Dressing the Part

There is currently an exhibition at Liverpool's Walker Art Gallery which features some of David Hockney's earliest work. Alongside the images there is information concerning the context in which they were made, which is helpful in explaining the artist's choice of subject matter. Even from the start his work was very distinctive, but he also adopted for himself an unusual personal appearance which helped to publicise and promote his 'brand'. In this respect I would liken him to Andy Warhol.

But the Hockney images were too familiar to detain me for long and I wandered into another room where, alongside the works of art, there are artefacts - manufactured 'real world' objects. Seeing them together focuses the attention on the overlap between art and craft (it's probably more than a lexicographical coincidence that the words 'art' and 'artefact' have a common first syllable but I'll leave it for other pedants to research). Perhaps the best works of either kind have one thing in common: they require skill in execution. In this respect I could only marvel at the astronomical clock made in 1787 by Thomas Barry. It has three faces which, between them, give simultaneous readings for time and phases of the moon; varying length of day and night; date and perpetual calendar (which automatically adjusts for leap years); positions of the stars, orbits of the moon and all the planets which were known at the time. If not art, it is a work of artistry.

I was briefly preoccupied with the distinction between art and craft in respect of my current project - writing a novel -  although, after minimal research, I concluded that craft is of the essence. Mindful of Samuel Johnson's dictum "What we hope ever to achieve with ease, we must learn first to do with diligence", I have adopted a methodical, craft-like approach to its execution, identifying the obstacles and tackling them, one-by-one.

The first (not ranked by importance) is ignorance: the fact that I have not read very many novels is not an advantageous starting point. To rectify this I have re-prioritised my reading list so that all the histories and biographies are now at the bottom. But despite my intensive effort, there is a lot of reading yet to do.

Next, having attended writing courses so that I can get guidance and encouragement from those who know, I have found that you get exactly that - guidance and encouragement - which leaves a lot of work still to be done. I have supplemented this by studying the ways in which novelists approach their work and learned only that these are many and various. Last week I attended an event at which Donna Tartt described to us her "tricks of the trade". Some were potentially useful but she is extremely meticulous - writing at the rate of one novel every ten years - which is similar to the rate at which I used to read them.

And now, with the abrupt arrival of winter, comes another, unforeseen obstacle - the cold. Sitting around for hours - as one must - musing about, mulling over and composing coherent sentences, is not an activity conducive to staying warm. Turning up the heating doesn't help: it induces sleep and stifles inspiration. What is the answer? It came to me in a flash: appropriate clothing; something warm and woolly; something comfortable and comforting; something - writerly; in short, a cardigan. Yes, the cardy is crucial kit for the writer. Maybe they do a suitably tatty-looking, pre-worn range at M&S?

At the book launch, of course, I will need something smarter, something carefully considerate of my brand: but there's plenty of time to worry about that.