‘Water is the driving force in nature’ Leonardo da Vinci
‘Was not writing poetry a secret transaction, a voice answering a voice?’ Virginia Woolf. It strikes me that this idea can be applied to painting; replying to a voice, expression from the subconscious to the conscious world. Maybe even from the spirit world. I immediately hate that I just wrote that.
More stone coloured paintings coming- it is often commented that the waves look like mountains so let’s run with it for a bit.
Flint paintings dried up quickly, but they are ok.
Decide it is no good painting so small when I can go large as I have the panels. Sanding and preparing gesso boards, their palimpsest shadows have taken root.
Finishing, framing and tidying. This is a sign I am coming to a stop. Trying not to panic.
Had a conversation which threw a line to a forgotten memory, a subject I haven’t faced since I was 15. Can’t stop thinking about it.
Went away for a week, made a couple of drawings of palms in the wind. Read Walt Whitman.
Came back, painted a horse I saw in a field. A lovely painting not about a horse, but about paint.
Painted some other things I saw away, mainly a stork nest on a chimney. Not such good results.
I’m stopped. Stilted, puttered, tried to force it, then nothing. Gardening is all I want to do, and this has been my activity for the last three months. Admitting it helps.
Trying to draw, my mind is blank. This has happened before, not for 4-5 years though. I know it means I am turning a corner, and that it will be ok, but I hate the way it feels. Like the end of a love affair.
Been off drawing in some woods with friends. It was relaxing and good to make marks without an idea in mind, or to any end. Made two drawings with willow and compressed charcoal I rather enjoy. Swam in a lake afterwards.
Made a drawing of a riverside industrial estate. Composition is off, will try again another day. Gardening calling.
Drew an entire blank today. Off to garden again.
Made more drawings of my home town in a searching way. Feels scary, so it might have something.
Read a book written by a friend, an honest and developed story with many layers. Feel I could have been skimming the surface with my work, I want to reconnect but the way is murky.
Went to see some work in Sheffield. I saw lots of work by my contemporaries, it was like a feeding frenzy for me, trying to find myself in there somewhere. I saw George Shaw’s Small Returns and it left me feeling emotional. The loss of his Mum, painting the lost connection with his home town has made me think a lot about my own. To paraphrase him ‘it is home but I do not like it’ is very familiar.
I have a few shows coming up and will need to try and reconnect with the work there, as I’ll be expected to speak. I think I can do it.