'I'm only here for the Tracey Emin' she said

We were on our final lap of the Summer Exhibition and we'd probably walked past several times already, but when there are more than 1700 works of art to take in, is it any surprise we missed a few?

Not my best photo of the courtyard and entrance to the Royal Academy but you get the idea…blue sky, handsome buildings and people milling around.

(Now with audio! All the verbal stumbles, pauses and slip ups, a bit like the writing, are mine and hopefully add to the authenticity)

A smorgasbord of art on a Friday lunchtime

In the end ‘the Tracey Emin’ we overheard another visitor mention turned out to be not one but four large paintings hanging in the Royal Academy's Summer Exhibition but with eight, or is it nine rooms packed floor to ceiling with art, sculpture, design and architecture maybe it wasn’t so surprising my friend and I had walked past Emin’s award-winning work.

Because where else can you experience that many incredible works of art in one place and where anything from half to up to two-thirds have been entered by members of the public?

Yep, imagine your art on a wall next to Tracey Emin or Grayson Perry overseeing where it hangs? It can happen and as a writer, with a very small ‘w’, who struggles to share any of their writing I salute any creative willing to put themselves out there.

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How I got into the Summer Exhibition? is a few years out of date but is still a good read and there’s loads more on the website.

Who can enter the Summer Exhibition? BBC News article (including artist Alison Aye who’s entered twenty times and been rejected twenty times)

Some of my photos with Tracey Emin top right

Mum was an artist in the same way that so many public entrants to the Summer Exhibition are. She created a huge body of work - sketches, prints, acrylics, oil and watercolours - whilst working, raising us children and keeping our family afloat in every sense, but to my knowledge rarely exhibited her art outside our home.

We used to get frustrated with her, for not giving herself a chance, for not putting herself out there. Her talent was obvious to us, but it takes a huge amount of time, hard work and belief to get a piece of work to the point where it’s submission ready and having poured heart and soul into it, to then face the possibility of rejection.

I can also understand why, in the maelstrom of family life, she might also have wanted to keep this creative part of her tucked away, something just for her.

She’d hang her still life sketches, prints and paintings on the walls of our family homes, carry a sketchbook and pencil around in her handbag, she’d go to art classes. It was a space where she was happy, where she felt at home, so why bring stress and anxiety to something she loved doing. I’m not saying there wasn’t a part of her that didn’t want to show her work more widely, there was, but it’s not as straightforward as simply filling out an entry form.

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I guess I grew up surrounded by art but I can’t say I’m knowledgeable at all. It was always just there, on the walls. We didn’t sit around having endless conversations about art and I’m hopeless at delving into the deeper meaning of a painting. I just know how a sketch or oil painting can make me feel.

Sometimes it’s a colour I’m drawn to more likely feeling it triggers. If I have the right glasses on I might pick out a detail. Mostly though I love the effect a wall covered with art gives me. My eyes darting from still life sketch to a landscape or portrait picking up a colour, a line, a shape or something intangible.

I find it soothing as I focus in, silencing the surrounding hubub.

I guess what I love about the Summer Exhibition is that you don’t know what you’re going to get. You just know it’s going to be a total assault on the senses, in a good way. That there’s going to be the most incredible smorgasbord of styles, some irreverent and bonkers, some challenging and confronting, some confusing and others simply beautiful, and all for £24.

I wish I could point out more of my favourites but a bit like my reading, I remember how a book made me feel, but I’m not so good at remembering why or any of the specifics.

I do remember the deep sigh I felt last Friday though when I saw the wall filled with trees (above, bottom left), I remember the painting that looked like a Hockney but wasn’t, I remember the model of homes for refugees, and two pared back still life paintings next to each other.

Some of the teen's favourites

I took the teenagers with me last year and one of them loved it so much they went back again this year with their girlfriend (who, FYI loved the Tracey Emin). No surprise that what they spotted and remembered compared to this 53 year old were quite different and it led to a fabulous conversation and swapping photos afterwards.

I guess the overriding feelings I have a week on is that I still feel energised and somehow emboldened. It somehow restores and boosts my faith in humans, reminding me that there are some crazy talented people out there. It’s why I’d encourage you to visit next summer, even if you don’t think you’re an ‘art’ person, go and be entertained and inspired.

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Big thanks to the artists, makers and creators out there for daring to share, for giving me a bloody good excuse to have a trip to London and a boot up the backside to share some words too.

Because I know, I know weeks, no, let’s be honest, months without word from me and then two posts in two weeks. What can I say? I’ve been told on more than one occasion that I have a habit of holding on to things tightly, that I find it difficult to let go and writing is no exception.

I can write with pure unadulterated freedom when it’s just me and my notebook but when it comes to sharing those words, I’ll hesitate, go off and make a cup of tea and while the kettle’s boiling in pops the self-doubt and ‘who do you think you are’.

I’m working on that though, so thanks for being here, thanks for reading and thanks for encouraging me to keep going.

Til the next time,

Harriet