This is two blog entries in one.
When written in italics it's an exploration of the ''meaning'' in my artwork. And when written otherwise it's talking about the practical and real life side of things. Thought it would be interesting to write about both rather than one so readers can enjoy the lyrical and the mundane all at the same time.
Also please note all images are for sale on EBay - the smaller ones starting at 99p - click on the image or the links below the images to bid.
A4
Bright glow in underground darkness - living in some different place. Imaginary light on all the places unseen where nothing lives and nothing is. The blank spaces between walls in the grit and the nowhere and the not very much. If you get thrown into those places without eyes and without touch convergences would appear. Breathing with colour.
These images often feel like accidents - like they've been made out of little more than instinct. Like all thought has been abandoned for an intuitive and routine method. My methods and materials and also my undercurrent motivations all bear a similar ethos. An aimlessness and purposelessness that is unshakable. It's neither happy or sad it's just sort of there in an emotional limbo.
envelope sized
A sky full of absence - unsupported shades of white light. An accumulation of insect limbs separate from the core hanging obsolete in the air. A junkyard collection of spinning sticks hanging from string and bonded through collaboration. Selected items once discarded pulled into the air so they can be added to the ill defined monster's smooth and featureless black core.
Time is counted when making my work nowadays. Most images are put together in a small amount of time using the stacks of materials I've gathered over the past few years? The main concern is how to organize those materials so that they compliment each other and meld into something worthwhile and different? I make most of them up as I went along in a total rush to get loads of little EBay images done. The motivation for this I'm unsure of. As I don't exactly make a living from it.
envelope sized
Bunsen burner summoning flames - flames can be summoned in other ways. That much is obvious. How to link flame so meticulously with earthly flesh and to bind flame into stillness and silence to the point where it doesn't burn anymore? That's what the colours red, blue and orange are apparantly capable of. Add a certain deftness of line then perhaps drawing a fire could keep you warm and save on your energy bills.
This is what I do these days. Relying on my intuitive strengths to mass produce original artwork in short spans of time. I'm always thinking of ways to make the work faster but at the same time still imbue and develop the same essence it's always had. The first part of this takes very little effort to maintain so will definitely be continuing the EBay project until my materials are all used up and I've paid off my overdraft. The second part is a lot harder. How do I maintain my motivations when all my purpose and drive has drifted into my subconscious to be made ill defined and useless? Is that getting older?
envelope sized
When staring at walls for long enough lines can be drawn simply through making mindful measurements. A texture can be built from apparent emptiness. Lines can be drawn and places can be found and people can be seen on the surface of the wall or in the weave of curtains.
So the substance in these works are very much in existence even if it is a little subdued. And by writing two threads of paragraph I'm at least exploring aspects of the artwork after the artwork was made and finding meanings within it - drawing out the inessential substance from the pretty shapes and colours. My output has increased since making smaller work and I think in some ways it's become better simply because maintaining my integrity whilst producing simple ''products'' drives me to quite desperate lengths.
A4
A fear can take possession and the creatures and places of ennui and empty can start to bleed and grow into each other. They spin and collapse. This would be fine if they went away but unfortunately this isn't the case. They simply turn inside out and replace themselves with an inverse image.
The staring spaces are not dependable and change much quicker than people. I blame our light receptors.
The problem with producing lots of work for EBay is writing these blogs about them. The more artwork I produce the more paragraphs I have to write about each one - this is always achievable but I often wonder if I'm wasting my time doing this. Would a format change be a sign of weakness? Perhaps it is a sign of strength and adaptability. Most businesses alter their methods needlessly even when they are operating okay. Is writing two paragraphs per image going to reduce how much writing I'm going to have to do? The obvious answer is no.
envelope sized
If illusion never existed and everything turned out to be real. Scary immutable beings suspended in the chaos of the everyday - pulling strings. Working and existing in order to feed their appetites. Pulling up the corpses into their emotionless bodies completely unaware of why or how. The world swirls in conjunction with their rhythms.
Even a cursory analysis shows us how familiar these lines of movement are.
Perhaps my main criticism against myself as a human being is that I have no business sense. That I should probably be doing something in a tried and tested manner. Because I'm quite unconventional in my approaches to life I tend to do things my own way - not deliberately I'm just that sort of person. It's always worked better even if other people don't understand my ways I still think that for me personally, being myself is what counts. I think this has allowed my artwork to develop a lot of uniqueness over the years. Though not enough.
envelope sized
Down the towards the throat of the hidden mess you'll see illogical hidden organs - their movements suspended in motion, cold in heat and certain in contradiction. Lines lead you to the inevitable and boundaries block any side route - the only point of focus is down it's circular mouth. All pretenses and notions of self can be stripped away by it. The twist at the end of the story is that when you pass through it's lips your entering yourself.
I sometimes think about an eventual retirement from art. To end making things. Maybe to retire to a nice life of staring into nothing. I sometimes think about what I've been doing with my adult life - how beneficial my existence has been to others and myself. What good has come from me walking about in funny looking coats and sticking bits of paper together. What is the ultimate point and final end?
A4
I grow older observing my inevitable tooth decay and wondering if I'll ever change beyond what I've become ever again. Will I just decay into an older and lesser thing - like some kind of defeated and shrivelled brain dead recluse. To continue into something that is repeating itself - deeper and deeper into some vortex. The pull of gravity inescapable and inevitable. Until all the wreckage of myself collapses into a crudely formed heart.
Which would eventually start beating.
I must approach everything with optimism. Life is gradual and nothing stays the same. Ignore all depressing assumptions of repetition. Nothing reaches a satisfactory finality as living is more than a story. Even if it feels like less. Sometimes.
