Written musings on making art and the results. Life in the slow lane
Empires End
“You guys have no idea how painful it is to have been young during the absolute peak era of the greatest empire in human history and now be forced to watch it all unravel. The saddest part is that we are doing it to ourselves. Absolutely agonizing experience. Like...
Colour
The first rose, what a moment to savour. Will incomers to this country ever feel the special joy that brings to an Englishman? Watching blooms form on the chestnut – being teased that red flowers marked the female chestnuts, white flowers the boys – and you know that it is the Spanish form with its different leaves are the ones that you can roast in the autumn – the conkers are to be strung for championship fights and bashed knuckles.
Stepping Out
In an earlier essay on here I wrote about ‘Following in Slaters Footsteps’ which may have been seen to imply I copy what he did. That would not be terribly creative would it? No, I follow his footsteps as he walked Seaford and the Cuckmere from where he lived, just up...
A Garden
Ten of the thirty-one days in March we had frosts, but bumblebees have been around for a couple of weeks, and I saw my first caterpillar of the year and heard the first skylark on the Down above the town
New Steps
How is it that eating a plate of corned beef hash can result in a gain of 2 pounds weight? Admittedly it was a large portion, cooked myself, with a few baked beans on the side, but it blew my weight loss out the window! So now I need to set about trying to walk it off (forlorn hope, better a fasting day…) It was a beautiful day, so I set off to walk my challenge, the walk down to the Coast Guard cottages on the Cuckmere from South Barn
Beauty and the Creative Process
… It’s not exactly watching the world go by sitting in a garden, but visual curiosity is the engine driver of my creativity and there is so much to see in the daily changes in a simple garden.
The Death Sting
I walk with a camera, sometime with my partner, sometime accompanied by a man and his dog but mostly alone, looking for the delights of man and nature. My painting is paused whilst I try to figure a way of working that will not challenge my body. I think of Matisse working in bed aided of course by nubile nymphs (my nymph ages with me); I think of Marcel Duchamp announcing he is no longer creating art, just dedicating his late years to playing chess – I could just play out time on the pensioners favourite game ‘Candy Crush’ which claims billions of games are played daily. Not going to happen.
You Can See the Seven Sisters from Newhaven
So Newhaven slumbers on, the most exciting development being where industries have left because of the failure to move with the time by the authorities, and where the latest investment has gone into the refurbishing of the giant Palmerston fort guarding its entrance
Storm Winds
I snuggle under the duvet and remember when I once stood watch as a volunteer in the coast watch tower further along the coast. That day was a real storm, blowing hard, wind howling through the railings like a demented banshee as we climbed the steps to the tower.
…And the Sea Steamed
The colour of the water, paler for quite a way out from the Cuckmere River mouth as fresh water entered the ocean, was indeed steaming.
An Edge to Reality
In my work documenting decay on the English South Coast I walk with a camera and record what I see with a view to taking it into the studio to process into paintings. This is a developmental path well known since the 19th century, flowering in the 20th in the work of many artists
Stalled but engine running…
In my last post in November, I wrote of my mental confusion and the twists and turns I was making to find a way forward with my work. Since then, I have done plenty of work with the camera, but the problems remained unresolved. I am beginning to realise that many of...
Moving Forwards?
For a couple of months, I have struggled in the studio. Drawings based on Gropius’ house in Dessau fill sketchbook pages. Images of the trees around the ‘masters houses’ of the Bauhaus, printed out, litter my worktable. My ‘bag’ is colour of course, and like most war...
Autumn Clocks In
As October drifts to an end so we change our clocks – or not, depending in part on the clock. Clocks on computers change automatically, supposedly the car is linked to house Wi-Fi so should change with the computer but won’t, so will stay on French (or wherever) time...
Living is Easy
One of these mornings you're gonna rise up singing. Yes, you'll spread your wings, and you'll take to the sky. But 'til that morning, there's nothing can harm you....
Away with the Faeries
Bore Da as they say in Wales. Good morning Some of us honour our roots, our predecessors and their construction of the Judeo-Christian culture in which we live. It expresses itself in many ways and yesterday I went on one of my favourite memory walks through a copse....
Mark Making
There was only radio for entertainment for many of my early years. I have written before of how my father taught me to draw. My formative years were spent in physical exploration of woods and fields, making model aeroplanes and filling books with drawings. Aged six...
Morning Prayers
One of the first things I do in the morning in my every day routine is as I come downstairs, I turn right while the cat sits and waits, posing. He knows what I’m doing, I’m going to turn on the computer and collect the camera from the office. I then return past the...
In Slater’s Footsteps
Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Dylan Thomas With the addition of a photographic record of decay, the four books of images of paintings and...
Mary Watts
Mary who? I tried to find her in my art reference books. Mary Seton Watts, wife of the Victorian establishment painter and sculptor George Frederic Watts (1817 – 1904), and he is definitely in the books. First British artist to have a gallery devoted just to him, it...
A Garden Studio
We moved to the seaside when my partner retired as she was born in this area and waited tables in a local caff as a teenager, having happy memories of the coast. Her roots were here, whereas my RAF upbringing wedded my heart and soul to England but not to any one...
Emma Stibbon at the Towner.
Now the Turner prize has gone, and we have our gallery back. Still not free of the corrosive Arts Council social work arts programme, but ignore the excrescence on the ground floor, despite its claim using the Bayeux Tapestry to justify the size of its awfulness. No,...
Henry V – lessons from history
I’ve just been reading Juliet Barkers analysis of Agincourt. Not as entertaining as Bernard Cornwell’s story (he uses her research) but far more detailed and informative of reality. Recently we have spent much time denying the relevance of history to current events,...
Morning
It tickles my cheek, this flicking furry tail. I snake a hand out from under the duvet and rub his head. Fumbling, I struggle to see the luminous glowing hands on my watch face. 05.55. Early but light is coming under the curtains and cat is doing the ‘I’m starving’...