Guest post: the power of a playlist
They are a sonic key that unlocks the door to an entirely joyful art practice
Scroll to the bottom for: Katherine’s UK (Margate) and US (Chautauqua) speaking dates
I was delighted when Katherine asked me to write a guest post for her. I did a bit of basking and a bit more of sticking my chest out like an overconfident man pigeon, chatting up a wildly indifferent lady pigeon. That was before I realised that by saying yes, I actually had to write something.
‘You can write about anything you like,’ she said.
‘Oh no,’ I thought.
It’s not that I can’t think of anything to write. It’s that I can think of everything to write, all the time, especially at two in the morning. I spent every waking moment and some dreaming moments, thinking of things I could write.
Some things that this post is not about include: my ongoing cerebral love affair with Johannes Radebe; where Susan, the cat who rules our marina, goes to when she’s not holding court; the Finnish architect Alvar Aalto; my obsession with lions and their relation to golden syrup and a niggling idea about hair nets I can’t quite pin down yet. All solid options, but none of them gave me that ‘eureka!’ feeling.
I was getting a bit stressed about it and then I had a word with myself. ‘Katy,’ I said, ‘You know that if you trust the universe and stop forcing it, you’ll make room for inspiration. It will pop up when you least expect it.’ And it did. On Saturday night when I was watching a film with a great soundtrack, I thought: ‘I must put that song on a playlist.’ That was the beginning.
Pottering around on Spotify, shaping the mood of the new playlist I was making and what songs would go well with the soundtrack number, the next bit slotted into place. I started thinking about the book I’m reading at the moment, Stuart Semple’s Make Art or Die Trying. The book is part handbook, part exploration of Semple’s own art practice and how you can go about living a more creative, artistic life of your own. He writes about the artists and art movements that have inspired him, explaining how he uses their ideas in his own work. At the end of each chapter there’s a handful of exercises that allow you to put the ideas into practice yourself.
Stuart Semple invites you to live the life of an artist, no matter what you do, how you do it and who you are.
What I love about Semple’s approach is the ease with which he makes the connections between what, on paper, can seem like quite elite art theories and grounds them in easily accessible, practical ideas that make complete sense. He opens the door to the world of art and creativity and welcomes you in. He invites you to live the life of an artist, no matter what you do, how you do it and who you are.
One of the things that stopped me from making art for a long time was the idea that someone like me couldn’t be an artist. This was made clear by school. It has been reinforced since then by an army of gatekeepers who all seem very sure about what an artist is and does and even surer that whatever I do, it isn’t art. I used to listen to them. Now I find it interesting to ask them how they know? What I learned, as my grandad used to say, is that; ‘Empty vessels make the loudest noise.’
One of the exercises in Semple’s book is about taking familiar things that you have around you, putting them in a different space and noticing what that does to the object and your understanding of it. His inspiration comes from Marcel Duchamp’s readymades. These were objects to which you were, in his words, ordinarily indifferent, which taken out of context and put in another space, could then be considered as art. The most famous readymade is probably Fountain. It was a urinal that he unplumbed, signed and put in an art gallery. Here is not the space to go into why he stole this idea from a woman who had already done this, because that’s a whole other, much angrier post, but the idea changed the art world forever. It suddenly meant that anyone could make art, not just wealthy people with access to expensive materials and the space to work. It asked questions about creativity and art that are still being debated today.
In the book, Semple invites you to understand that art can be created by noticing what is already around you, by switching things up, by juxtaposing different things and by your intention. He asks you to notice ways in which you might already be living an artistic life without even thinking about it. As I was putting my playlist together, I was struck by the thought that what I was making was art. A playlist is a kind of readymade.
As a kid, music was the artform that was ubiquitous and easy for me to access. The two things that revolutionised my life were learning to make a mixtape and being given a personal stereo. My parents only listened to Radio Four and I didn’t have enough money to buy all the records I wanted. Once I had a stack of C90s and the local record library, I was flying. I spent the next decade curating (some might say, pirating) the soundtrack to my life. With the means to listen to what I wanted, when I wanted, I felt like I was finally waking up to the person I wanted to be. Liberated and slightly deaf.
