mardi 23 juin 2020

New landscape.

180x160cms oil on canvas.

There are many paintings of my garden made in the last sixteen years and they are all different as it seems that as it changes, so do I and so does my approach to it. There are times when I take a much more objective approach, a more analytical direction of what I am seeing and then, something broader like this.

dimanche 5 avril 2020

Reciprocity and the age of an oak.




What might be the painting of space might also be the painting of relation , the reciprocity of seeing and being. This is a well worn theme of mine wanting to meld the two. This is of course impossible, given the immutable plasticity of paint and the complexity of the space which we inhabit. So perhaps it is also to do with memory, if these two are not incompatible. I am not painting what I see and yet I am and I am painting what I feel too. Yesterday set myself to draw a large oak tree in the garden ( a quick measure around the trunk at my chest height times Pi, which give the diameter, and multiplying by the growth coefficient for oak x5 comes out at 216 years give or take) by spending time looking at it and then not looking at it whilst I drew - a common enough exercise - so as to try to feel it , to draw the feel of it. Of course there is such a huge gap between the two things and I have no idea what happens in that space between looking and drawing, but it is very interesting never the less.

mercredi 18 mars 2020

The bush and garden.





The number of times that I have thought that I could move on from the
 bush and the garden have brought me no further: there is it seems, so much more to gain. Artists return again and again to their subject. The fact of doing so gives me a lifeline. I have spent sixteen years now in this small landscape, watching and feeling the changes in it and in me. It will of course outlast me but whilst I am in it, it is in me and that engagement continues to hold me close.

samedi 29 février 2020

In the thick of it.

                                                       large garden. oil on canvas.72x56 ins

I read a piece today about being in the painting which seemed about right. Also it feels right that being in the painting is conjoined with being in the thing painted and that the painting is in me. I noted before that I have taken to work up close to the support so that I try to immerse myself in the process of painting, of the texture and touch and only see the whole later, when of course it could be all wrong.

mercredi 19 février 2020

January painting

I began these paintings before the New Year but they have only come together since January.  There have been several drawings made during their construction and it really has been an attempt, in the drawings, to concentrate on the marks and to allow the image to arrive on its own. However, the paintings are to do with other kinds of mark, tracks on a field, shadow and light.

jeudi 23 janvier 2020

Five hedges

One of the many interesting things about working from a narrow aspect, in this case, a door/window of narrow proportions, is that, due to the closeness of my self to the surface and the closeness of the outside to the inside, is that often, I am not sure what I am looking at and because of that, the marks on the surface start to have a life of their own, related to but not of the hedge, in this case. I like that. I like that one can just let go of it. I observe the hedge, sometimes that is all I do in a day and then start to make something that is itself primarily.

mardi 10 décembre 2019

New paintings after walking.

sudden break. oil on paper. 68x70cm

after grey skies. oil on paper 78x60cm

clearing. oil on paper 78x60cm

shift. oil on paper. 68x70cm


ground. oil on paper 78x60cm

Hill. oil on paper. 78x60cm 

The idea of walking and making go hand in hand throughout the visual arts along with the written word. I don't need to retail who and where but never the less I think it remains a pertinent correlation. We walk and experience walking and weather, light and colour. Rilke has it thus:

My eyes already touch the sunny hill
going far beyond the road i have begun
So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp,
it has an inner light, even from a distance
and changes us, even if we do not reach it,
into something else, which, hardly sensing it
we already are; a gesture waves us on
answering our own wave
but what we feel is the wind in our faces.