Mood: Hopefully Petrified | Post Type: Behind the Scenes | Weeks Until Show: 1

One week. How did that happen?

The last few weeks have absolutely flown by and, out of character for me, I’ve taken them at a slower pace than I normally would. I don’t think I’ve achieved any less than I would have at my usual whirlwind speed either; it’s just that I had more time available than I expected.

This purposeful slowing down has rewarded me with more time to reflect, experiment and adapt. There have been a lot of lightbulb moments that I simply wouldn’t have had room for if I’d been charging ahead at my normal pace. And I’ve proved a few things to myself along the way.

I can have a lot going on without becoming completely overwhelmed. I think what I’m beginning to understand is that, for me, it’s less about how much is happening and more about who is in control. What I mean by that is: Who is making the decisions?

When they’re my decisions, I can deal with an enormous amount. When circumstances — or other people — start dictating the tasks and timelines, everything changes. And yes, the last few weeks have made me think about my double-hatted professions. What would life look like if the creative side became my only profession?

But I’m realistic. I still have so much to learn and a lot of traction to gain before I could make this my sole profession and, more importantly, my sole income. That's a much bigger conversation for another day.

Right now, I have a solo show to put on.

In one week.

The exhibition I imagined vs the exhibition I'm actually having

What I’m realising is that there are frustrations because I had envisaged my solo show. I knew the space. I knew each wall. In fact, working out how many pieces I needed and what sizes they should be was literally one of the first things I did when I booked it. That plan has been my guide throughout.

But there’s a difference between expectation and reality. I’ll probably end up with around 18 pieces.

Eighteen is a perfectly respectable number, I know that. But I had more planned, and the one that really grates is that I never achieved the 16 x 12 frame size I wanted to explore. I'm disappointed about that. But there is a reason.

My process has continued to evolve throughout this entire journey. I’ve tweaked the order in which I do things and even drastically changed some of the core principles of the process. That has meant learning again every time I’ve moved up in size. I also can't seem to make a piece without trying something new with the way I apply the glass powders. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.

My latest piece falls into the latter category, but it has confirmed something I’d already begun to suspect: the process I use for my pendants and the process for my larger pieces can't be exactly the same. With the larger pieces, there simply isn’t enough physical compression to reproduce the same results. I suspected as much, but this last piece has proved my concerns. So, after the show, it's back to the drawing board.

And perhaps that's part of the reality of creating a body of work while your practice is still evolving. I couldn't just decide to make something bigger and reproduce exactly what I'd done before. I was learning what the glass would — and wouldn't — let me do as I went along.

I also didn’t get time to properly develop my single-layer glass pieces using glass powders and screen printing. I'd designed these brightly coloured pieces and loved them. But when I took them to my first event, something wasn't right. They jarred with the rest of my display and actually distracted from it. So I put them on the shelf – Literally.

There were ideas I wanted to push further and things I wanted to experiment with, and I think I may now have a way forward that will simplify them and make them more aligned with the rest of my work. I also had this nagging nervousness that they might somehow **devalue my wall art**. So, strangely, I'm more content about *not* achieving this particular goal. The wall pieces are the main spectacle of this show and perhaps they need to be allowed to be just that.

Apparently, 13 months wasn't enough

When I booked my solo show, I thought I’d given myself plenty of time. Thirteen months. My mentor had told me I needed longer than 12 months, so I listened to her advice and gave myself 12 + 1. Problem solved.

Except, in hindsight, I now realise I should probably have given myself 15 months. Because I should not still be opening the kiln a week out. I should not still need to collect frames. And one of my biggest regrets is that I haven't left enough time to get the finished collection professionally photographed before the exhibition.

I've spent all this time developing and creating a body of work, and yet I'm still making it so close to the show that there simply isn't a window to get it properly documented before it goes onto the walls. That's frustrating.

And then there's promotion...

I knew promoting a solo show would take time. And I don’t just mean posting on social media — which, ironically, I've hardly done because I don't want to bombard people with it. I mean trying to promote an exhibition outside that little bubble – Actual posters, physical ones.

