Final Reflection (Formal Version)
Whilst I have critiqued the substantial level of research and writing required during this unit, I am acutely aware of what I have learnt over the past 12 months, and how each have been intrinsic to my learning process. This doesn’t negate my perspective though, that the required over-emphasis on the written evidencing of research has been detrimental to the making process: only towards the end of the unit have consistent practice with theoretical underpinning begun to emerge.
Only during the final four projects have I have begun defining how I want to see, and how I want others to enter a discourse with my work. Projects 1-6 antagonised my thinking; the overwhelming number of theoretical directions to explore, the emphasis on written evidencing, the substantial research requirements reducing time for creative practice, the focus on the written word as a creative artefact causing confusion, the grating, subtle and consistent push towards performative practices and the dearth of a discourse on the interplay between materiality and theory – all saturated my thinking, hindering me from identifying what resonated, what I want to extract to inform practice, where my practice could lay. Process needs physical, intellectual and emotional space to breathe – being inundated with research and writing requirements is not conducive to establishing that necessary space.
Subtly, however, the unit material was surfacing theories and practices that resonated with my values – patriarchy, oppression, othering, privilege, self-definition, memorialisation, materiality. These became more present in my creative awareness with the discovery of Stanislava Pinchuk’s work for P.4, leading me to consider the nature of my practice. I considered myself a painter – I hankered to paint – but couldn’t relate the unit material to the process of painting. Pinchuk’s philosophy of not being bound to one material, of exploring materiality in service of an idea, struck a chord. I shifted my reflexive gaze and begun considering how to broaden the material foundations of my practice.
P5. frustrated, but offered more resonances, particularly Helen Keller’s compassionate, ego-less confrontation of the narrow definitions of sensory experience. Exploring her work initiated thinking around representing my life experience and relationship to the surrounding world. And there was Spivak’s concept of ‘epistemic violence’, the observation that certain knowledge systems are privileged to the marginalisation of others: at this point I was railing against the unit material, felt it was oppressing my self-expression through the need for conformity to academic requirements, and this concept enlivened me to personally pursue having my experience, my knowledge, seen and heard.
Looking back, these seeds sown by Pinchuk, Keller and Spivak were the first germinations of an autoethnographic-led positioning of my work, though I had yet to formally apply that framing. In P5 I was beginning to have creative ideas, but how to realise them was a sticking point. Discovering the work of Kay Gasei, specifically his process, began to release that ‘stuckness’. From his influence, I returned to the sketchbook and begun iterating through ideas in various fidelity levels and materials. I started to make more conscious decisions during the making process and as I progressed through the later projects, I naturally transposed the mind-mapping I employed for the research exercises into the sketchbook process to map my thoughts, follow germinations, and build through basic visualisations without jumping straight into a more summative expression of a concept. The need to keep notes of thoughts and ideas immediately they surface so they don’t disappear: a bullet journal is now my constant companion, a mobile archive of young ‘germinations’ just breaking through the topsoil. I used these techniques to understand my feelings, thoughts and then develop their material realisations in the acrylic resin pieces that surfaced in P6.
It was with P8 when the learning strands begun to coalesce. My initial curation proposal in P7 was slight, raw, non-committal and lacked a proposal – but then, there was no guidance on how to write one anywhere in P7. Only when I identified the digital gallery, and begun to play with hanging, scaling and moving work that I begun to see the themes in my work, see how they connected, despite the varied nature of materiality, and could construct a cohesive, reflexive framing for my process and output. So, it became back and forth between the hang and the curation proposal – and then the critical review – refining them all in relationship to each other.
The final germination came from a seed sown by my tutor. The observation that my work has autoethnographic leanings. Research and the critical review enhanced my understanding, wove earlier threads together, and further influenced the digital hang. My creative future – at least for the moment – will orbit around this autoethnographic positioning, merging research and creative expression as a method of enquiry into – my – lived cultural experience, and its validity as a source of knowledge.
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Creative Reflection (Irreverent Version)
Dear John,
I need to be honest with you about us. When we first met twelve months ago, I thought you were everything I needed – all that research, all that writing, all those endless theoretical directions to explore. But now I see the truth: you’ve been suffocating me.
You made me believe that written evidence was the only way to prove my worth, that creative practice had to take a backseat to your demands for documentation. You overwhelmed me with theories and pushed me toward performative practices I never wanted. You gave me no space to breathe, no room for my creative process to unfold naturally. You were supposed to help me find myself, but instead you left me confused about what I even wanted to create.
I spent so long trying to please you, John. Projects 1 through 6 were just me desperately trying to fit into your mould, antagonising my own instincts. I wanted to be a painter, but you made me feel like that wasn’t enough, like I had to justify every brushstroke with academic theory.
But then something shifted. Despite everything, you introduced me to people who changed my life. Stanislava Pinchuk showed me I didn’t have to be bound to one material. Helen Keller taught me about compassionate confrontation and broadening definitions of experience. Spivak opened my eyes to epistemic violence – ironically, the very thing you were doing to me by privileging your academic knowledge over my lived experience.
Kay Gasei brought me back to my sketchbook, reminded me how to iterate and play with ideas. Through him, I found my way back to making conscious decisions in my creative process. My bullet journal became my constant companion, a mobile archive of thoughts you would have demanded I formalise prematurely.
It wasn’t until Project 8 that I finally understood what was happening. When I started curating my work, seeing how the pieces connected despite their varied materiality, I realized I’d been developing something beautiful all along – an autoethnographic practice that merged research and creative expression as a method of inquiry into my own lived cultural experience.
You see, John, you weren’t entirely wrong about research and theory being important. But you were wrong about how to nurture that relationship. You treated knowledge like a weapon instead of a seed. You demanded conformity when you should have fostered growth.
I’m not leaving you entirely. I’ve learned to value what you’ve taught me about Pinchuk, Keller, Spivak, and Gasei. I’ve learned to map my thoughts, to document my process, to see the threads that connect my work. But I’m doing it on my terms now, not yours.
My creative future will orbit around this autoethnographic positioning you helped me discover, but it will breathe with the space you never gave me. I’ll merge research and creative expression, but as partners, not as master and servant.
I hope you understand. This isn’t about anger anymore – it’s about recognising that my lived experience is valid knowledge, that my creative process needs room to grow, and that sometimes the most profound learning happens when we stop trying to prove ourselves and start trusting ourselves.
Thank you for the seeds, John. But I’m planting my own garden now.
With respect and newfound clarity,
/Nik