Here you find me on the threshold of a whole new body of work that has been scratching at my bones for so long. All the while I have fairly delved with some pioneer spirit into painting with melted beeswax, resin and oil paint, destroyed so many old pieces that no longer served me and played with rust printing on paper and fabric and stitched the same. At the same time a growing pile of boxes in various states of vintage and disrepair has been occupying my studio. If you've ever visited me there and noticed, you might have considered the pile just another aspect of general studio storage clutter. Inquiries as to their meaning have usually been answered with mutterings of a new arcane project, in planning, but not actually doing it yet... I write copious notes, look at old photographs, make drawings, read and read and find references to ...well ...everything really. Somehow it all seems relevant. This work is the BIG thing that I feel I have been revving up to since I started all th…
Now as I make amends and try to reconnect, I find that I have brought my fear into my studio. The result is that tentative efforts to work have been woefully far from the free and expressive place that I remembered could fire and consume me.
I try too hard, forcing minute concentrations of detail into a twisted tight fist of constraint and control.
This is not working and this is not helping.
To be free and unselfconscious is the thing.
And so today, with graphite blocks and paper of different weight and texture and with anxious brain ignored, I managed to begin again.
Let go and make marks.
Graphite on paper.
Graphite on grainy paper.
And wondrously (how could I have forgotten?), graphite on beautiful, old coarse linen.