I have been back in UK for a week now. As, I anticipated my return I hoped that I might find some eagerness to return to regularly posting. Perhaps, I did; I have posted most days but to different blogs so maybe that amounts to the same. I should not then feel so badly.
On the plus side I have continued to read while my creativity levels have not yet risen. That might have some positive effect on my writing skills at least. So I live in hope.
This week I have been reading a book by Derek Jarman called Chroma ; a book of colour – June ‘93 I am enjoying so much I have bought a second copy to give as a gift. I am not able to give reasons for my delight … just quote this poem that it says it all
Brilliant, gorgeous, painted, gay,
Vivid, flaunting, tearaway,
Glowing, flaring, lurid, loud,
Screaming shrieking, marching, proud,
Mellow, matching, deep and sombre,
Pastel, sober, dead and dull,
Constant, colourful, chromatic,
Party-coloured and prismatic,
Tattooed, dyed, illuminated,
Daub and scumble, dip and dye,
High-keyed colour, colour lie.
My daughter and I don’t get the opportunity to sit and draw together very often. When it happens it is good, last week a session on the front at Flamengo, Rio de Janeiro; the sea, sand and sun was the cherry on the top.
I have been away for the last 3 weeks and not inclined to spend time not enjoying my holiday; and for a time leading to this event I have been distracted my blog and regular posting. As you know I go to Rio this time of year to visit my daughter and although it is bus, I do usually enjoy continuing to post daily to my blog. It was at times difficult; while there was endless super subject matter the internet connection was often unreliable, nonetheless it didn’t spoil the holiday and I was happy.
This year somehow the need to post daily was not so great even as the new year began and began our plans to visit Brazil, then with my health problems; blogging was seemingly less important.
So life went on and we went to Rio.
Sadly, with some serious family issues at home and Rio, blogging again a didn’t seem like a major priority; so on the back burner already it seem correct to shelve if a while.
This proved to be a welcome decision … instead of looking around for opportunities to snapshot and share, I rested and reflected on the here and now. Not looking at the big picture; but glimpses we had missed previous years. So while we did explore and enjoy the holiday, it was more about soothing, celebrating and reminding ourselves of the last 5 years, watching not the Christ, Sugar Loaf, Copacabana, Ipanema, coffee shops and cafes, but the sunrises, sunsets, cool breezes, hot breathes, aches and joys. We did some mending of wounds and celebrating separation and impermanence; deadly lessons but also beautiful acceptance that I thought I had dealt with 5 years ago and is now a fait accompli but not with longing and despair but of anticipation and new beginnings for us all.
I have gone for a while from the northern hemisphere to the south, where else would you go if you were looking to buy a mirror?
For months and perhaps years I have been an artist. Favouring printmaking, but generally a maker of shapes and coloured marks. Without much formal artist instruction; whatever that is, and academic resources from whoever or wherever this comes; I know not.
However, there is much I do know, for me there are things not to be tampered with or manipulated and that is the air we breath and the fundamental that comes from that; nature is divorced from my pallet. She rages and brings delight in equal measure, she is fickle, changeable and absolute. Also, I will not attach myself to humans or adopt them as my own, they will not find their way into my sketchbook, unless without name, compass or purpose. I will not fetter a live or breathing image to my page; I am not able.
Nonetheless, I am human and as such we have all; made, created, devoured, sculpted, built, cut down from nature in an attempt to preserve, tame, maintain, hold it and to conquer it. We want the truth to be tangible see its value and hide the depravity.
So for me as an artist and a very humble attempt to unravel, undo, hold, celebrate and destroy the stuff previously described and that marks my evolution. Containers, I am a collector, hoarder, of tea, clothes, bags within bags, the written word; I no less that anyone want proof of my autonomy my place on the world. So I while I undo them, look at the shape they make, listen to the words they might say, understand flavour or the feelings that seeps from their souls, see the colour, light and shade, rest eyes and allow them the breath we denied them so cruelly in our bid to hold back time and bring culture.
I am not sure what I am saying here; suffice to say I will not reproduce a landscape, or a portrait or a still life; I will not attempt to hold something that is not mine. I will point out that we cannot do the above not even the greatest artist we wish to extol; we can only be aware that there is only a tiny widow of clarity and unless we keeping trying to focus on that and the brevity if life then we will never be an artist rich, poor or otherwise.