About Painting
An introverted child my mother encouraged me. Making paintings was a form of affection between us, but becoming a serious artist was always a task too far. I was a disorganised young person with a tendency to daydream a lot. When I had time I had no money for materials. When I had money I had no time, so I have never dedicated the time to painting that I have to pottery.
Waves of rain
water’s dropping fast
room is dry and tight
painting
in a dull and lemon light
lively colours
lick my brush
I mute them all with white
don’t know where its going
but want it to go right
For a short while I was renting a small studio, I was busy painting, how I love the feel and lusciousness of paint! I was painting on paper tearing it up reassembling it, painting over. All my anxieties relocated to something substantial, suddenly there was a finished work in all its pleasing complexity on the wall, the celebration I felt was enormous.
I went out told my friends of my success and when I returned my painting was trashed. Torn up stomped on and on the floor in pieces. I can only say of my feelings that it was an awful violation.
Jealousy causes a stupid vengeance. Why, I don t know. Who? I don’t know which of my friends it was, but it had a devastating effect. I felt unsafe, closed my studio and stopped painting.
It was seeing a wonderful Klee exhibition at the Art Gallery that made me paint again. I can paint small I don t need a studio!
So here I share some small crayon and gouache works of primal childlike feelings.
They live in my cupboard. I will fetch some out.
Looking at them now I realise how intense I was!