During the process of painting I find things that come to dominate. I think of this as the ‘Unicorn’ in the work. The uninvited guest that makes things more interesting. In this way the painting itself isn’t necessarily limited to the ideas used to hang it on. Driven by the fascination of what paint might do and the embodied meaning in it’s materiality, the studio is the perfect cavern to experiment in……..ones own genetic or ancestral memory continuing the astounding connection we have with our artistic predecessors. Semir Zeki, the neurobiologist, says “the reason people respond so to this Howard Hodgkin painting is that it reminds them of when they were hiding in the tree from the Jaguar”. Memory is crucial to my practice and I often draw on early experiences. Watching my father overpaint black and white photos he had printed in his kitchen/darkroom, with oil paint from a set of colours, led to my understanding that the best photograph is the overpainted one. The images above are examples of the result of this process that I think of as one of creative play. Photographs from my archive are printed and then worked on with acrylic paint. Invariably the original photographic image is no longer discernable. I have filled many sketchbooks with such studies, some of which have become the springboard for larger works on canvas. I have established a range of projects (which I still add to and go back to) that have a deep meaning for me. In recognition of the crucial role memory has for me as a painter I have dedicated a project to the Greek Goddess Mnemosyne. There is a butterfly called Parnassius Mnemosyne which has semi-transparent wings and is so called through the thinking that such transparency implies the idea of seeing through/back in time; Mnemosyne’s butterfly if you like. In many cultures butterflies are metaphors for the soul, the transforming spirit of young love and even immortality. Their transient beauty speaks of the fragility of nature and yet one gains succour from the knowledge they have existed for 40 – 50 million years.
Such connections and inter-connections underpin the research behind my projects. In this way I am attempting to rethink the narrative potential of landscape painting and appeal to the collective memory. The dilemma of global warming; our existence and that of the paradise we are threatening; the beauty of natural forms in all their wonder; creatures other than ourselves that have an equal right to exist; water as the source of all life; fire the great leveller; trees that communicate so directly to us and secretly amongst themselves; what a fascinating world we should not ruin…
To be a painter means, for me, a profound love of the stuff of paint itself, in all its manifestations. I have evolved a painterly process that allows for the paint to do what it might in the enactment. I love the way raw canvas may accept the first marks.
Mixing raw pigment with acrylic binder allows for full control of their combined ratios so that the thinnest stain of paint can be applied with successive layers to follow, building the pigment concentration. Sometimes it’s necessary to disrupt what has occurred by the use of spray paint and/or blasts from a pressurised water gun in order to find something that hasn’t been prescribed. The first additive the second reductive. I know what I can paint I want to paint what I don’t know. Sometimes I will use my hands to paint directly without the intermediary of a brush or other implement.
Later I will introduce oil paint, sometimes glazing, again building the layers, finishing with paint squeezed straight from the tube, a drawn coloured line at maximum pigmentation. I believe the painting should have immediate impact and that somehow in the marks I convey the intensity of my feeling and understanding that draws the viewer in.
I would say that in essence my work is a celebration of existence and a belief in the restorative power of painting…