing Backgrounds

You'll notice that many of my works have metal leaf backgrounds. I'm really drawn to the ways that metalics can add a rather magical and dreamlike quality to the works. They also add a lot of depth - they reflect the colours of the petals and the shapes of the gears, almost mirroring the layers above. Sometimes I'll also be found painting the backgrounds, or adding verdi gris, charcoal or rust to really dig into the themes of time.

To create the gilded or painted backgrounds, we'll start by masking the areas that will stay plain, and cutting the design for the background. Often this is a simple square or circle, sometimes I will get a little... carried away.

For gilding gold, silver or copper leaf, once the design is cut, we paint on a special glue called 'size'. Instead of setting, this glue stays tacky until the gold leaf is applied to it. Gold leaf comes in square sheets - it you see it across large areas you can often spot a subtle checkerboard effect with it - and can be rubbed on to the size. We dust away the excess with soft brushes and varnish so that the metals don't tarnish.

My painted backgrounds range from hazy colourscapes to detailed depictions of flowers or leaves - usually painted in oils, but sometimes in charcoal powder - one of my favourite materials. You can apply it like watercolour, but the powdery black has such depth to it. I choose the materials and the imagery in response to the ideas I'm trying to translate. Oils can translate the glow of sunlight through petals so beautifully. Charcoal can speak to the idea of transformation and time. The choices made at this point say a lot about the ideas I'm trying to give shape to.

How long does it take?

I get this question a lot and it's an impossible one to answer - so I do apologise if you've ever asked and felt fobbed off by my reply. I promise I'm not trying to be evasive.

I tend to work on a few pieces at a time - it means that Jess can weave the nylon and prepare backgrounds whilst I concentrate on the compositions. It also means that I can sit with the works for a while in the studio, which I really find essential. Even when I'm not directly working on a piece, every time I look at a work after looking at something else it's like seeing it for the first time. It becomes easier to assess what parts are working, what's not, where there's gaps in the composition, where the movement of the piece feels stilted.

So depending on the size and complexity of the piece, I can spend anywhere between two to eight weeks on a work, but I won't be working on it exclusively. And that time doesn't take into account the designing, the sketching, the tweaks to the processes or, importantly, the pieces that go wrong and never get seen. Nor does it account for the strange little material experiments, the journal writing, the reading and research that goes on in the studio that slowly evolves the shape and feel of the works. Perhaps not the solid answer that your looking for, but it's as good as I can get :)

I'll be following up on this post with two more pieces - which will talk more specifically about materials and inspiration. But I'd love to know - is there anything I've missed? Do you still have questions? Pop me a message and I'll try my best to cover it in a future post.

Sending all my best wishes,

Anna