June 19, 2014
How little visual information do we need to recognise a person? From a surprisingly great distance all we need is the shape, the shapes a body makes as it moves in its own particular fashion.
Laying watercolor onto paper is like feeling the skin, as a liquid membrane. Steadfast in it’s role as protector, skin is what separates us physically from almost everything else. It contains the unique shape and form of each of us.
March 14, 2012
Yesterday I had the great pleasure to sit on the ground for about an hour and draw an old shed at my friend’s house.
The subject is a classic, though often maligned as well as misrepresented. Like me, many artists shy away from the lure of the ruin, because there is a tendency to go all nostalgic and sentimental, at the cost of a strong image. But how to do justice to the people who built and have used it, and the persistence of the building itself?
Perhaps it’s about the first impulse – if it gets under your skin. And then to use the power of that in the drawing process. The big shape, and the colour, are what got me.
And this red shed has a good story. Built by a circus performer who had worked in the United States, he built it tall to hold the tents. As soon as I saw it against the gorgeous autumn sky, I felt the pull to record it, with gusto.
April 19, 2011
A flock, a gaggling squawking bunch of birds,
the sound coming closer across the sea of sky ahead.
They come towards me sitting there at Mum’s back door
eating toast drinking coffee on this quiet Sunday morning.
They flash and flutter, wheeling in unison
then disperse then gather again.
Is this Hitchcock’s dream?
Arguing at high volume
checking positions or deciding where to land
or maybe exclaiming delight for the view
they dance over me and around and away.
The noise fades and I see at last
they are flashing jewels, confetti, a celebration.