They needed to be designed, printed, taken somewhere and actually put up — which is when I discovered that physical noticeboards are apparently becoming an endangered species. They’re surprisingly difficult to find, particularly when you’re driving around villages you don’t know that well, peering hopefully at village halls, shops and anything that looks vaguely like it might have a noticeboard attached to it.

There’s also been this constant battle between making the work and telling people about the work.

Months ago, it felt too early. I didn't have all the work, so part of me doubted whether I should even be telling people about an exhibition when I couldn't show them what was going to be in it. Now I'm a week out and I've almost run out of energy and motivation for promotion because every part of me feels that my time would be better spent in the studio.

Too early. Too late. Apparently there was a perfect bit in the middle that I missed.

And then, because things weren't quite complicated enough, we have major road closures. The journey to the town where the gallery is should take about 20 minutes. It's going to take closer to an hour. We've also had even more road closures that have almost marooned our local community. The timing couldn't be worse. Which means on the day of set-up there will be no:

"I'll just pop home and get it."

And that makes me laugh because I remember my first Devon Open Studios. I was exhibiting about a mile down the road from home. I came home three times on the first morning. Three!!!

I've definitely improved since then. At more general events, where I'm doing a similar set-up each time — 6ft table, display, stock, packaging and all the usual things — my packing lists rarely change now. I've learned what I need.

But Devon Open Studios was once a first. And this solo show is another first. So despite all the experience I've gained, I'm back in slightly unfamiliar territory again. And apparently I'm going to be doing it an hour from home while the road is closed. Excellent!

What haven't I thought of?

This is where my brain is currently living.

Have I got this?
Have I remembered that?
What am I taking?
What still needs finishing?
What needs printing?
What haven't I promoted?
What food am I getting?
What are people going to drink and eat at the preview?
Where do I find 24 glasses?

Oh...WHAT AM I GOING TO WEAR TO THE PREVIEW NIGHT?

Yes, amongst finishing artwork, sanding glass, promotion, logistics and wondering whether anyone is actually going to turn up, apparently I also need clothes. I hadn't really thought about that. Until 3am this morning. I'll add it to the list.

And the work isn't actually finished

This is possibly the part that's making every kiln opening slightly terrifying. I'm still finishing pieces. I'm even refinishing pieces. Three currently have stubborn matt areas that I'm trying to resolve. And then there was the fingerprint.

Yes. A fingerprint. My fingerprint. Fused into the glass!!!

That's a first.

The piece was finished. I was literally about to glue it to the frame glass when I spotted it. I know people say an artist leaves their fingerprints within their work, but I think I took that a little too literally. There was nothing for it. I've had to hand-sand it back. Actually, I say had to as though this is something that's already happened.

I'm still on 200 grit. Then I have to work my way through the grits until I can get the finish back to where it needs to be. And it's going to take time because there is only so much repetitive sanding your hands — and your patience — can take in one sitting.

Meanwhile, every kiln opening feels just that little bit scarier.

What if something else goes wrong?
What if I open it and find another problem?
Will I have enough time to fix it?

There isn't really any contingency left now.

Because I'm one week out.

But something else has happened

I've realised this blog isn't going to suddenly end when the exhibition opens. When I started writing about this journey, I suppose part of me thought I was documenting the road towards a solo show.

But I've got so much I still want to write about.
What actually worked.
What didn't.
The reality of promoting a solo show.
The financial cost — and I mean the **stark reality** of the financial cost.
The support that's required.
Why I should have asked for help much earlier.
What I'd do differently.
What I wish I'd known 13 months ago.
What happens when the doors actually open.
What happens when people see the work.
What happens if they buy it.
What happens if they don't.

And, perhaps most importantly, how I feel about all of this when I'm standing on the other side of it. Right now, though, I'm not on the other side.

There are approximately 427 things still going around in my head. But in one week's time, those 18 pieces are going to be hanging together in my first solo show, for other people to walk in and see.

Which is simultaneously exciting, terrifying and slightly unbelievable!!!

This is Episode 29 in my ‘Solo Show Diary’ series — a behind-the-scenes look at how my work develops. You can find my earlier posts here.

Well, How Did Being One Week Out Happen?