The making of a space on a flat surface in such a way that allows the loss of orientation and scale is a magical thing to me. Placing into this, ambiguous objects that are part of that space is how I lose myself. To be able to see any detail of my surroundings, I have to rush out to the periphery of the Universe and look back from there. As if I'm looking back from the end of my life, or I'm a giant moving at the speed of light, and a painting has to be a blink of an eye but also a whole life. I have no sense of time whatsoever. There is quite simply, 'now' and then there is 'not now'.
Painting for me is an anxious process, as there are so many moments to capture in all the moments I spend painting; so much to gather before it disappears. The smaller the canvas, the more the paint, and the more moments spent on them. I paint to reveal possibility, to be able to see where I'm going, and to throw off confusing half-remembered baggage. I paint to find some sense of continuity in my disparate world. This is the view from where I'm standing.
Painting for me is an anxious process, as there are so many moments to capture in all the moments I spend painting; so much to gather before it disappears. The smaller the canvas, the more the paint, and the more moments spent on them. I paint to reveal possibility, to be able to see where I'm going, and to throw off confusing half-remembered baggage. I paint to find some sense of continuity in my disparate world. This is the view from where I'm standing.
How to make a painting.
In order to be able to make a painting, I have to be prepared to forget who I think I am and everything I think I know; every time. Forgeting is part of the process.
If things get too formal; I hit a wall and there’s nowhere left to go. As soon as this happens, and I find I’m repeating myself, I have to change direction immediately. Its then that you have to ask; What is it that I’m trying to avoid?
Painting is an exercise in consciousness. Not so much who am I - but where am I? Where is consciousness located? It’s also something to do with the nature of time; how time behaves. It seems to loop round like a stretched out spring.
When I started out, I was obsessed with how to make a painting work formally. How to integrate space; but that’s only a skeleton on which to hang the flesh. Painting is more than that. It’s an exploration of the psyche, and of our relationship with the planet. It’s about becoming rather than just being, about finding a pathway, and the pathway having a sense of place. I want to create a kind of Nomadology of time and space. An anti-history. if you like. We are, after all, naturally nomadic, mentally, if not physically.
If memory and consciousness are closely linked, if memory is a kind of ‘guiding hand , what does this mean? That time moves in two directions? Something which remembers where we’ve been before? Are the paintings like little moments of déjà vu? They do seem to be moments of recognition - of…what?
I paint, until I can bear to look. Or even until I cant tear my eyes away. The image has to surprise in some way. I have to think: how did that get there? I paint to lose myself. To lose and forget, so as to find a sense of clarity.
The other consideration of course is painting as time travel. If you could move around the universe at the speed of light, you would undoubtedly meet yourself coming the other way. And this other self would be a vision of pure clarity. Baggage free, and the moment you start to feel jealous of this baggage free other you, is the moment you fall back to earth; and you are standing there, with a paintbrush in your hand.
If things get too formal; I hit a wall and there’s nowhere left to go. As soon as this happens, and I find I’m repeating myself, I have to change direction immediately. Its then that you have to ask; What is it that I’m trying to avoid?
Painting is an exercise in consciousness. Not so much who am I - but where am I? Where is consciousness located? It’s also something to do with the nature of time; how time behaves. It seems to loop round like a stretched out spring.
When I started out, I was obsessed with how to make a painting work formally. How to integrate space; but that’s only a skeleton on which to hang the flesh. Painting is more than that. It’s an exploration of the psyche, and of our relationship with the planet. It’s about becoming rather than just being, about finding a pathway, and the pathway having a sense of place. I want to create a kind of Nomadology of time and space. An anti-history. if you like. We are, after all, naturally nomadic, mentally, if not physically.
If memory and consciousness are closely linked, if memory is a kind of ‘guiding hand , what does this mean? That time moves in two directions? Something which remembers where we’ve been before? Are the paintings like little moments of déjà vu? They do seem to be moments of recognition - of…what?
I paint, until I can bear to look. Or even until I cant tear my eyes away. The image has to surprise in some way. I have to think: how did that get there? I paint to lose myself. To lose and forget, so as to find a sense of clarity.
The other consideration of course is painting as time travel. If you could move around the universe at the speed of light, you would undoubtedly meet yourself coming the other way. And this other self would be a vision of pure clarity. Baggage free, and the moment you start to feel jealous of this baggage free other you, is the moment you fall back to earth; and you are standing there, with a paintbrush in your hand.