I had a drawer full of tapes in my bedroom that encapsulated every important thing that happened to me as a teenager. It wasn’t just what I made for myself; we made them as gifts for each other. We made them as invitations, for parties, for lovers, for friends. They showed what we thought of ourselves and each other, what we were, what we hoped to be. They were time capsules and votives. They were, most importantly, works of art. It wasn’t just the songs we curated. We made track lists with notes. We made artwork for the covers. We crafted titles to sum up what the whole experience was supposed to evoke. They were things of beauty.
I know all the reasons why Spotify is a terrible thing, but as a girl who was desperate to explore all the music as a teenager, it’s like the best sort of witchcraft.
When the world moved on to CDs, I was torn. I loved the crisp sound and the fact that you didn’t have to wind them with the end of a pencil, praying they wouldn’t snap. I had more money then too, so I could afford to buy real albums from real shops. I didn’t have a CD burner though, so it meant the end of the mixtape for me. That creative outlet fizzled out, and I was very sad indeed. When I first got together with Jason, he burned a CD for me, our own, new-fangled mixtape. That’s when I knew he was a keeper.
And then Spotify happened.
I know all the reasons why it’s a terrible thing, but as a girl who was desperate to explore all the music as a teenager, it’s like the best sort of witchcraft. I no longer have to rely on whatever I could beg, borrow or scrounge in a provincial East Midlands town with one record shop and a Woolworths. I don’t have to stay up late into the night, breathless to hear whatever John Peel discovered, coming scratchily into my ear over the fizzing radio waves, romantic though it undoubtedly was. It had serious limitations, all of which are now gone (RIP John Peel). Now I can make playlists to my heart’s content. I never run out of space. I can accommodate all my whims and ideas. I can create and sustain different moods and realities whenever I want.
The real purpose of art isn’t about academia and galleries and worthy people pontificating. It’s about forging a connection between what you make and who you are.
Not only is it an art in itself, it inspires me to make other art. It’s a sonic key that unlocks the door to a wider, more beautiful, and entirely joyful art practice. I have made paintings based on albums I’ve discovered on Spotify. I’ve looked at art in galleries and been reminded of songs I’ve listened to. I even commissioned my friend Keris to make me a painting based on my obsession with Elbow’s ‘New York Morning’. I’ve made playlists inspired by things I’ve read and seen. It’s opened my eyes and my heart to a wider creative practice through using my ears.
Most importantly, it reminds me of the real purpose of art. It isn’t about academia and galleries and worthy people pontificating. It’s about forging a connection between what you make and who you are. It’s about finding ways to time travel through your creative life, whether that’s remembering your past or building a future. It’s about seeing what matters and what makes your heart beat faster. It reminds you of all the rooms you contain within yourself and that you are free to explore them or find ways to make more of them. It’s about losing yourself in a banging tune and finding yourself in another. It reminds us that the world can be experienced in a multiplicity of ways, all of which are valid and more creative than we sometimes allow ourselves to think. It’s beautiful.
Katherine’s next live appearances:
UK: Monday 15th July: Margate Book Shop with Dan Richards for his Climbing Days tour
USA: Friday 9th August: Chautauqua Institution, NY, speaking as part of the Interfaith Lecture Series. Details here.
If you think a friend or loved one would enjoy The Clearing by Katherine May, gift subscriptions are available here | Website | Buy: Enchantment UK /US | Buy: Wintering UK / US | Buy: The Electricity of Every Living Thing UK / US
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I love this - thanks so much K! I’m so nostalgic for the mix tape. Spotify lists are just too long!
Love this such great memories of my teens and early 20s. It reminded me not just of mix tapes I made for my self but those I created to give to the various loves of my life at the time and those I also received. Listening to the tape with its hand written listen of tracks and trying to figure out why he had included that song and what it meant about him, me or our growing relationship. A love letter of a different kind.