The house I grew up in was always messy. So much so that my standard, default greeting when inviting people in was, ‘Sorry about the mess’, and one friend even called it ‘The Messy House’ (though to be fair the house he lived in was the other end of the tidy spectrum).
This was the era of 1980’s suburban new-builds, and endless magazines showing sleek new kitchens and living rooms (usually without any books or ‘stuff’), which made me feel there was more than a little shame in our messy lives.
Over the years though, I’ve come to appreciate the messy and untidy- in my house, life and studio. In fact, I now see it as part of the balance of making art- mess is functional, or at least a symptom of functioning. Three things come to mind that have shaped my thinking, over time (as is the way with these things…).
Many years ago, during a long, hot, summer I read Tim Harford’s book ‘Messy’, a heartfelt plea, not to tidy things up. Including many examples showing the folly of trying to ‘make things tidy’, Tim shows that our desire to make things look and feel orderly may well make us feel more comfortable, but quite often means the wrong decision is made. He argues that if we were to let things be, in their messy glory, not only would we save ourselves some trouble, but we’d tap into the different intelligences in this world (after all not all intelligence prides itself on order and measurement).
My second influence is my regular trips to Aldeburgh in Suffolk, specifically it’s beach (I’m about to embark on one such trip this Summer). When I ruminate on what attracts me to that beach time and time again, I conclude that it’s functional messiness is a big part of it.
When I say ‘beach’, you’d be forgiven for thinking of pristine, flat stretches of sand. But Aldeburgh beach is shingle (millions of little pebbles) for a start. It is also covered in fishing industry detritus- nets, boxes, buoys, flags, fishing huts, old bits of wood and boats, bright plastic tubes, rubber treads for the tractors to pull the boats down to the sea, over the shingle (these offer pleasing long dark lines through the mess). In fact, all manner of objects, natural and man-made, are seemingly flung down on the beach each morning.
It’s a visual treasure trove and I never fail to find interesting objects, juxtapositions (the bright plastics against the soft colours of the shingle are delightful) and inspiration form this messy place (and all credit to the town for not attempting to ‘tidy it up’).
I also recently bought a book called ‘How to Keep House While Drowning’, by KC Davis. Ostensibly, this is a self-help book for those struggling with illness or neurodivergency to manage their homes. But what it turns out to be is a truly compassionate little treatise,(with some gentle strategies and tips) on the politics and morals of keeping a tidy house. One of the big takeaways from it, is KC’s insistence that ‘care tasks are morally neutral’ and that having an untidy house is not a moral failing. I let that sink in for a while, because despite having always thought that, I found that I had slipped into the feeling that keeping things tidy was a moral failing, as we are all told in almost all media we consume (social media especially).
KC gently and compassionately releases the reader from tidying because it’s expected, towards a looser way of allowing for functionality with some mess.
My art studios have always been functional but messy. I find the juxtaposition of collage papers, paint textures etc sparks ideas when I don’t know where to look. I think many people allow the messy to enter their lives in their art studio or space- even if the mess is contained or constrained.
It’s one area of life where we allow it all to flow, without trying to create ‘order’, and without seeing it as a moral failing. In fact, I think most artists would see it as necessary to making art work.
I wonder if we can allow this mess to run ‘over the lines’ a little more- into our real lives- accept it and appreciate it’s beauty, serendipity and wisdom?
How to Keep House While Drowning by KC Davis
Messy by Tim Harford