If you think I have been quiet since Christmas (or even before) it is because writing a thesis does not leave me much to say. All my energy is thrown into those pages, into those words, but today I had a lovely surprise when other words I had written a while ago, turned up, nicely printed and packaged, on my doorstep. I urge you to read the book, as it is excellent all round. It has contributions from some very interesting people such as Martin Dixon, Amy Parker and Guy Julier, who is an authority on Juicy Salif, and was very graceful, elegant and helpful when I presented my paper.

The book also has the insightful observations on creativity from the editors, Barbara Townley and Nic Beech.

As for my chapter, I think the best way to approach talking about it, since I cannot critique it (at least not today) is to give you the abstract:

Designed by Philippe Starck, Juicy Salif is a kitchen utensil supposed to squeeze citrus fruits and, in particular, lemons. It does not, however, perform its function with the effectiveness of its cheaper rivals. Citric acid may corrode the aluminium or gold from which it is made; its dimensions are unfit to be comfortably stored in a standard kitchen cupboard; its ergonomic characteristics, which should make its use a pleasant experience, leave a lot to be desired. Nevertheless, it is a best selling product and a design icon.

So, if it does not squeeze lemons, what is Juicy Salif for? What is its purpose? What value do viewers, owners and users get out of it? This study will take on a psychoanalytic point of view and will look at how Juicy Salif may, in shop displays and gallery spaces, stand in the place of the object cause of desire, or what Lacan called Object (a). Presenting Juicy Salif as a case study and drawing on examples of other products that have shaped our understanding of objects and lifestyle (Jonathan Ive’s ubiquitous iPod, Manolo Blahnik’s desired shoes) this chapter will argue that what makes Juicy Salif culturally valuable is its ability to seduce, to lead consumers and viewers astray from what may be considered right behaviour.

Here is the first page of my chapter:

And, of course, as you can see from the abstract, I managed to fit some Jacques Lacan in a text about lemon squeezers, value and design. Why not?

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May 2010 bring everything you wish for!

PS: I am after the purple platforms, the ones with the bow!

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2000: Moved from Manchester to Sheffield. Met Hayley and Oli and Stuart who took me to the pub. Finished BA. Met Neil. Got attacked by a goose. Moved to London. Started MA.

2001: Westminster Bridge Road. Depression. Finished MA. Started work in academia. Lost ability to make art. Won Mr and Mrs competition.

2002: Tooting. Watched Star Wars for the first time. Got second job.

2003: Colliers Wood. Met most of my friends. ‘To all the lovers and sweethearts we will never meet.’ Ralph disappears.

2004: Met those of of my friends who I hadn’t met in 2003. Depression (unrelated).

2005: Ralph reappeared. Moved to Glasgow. Met those of my friends living in Glasgow. Became a lecturer. Started PhD at Sheffield.

2006: Began psychoanalysis. Began running the MRes. First conference paper on seduction.

2007: Bought flat. Visited Berlin for the first time. Visited New York for the first, second and third times. Saw Étant Donnés and it changed my life.

2008: Ended psychoanalysis. Found ability to make art. Began teaching psychoanalysis. Got married. Fell in love with Portugal again.

2009: Overworked, overwhelmed. Depression. Back in therapy. Ended running the MRes. Started correspondence with Linda. Feel much better. Freud collection almost complete. First published book chapter.

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My review of Mike Robinson and David Picard’s The Framed World: Tourism, Tourists and Photography has been published in THES (No. 1,923, 19-25 November 2009, p. 50). If you want to find out what I think of it, click here.

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I am reading a lovely book on Casanova’s self portraiture. It was written by Stefan Zweig and published by Pushkin Press. I do like the object books that Pushkin Press produce. They are tactile, and have wabi-sabi. The more the book lives in my handbag and travels with me, the more good-looking it becomes. But what I love most about it (apart from the subject matter) is the cover, which consists of a photographic image of a Venetian Palazzo interior. Having been to Venice a fair few times, I know these spaces, this grandeur is as mystical and alchemic as the famous womaniser. Very apt indeed. The back of my book tells me that it is by an artist called Matthias Schaller and, this week, I discovered with delight that the image is part of a series, Controfacciata. Aren’t his empty interiors just magnificent?

