From there I moved to the top right hand corner and placed ‘speciesism’ – a term used in literature on animals and ethics (Singer, 2006, p.3) - to frame the othering that allows humans to treat other animals in the ways that they do. This was reflected in art terms by a piece of writing by Nato Thomson regarding the arbitrary boundary between human/non-human, and how these boundaries are a rich area for exploration (Thompson, 2001, pp.30-5).

This area of ethics particularly interests me, and seems to be largely ignored by most people – and those who do show concern are usually labelled animal rights fanatics; I’m curious too about this negative labelling of ethical concern.

Below that, I started to look at ideologies. This section deals with some of the more ‘magical’ or ‘primal’ aspects of our relationships with animals. I later erased and reworked this section, as visually it wasn’t working. This also created space for me to add artists and other writers linked to this.

From here, it seemed right to look at our relationships with animals that are based on ‘science’ – and I write ‘science’ in inverted commas as it is seen as objective, clinical, and about ‘the truth’, whereas it can be seen as simply another belief system, albeit a highly pervasive one with it’s own methods for ‘proving’ its truth, and ensuring our continued belief in it. Much like religion, or any other ideology, in other words.

So this section below looks at science, and the areas where science crosses over with other belief systems or frameworks, such as anthropology. This then leads back up to the top section regarding othering, so I linked these areas with arrows.

The science section grew, and became quite horrific: I added a dog to signify ‘the brown dog affair’ (an episode of vivisection around the turn of the last century which galvanised the suffrage and trade union movements against the medical establishment – [National Anti Vivisection Society, 2010]); I also detailed some of the outcomes of our relationships with animals which are usually not questioned, and are just accepted, but really are like a horror film - eating them and their secretions, wearing their skin etc.

I also added the scissor leg dog (at the top), which was a drawing of imaginary vivisection that arose in some work a while ago – but the kind of senseless experimentation that would result from this othering and speciesism – we do these things because we have positioned/framed animals as things to be owned, things to be ‘done to’, things for our curiosity, pleasure, whatever. But as things. Their sentience is refused.

Next I moved to the base of the map, in the centre, and felt that to an extent, this section underpinned everything else. There is writing about subversion, flanked by two dead robins; they feel like guardians, but this section, along with the central section, which I added to, started to feel like a Masonic emblem. I also felt that the robin was significant for it’s smallness. It had been caught by my friend’s cat, and she had kept it in her freezer for me until I was able to go and photograph it. As her freezer wasn’t working properly, by the time I got there to take pictures, it had started to smell, and this seemed to add to the poignancy, and the indignity; I felt it was really important to ‘honour’ its death in some way.

From here I added a drawing of a Polaroid photograph I had taken at the taxidermist’s – I positioned this on the left hand side of the map, and this became where I located some of the technical or process elements of my work. Polaroids have a quality of their own which seems quite dark, shadowy, atmospheric, and this combined with their instantaneousness, their throwaway snapshot-ness and their unpredictability and uncontrollability make them a medium I am very keen on. I have also included lomography here – although I haven’t used these types of cameras yet, they seem to have similar unpredictability and atmosphere, and it is on my list of things to try out.

The top left hand corner deals with some of the issues around ensuring that I am making art, and not getting pulled into non-art traps. It would be easy for my work to slip into propaganda, and this is something I maintain vigilance against, because that’s not what I want to do - I think if I did, it would cease to hold much interest – either for any viewers or for me. There is also a risk of my work being read as animal portraits or wildlife art, and so it is important that there are clues in my work to indicate that this is not what it is.

I returned down to the lower left hand corner to look at where my animal obsession started. I became aware as I worked just how much of my childhood was defined by encounters with animals, either alive or dead, and how many tears I shed over animal suffering and death. It seemed right to place it here, besides the robins whose small deaths matter.

Gaps in my practice fitted in beside the Polaroid. It feels as though there are many – everything is to do with animals in my work now, but it wasn’t always this way. I used to paint people, endless portraits, I was fascinated by faces. These weren’t always straightforward representations, and often they grew from self-portraits. At the moment, these aren’t part of my practice, but I feel the need to acknowledge where my practice has come from (as well as where it might go next) – it feels as if the map, although confined at present to an A1 sheet on animals – is in fact infinite, as though there are universes of things I could potentially map. I also had concerns about whether I can make a whole and enduring practice out of only working around these animal issues – although they are seemingly endless, and can be approached from multiple positions, each giving rise to new perspectives, thoughts, approaches, areas for investigation – but at some point, will it become boring? Will it seem to others that I am recycling? And will I recognise this, if so? There are also some practical, non-art gaps, such as confidence – being able to see myself as an artist, being able to take my practice seriously enough to believe in it.

I discovered some quite significant things whilst working, and these made the mapping a worthwhile exercise, despite the difficulties I had with it (and I really did struggle a lot – it took much longer than I feel it should have, largely, I think because I find it difficult to ‘map’ things generally, even when writing, I tend to make notes, then immediately start writing, before I go on to organise it in any way). This was mainly around the extent to which my childhood had been defined by encounters with animals, dead, alive, fictitious or imaginary. I think the process of mapping was quite helpful. It allowed me to make links and see connections.

But I also became aware of things that were missing – where my practice and influences have been before (before the animal obsession took over) and may be again – so, for example, painting in my own practice, and other artists whose practice is painting - Peter Doig, Marlene Dumas, Edward Munch. Is it right to leave these out? Should my map be such a snap shot? It is very much where my practice is at right now, and where it has come from to an extent in terms of themes and influences. But there is so much more. And where would I stop? I almost feel I need to make another layer, or sheet with what has gone before, what has brought me here, with a further blank layer, or sheet for what will be next. It feels like a map that will never be complete. There needs to be more on the peripheries, but there is an unlimited amount that could be included.

I was happy with my decision to work in pencil – this allowed working and rubbing out and reworking and moving – and the surface of the map itself is smudged and worked. This makes it quite interesting visually; it seems more like a drawing, than a mind map, and I think this is important in trying to make it work as a piece of work in its own right.