lundi 30 septembre 2019

Freedom feels like this.





We will recognize that without the need to please others we can please ourselves. One of the great things about independence is that one can take a risk with an idea and so, after a walk the other day, I came into my shed and started to make these drawings. Marks on a surface that take on a life of their own.

mercredi 18 septembre 2019

Four drawings from early Autumn.


                                                                        170x120cms


116x110 cms


55x55  cms


62x53 cms

all ink,oil and emulsion on paper.
These four drawings are from a series based upon observation, supported by monochrome photographs. They are very much about the marks. In fact I am often working very close to the support to concentrate upon making the marks and trying not to think about the source. It is only later that there can be a sense of recognition that yes, I did see something like this, I did photograph something like this though I don't remember when. It is all bound together.

samedi 31 août 2019

Tracks 2. Field edges.


ploughing and tape. ink, emulsion on paper


field edge and tape. ink and oil on paper


field edge. oil on paper


beginning to plough. oil on paper


tracks. oil on paper


lines . oil on canvas

I think I know where these might lead. The tracks on the land and the tracks in the paint must come together before too long. The several crossings of a tractor on the hill marking the cut wheat and now the land being cut by the plough are making their own crossing places with the paint.

vendredi 9 août 2019

Tracks. Five paintings of a hill.






The hill that I pass regularly is undergoing change. Light operates upon the changed surface of the hill as reaping and the passage of a tractor takes place. The marks on the land are evidence of human activity and of time passing. My paintings track my memory of my passing too. I go out, I look at the hill, come back to where the hill is only in my mind, a separateness which feeds the image.

jeudi 27 juin 2019

Lost and found






Due to a computer glitch, these images disappeared from this blog and are out there somewhere. I do hope that they relate to the more recent paintings, but they are all part and parcel of the process.

mercredi 26 juin 2019

Field Painting









                                                           all oil on paper. 87x60cms

On my walks I pass a sloping field. I have been passing it for years and sometimes I have stopped to photograph it and more recently to make drawings of it. Often it has been noted and filed away in the back of my mind until the next time that some shift in weather and light calls my attention to it again.
Theses are simple paintings. They are made from memory. They are paintings that refer to the field but are not really about the field so much as about the direction my painting might take. The grid might make a comeback, the division of the surface might be less intuitive - the golden section comes to mind-
and other possibilities might arise. Sometimes it is necessary to return to basics.


jeudi 7 mars 2019

Learning from doing







I once determined to stop painting. It was never going to come right. I lasted about three days before being drawn back in because, what would I do if not this, day after day. It's a place to learn; if not words, then substance. Something that is hard to talk about but that is known accumulatively. It is a place where one measures oneself against oneself.
I admire the facility of portrait painters for instance, the skills learnt, the very look of it, the verisimilitude, the grace of image making. It seems worlds away from mine where I feel the thing must be forced into being against its will. Obstinacy is a part of it. The oily substance resists me and I must fight both it and myself until we both begin to bend and even then it can be sulky and obfuscatory. It is only a substance however, only oily mud. One must work it into something else.
When I have to stop, because I have stopped, the time spent on this will be what remains of me: something that says, I was here and engaged with this and every day was new.