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Have you heard the latest criticism on Alexander McQueen’s 2010 Spring Show unveiled in Paris? Well, it is all about the shoes, what they do to the body, hurting, desire and the ability to walk. Something I have to hear constantly about my own collection of stilettos. Why, why, why is the eternal question. Incidentally, my ballet teacher has pointed out that high heels help with posture if we follow his basic exercises of core control.

The New York Times debates this question with care and a fair approach, in comparison to the Daily Mail. Have they never heard of fetishism, or of exhibitionism? Apparently not. Well, let them have crocs and uggs and look stupid.

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Stephen Fry understands the precise feeling:

I began writing seriously when I was about thirteen. Out streamed poetry, stories and novels, the latter of which were always aborted early, usually half way through the second chapter. It took my friend Douglas Adams to encourage me to go further and he did this by pointing out that the reason I had never managed to finish a novel was that I had never properly understood how difficult, how ragingly and absurdly difficult, it is to do. “It is almost impossibly hard,” he told me. It is supposed to be. But once you truly understand how difficult it is,” he added, with signature paradoxicality, “it all becomes a lot easier.” It was many years later that Clive James quoted to me Thomas Mann’s superb crystallisation of this “A writer,” said Mann, “is a person for whom writing is more difficult than for other people.” How liberating that definition is.

In the middle of chapter 4, I am suffering.

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I have a hip injury which nibbles at my walking and does not let me carry handbags that are bigger than clutches. I have tried everything from painkillers to rest. I have put the memory foam mattress on and off without much change. I still think it is either psycho-somatic (Neil’s bet) or a problem with alignment (my haunch). As a desperate measure, I bought a new pillow, a squarish uncomfortable looking, orthopedic thing that works best if one sleeps on one’s back – which I am not keen on, but perhaps should, for the sake or straight walking. It must have reminded me of my psychoanalyst’s couch for, the first night I slept on it I had the following dream:

I was walking in a street in the centre of Bilbao (although it could have been Madrid) when I noticed, inside a shop, that my analyst was giggling. The shop was a kind of psychology enterprise but looked suspiciously like a clothes repair shop, with a counter up front and people working behind it. In the dream, I am shocked at the discovery and can’t believe my eyes. I walk back and front in front of the shop, trying for the analyst not to see me but wanting to know more about the scene. He does not see me. Meanwhile, in the street, there is a fight going on outside a car. It is a very violent fight, involving a man and a woman. By far, the woman is the most aggressive.

Indautxu, Bilbao

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We are in the last throws of preparing the texts for the forthcoming ‘Managing Creativity: Exploring the Paradox’, a book edited by Barbara Townley and Nic Beech, published by Cambridge University Press. I contributed a chapter on my favourite lemon squeezer. After writing a code of practice for work, various course reports, three chapters of my PhD thesis and a number of articles for a Spanish tendencies webzine, tackling a specialist, yet broad audience was a breath of fresh air.

I liked participating in something that is beyond my PhD, something that the degree will hopefully enable me to do more of, and more often. I like writing. I like writing books, even. I will go as far as to say that I like the publishing process despite editors, going over words time and time again and working with writing done over two years ago. Publishing is not for the faint hearted, or the impatient. Neither is writing, I am finding out. I am going to contradict myself: I hate writing, but I like to have written and seeing the cover of the book, with the title of my chapter and my name next to it (its accent in the right place) brought me that proud feeling, that well-being.

All the more because, as I mention in my chapter, I am coming into this as an outsider. I am a fine artist, writing about a design piece for a book on management. Of course I wasn’t sure about it but I followed my friend Glyn’s advice: when you are starting, never say no. To anything. I was lucky that the team that edited the book have been very supportive and have done an excellent job. They were very kind to strangers. And from that position, one I know very well (because I constantly seek it), I have been able to produce something I am quite happy with, as it gives an outlet to a bit of research that, sadly, did not have any place in the 40,000 words of my PhD. Still, readers will find my usual obsessive self in my words; there is also seduction, psychoanalysis and admiration of a creative piece of design that I am very happy to own.

With thanks to Charlotte who bought Juicy Salif for me when I left my last job and told me about her shopping experience, which partly inspired the chapter.

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