oil on canvas. 160x120 cms.
There come times when painters feel that what they are doing is somehow arbitrary, that the marks are too subject to chance and that the work is too soon over. This is the something that one wants to strive against: to be in control some of the time whilst acknowledging that once started, the painting process throws up surprises. I for one would not want to know how it ends.
There is a sense of arriving and leaving, moving away, losing in order to gain.
Here is a piece from Rilke:
Who turned us round like this, so
No matter what we do, we have
Of somebody departing? As a
On the last hill, for the last time
All the home valley, turns, and stands, and lingers,
so we live, forever taking leave.