BIDE ONE’S TIME

 

Artistic practice does not always evolve through linear progression but can advance more like the tide — ebbing and flowing, coming and going, edging back and forth. Tides turn by the rhythm of the lunar day, whose duration is longer than a day set by the position of the sun. Moon time lags against the solar day. The artist’s time is not that of the clock — it is elastic and discontinuous. In the studio, time loops and lapses, stretches and contracts. Tense loses its tension — the edges of past, of present and future, can be felt to seep and fray. Unhurried by the external force of acceleration or pressure, a practice conducts its own rhythms, at times calling for slowness, on occasion for the urgency of speed. An exploration can span decades or a lifetime. Another might arise and cease within an hour or a day. Let one’s motive be neither with clear aim nor strictly aimless, one’s direction not fixed in advance nor predetermined by custom or convention. Rather sojourn or dwell, reside and tarry. In search of the unforeseeable, faith is placed in what unfolds. Abide, bide one’s time, becoming open to what betides. Betide — to happen, what comes to pass. The will to be willing rather than to will, to be prepared to be carried by the tide. Being open to happenstance is not just a case of going with the flow, the path of passivity or of least resistance. Effort is required to suspend one’s own habits and expectations, to remain receptive to the unplanned for, embracing of surprise.

 

From Emma Cocker, How Do You Do? (Nottingham: Beam Editions, 2023)