The past is our ruin.
Life is precarious.
My world was turned upside down by a life-changing bereavement. My entire notion of ‘creativity’ was put into question by the silent finality of death.
After many months of dragging this heavy weight around, getting through the day, I finally found a way to draw again, back inside a sketchbook, a ‘safe’ place to work things out. An anchor.
I needed a tangible starting point to work with because I couldn’t confront empty space. I dismantled some old books and randomly dispersed their contents across the empty pages. In this case, a book of Antique Furniture.
The welcome momentum of a trip away from home, a train journey from Prague to Vienna, shifted my inertia. I found my line…my imagination flowed again…a stream of consciousness…
page after page after page…mile after mile after mile.
It’s self-evident that all the performing bodies I have been drawing from life over the last few years have filtered through my mind’s eye as I draw from the imagination.
I’m now working on a large scale canvas to develop this work in the studio, first I made a series of big drawings on paper (5ft x 3ft) exploring the inert burnt wood qualities of charcoal for the furniture ‘towers’ and thick acrylic paint to smear the surface, to give weight to the flesh.
Flesh of my Flesh.
Ashes to Ashes.
Dust to Dust.