12.10.2019 - paintings, pattern layers - process

I have a book. An ongoing project. Years now. It holds patterns. Some made from memory, some made memories, others from images, most made from its predecessors, layered and subtracted to create something new. Copulations of patterns, children of each other, incestuous.

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Sometimes they are applied to painting. Leaping from the sketchbook as projections. Traced by hand, defects encouraged, manipulating the patterns origins to fit the new landscape.

To save paintings these patterns come as a support team, adding scaffolding to the layers, bridging gaps, filling and creating space, moments, opportunities. Gathering the existing layers under their structures, embracing with their geometric arms.

Added slowly, a game of infiltration. Allowing the layers to settle around their new partners.

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Paint and freedoms of movement are added to other canvases. A family affair as she explores her creativity, not holding on to the imagery she diligently paints over her initial image ‘just like mummy’ as it doesn’t matter, she says, I will always paint more.

I talk to her about permanence and temporality, we discuss if things need to last forever, she thinks this is bad as it will go mouldy so it best if we don’t last for ever. But she will miss us when we are gone. A brief hug and she continues to blank out her images with grey paint ‘to help mummy’

30.09.2019 - revisit to an unfinished piece - play

I went shopping for craft supplies and finally they had the graphite putty and double graphite powder available. I snapped them up and went home to explore

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I moved on from this to a canvas that had been inactive for over a year. It sat motionless with its geometric grayscale lines staring at me from the bookcase. so I decided to play.

I HATED it immediately! So I took it to the shower and hosed it down.

Some of it washed off and left traces. This opportunity gave space for the graphite powder, applied with wet fingers like paint. A WORK IN PROGRESS

5th Dec 2018 - Drawing - has the collision gone?

In anger I lashed out at the page, I needed the hug of the charcoal on paper - I never thought I'd hear my self say that. The abandonment of life drawing has finally caught up with me, the charcoal is haunting my thoughts, sneaking in with its lustful desires, calling and tempting me with its sensuality. My person and my business collided, I felt the anger and frustration well up - I decided to drown it in the paper and the charcoal; satisfyingly building the piles of dust on the pages as I scratched out the work. 

I looked and felt like the collision was missing from the work - then I saw it - the devastation on the page, black smears tainting the pristine surface, fingerprints and smudged edges, dust and layers colliding with the white expanse. The collision happened both physically and mentally, the lines collided on the page, the thoughts collided in my head, my fingers collided with the charcoal and the page. The devastation was satisfying, the aftermath was beautiful.

15 Nov 2018 - Taking some graphite for a walk... and charcoal and a pen!

After the group critique, I acted immediately on the feedback. I utilised my eager-to-please students as camera holders so I could take some equipment for a walk. Gathering materials around the art room I found some synthetic mohair in a slightly shimmery grey, a thick charcoal stick, a couple of soft graphite sticks, and a Berol thick marker.

Lassoed with the yarn, the 6B graphite stick was first for a stroll, happily dragging behind me as I paced the classroom. The students giggled, and watched on hesitantly and expectantly - the line was faint. The process left me feeling slightly deflated at the vagueness of the traces left behind.

Softer graphite was next. This would work, I was sure but alas, after the initial pacing and expectations a line just as vague as the first was left. The process felt a little easier though, less exposing.

The third walk was accompanied by a thick chunk of charcoal, who also accompanied me on a fourth walk after being worn down on the paper to see if the rough edge would make a difference. Still, the paper resisted the instruments and the traces were light and tentative.

Action was required. This activity needed an outcome; the students were watching, starting to feel disappointed by the repetitive act that left them without a conclusion. The noose was cast around a thick black marker, the pace was slowed and the angle of the instrument was adjusted slightly; this time it would work and I would make sure of it.

A sigh of satisfaction was heard, the students were lifted at the sight of the black line following their teacher as she paced up the three sheets of paper once more. They giggled about the marks on the floor and the lack of shoes. They were satisfied that the goal had been achieved and a line had been drawn.

In one final stand, I bunched the instruments together, hoping their collective might would give a product that would fill me with a similar satisfaction that the students had voiced. It did not appear during the act, or in the moments immediately after. But something changed when the work was lifted from its horizontal position on the floor and hung on the classroom wall; vertically from floor to ceiling, lines dropping to the ground in a slightly wobbly fashion. Here there was some gratification. The long strip of paper required a ladder to handle it, it felt unwieldy and I liked that. As it hung on the wall behind the door, but on the facing wall of the classroom, various students inquired as to what it was. They discussed it when I gave no indication: a road, a tree trunk, a path. Regardless, they almost always offered something that took them somewhere, indicating movement, or growth; direction.

https://vimeo.com/304611865