The painting is itself no matter what the season. Four paintings in winter.

It can be transcriptive; it can be mimetic: essentially it is a creative act which succeeds or fails in its ability to create an engagement beyond the making of something out of nothing.
It needs to be painting as painting, painting first - for me, subject, as in the view of my garden, second, and painting last.
Paintings don't last long with me. They are a means to an end but painting lasts because it is elusive; searched for; longed for.

Thinking out loud.

                                                    
                                                   hedge in winter. oil on paper.78x50cm

winter garden January oil on paper 78x50cm

  

                                                      winter garden. oil on paper. 78x50cm


I think that it is important to communicate. I think it is vital to share stories. I think it is encouraging to know that we are not alone in whatever we do. There is a huge resource for us to tap into and I feel strongly that when a story is shared we gather a collegial sense from it and so there are artists that I look to for a sense of shared endeavor. One artist that I read has not written anything for a long time although their practice continues. This artist I know feels that it is presumptuous to  write about art but to stop doing so is to step back and so often I have read something written that has been important, something that I have not thought about, or something that has clarified my own muddled thinking. Sharing visual images is of immense importance too as we can read a journey in them and evaluate its relevance.
I sincerely hope that the encouragement that many people have gained from seeing what is being done and sharing in the thinking out loud will continue. We are a community and voices need to be heard.

In between times and Happy Christmas.

 

                                          Early winter in the garden. oil on paper. 78x50cm.

This is the only painting that I have been able to make for some time. In between times I have been traveling so progress has been slow. Nothing on a large scale can be attempted at the moment. There is a lot of talk about painting in art literature about where it might be going, today or in ten years. I hope to be painting in ten years but just reviewing 2015 through the things that I have shown I can question my own development. It doesn't reflect cultural shifts: it doesn't engage in moral debate. I am a plodder. I know that. I am introverted and focussed on small things. I like paint.

Early winter in the garden is my Christmas card to all of you who take the time to read my blog, those of you from all over. Happy Christmas to you all.

Painting and purpose.

It almost seems frivolous in the light of events this week to post this but this is what I do.

Something to ask of oneself: What purpose does my painting serve? Does the purpose change from minute to minute? Is there a long term goal? When I say that a painting has served its purpose,( and therefore, I don't need it anymore and can paint over it] what do I mean and does it necessarily mean that I have identified its purpose? From the point of view of this maker every painting is is some measure a failure. Its intent may not be clear; it may not match the intent; it may be poorly resolved; poorly constructed, over worked; sound but lacking the spark that leads to dialogue; there are numerous pitfalls but there is always a call to engage again, to try harder, to keep asking what and how.

I like to draw and to draw a lot and I would like to recommend the drawings of Stanley Lewis which I came across in reproduction recently.

Small paintings to keep me going.

These small paintings are to warm me up for some larger pieces that I will make after my trip to Britain -provided that they let me in - and they are just exploring possibilities. Some of the patches of colour just wouldn't cut it on a larger scale but that will require more, or less gestural marks and areas of purposeful calm. I'll see how it goes.

The constant gardener.

During the course of these Autumn days of painting, things change. Colour is noticeably different now. I start out with no agenda other than to look and set down something. When, from time to time, I decide to go at it in a certain way, the resolve lasts only as long as it takes to approach the unpainted surface. The painting takes over: the hand moves in a certain way and I follow where it leads. It is rather like the way that I garden: I have a plan but the plants have their way so I let them . The garden is a kind of time machine and so is painting although that is not, I imagine, a popular idea now. All of these paintings involve the passage of time whilst observing, thinking, making and being read afterwards. Nothing new in this but for me more interesting than something that might have a sign saying Move along folks, there's nothing to see here.
In a recent interview, David Hockney mentions people not noticing shadows, taking photographs of themselves with shadows that they had not seen. For me the shadow is often a positive space and not an absence of light but rather a vibrant counterpoint to other elements.

Paintings for an exhibition part 2

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.