I was going to add these to the previous post as the developing story of the view from my window but it seemed that it would make for an overlong piece. There seems to be a back and forth thing happening though quite unintentionally between where the paintings might go and where they have already been: bad painting but honest and uncontrived. I see so many paintings that have surface but not much depth and am acutely aware of the danger that that poses, i.e. less to this than meets the eye. I think then that sometimes one needs to go back to the subject and accept that what is being seen are a number of forms occupying a set of spaces, before attempting to do something without that hook. When I draw then I am looking to set down what I see and experience through a variety of physical acts and senses. It is sometimes then that I can make something without so much watching the space before me that is the ash tree and the hill or the little bush but exploring the senses of being part of it via the act of painting and so making something of it that is mine. I still think of it as having the makings of a conversation: myself and the painting process, the painting and the spectator. I still aspire to make some space where something happens: a still space perhaps , still amidst the constant movement.