Occasionally I get to a position where I am drained. Motivation is limited. Sometimes it is simply tiredness. Or the imagination dries up. That itchy feeling in the fingertips that signifies a need to work subsides. This week I made myself draw. I have a thrush which will not last much longer. My mind goes in circles; circles are all that there are when problems are not resolved. Problems are never resolved; the circle buckles. Problems hang like old keys on a ring. I still have difficulties with my ‘artist’s statement’. What can I say? I paint and draw. Dead birds. Dead flowers. Some pretty pictures. I have a part in an exhibition next month, at the Ropetackle Arts Centre in Shoreham – on – Sea. I have been framing photographs, about 25 in all. Funny thing framing. A statement of value. Frame is the boundary. Glass protects. Mount surrounds and enhances. The precious is protected. Art is contradicted by artifice. Taste satisfies its demands on the work. I invent a rationale for the rejection of ‘artists’ statements’, to make myself feel better. It is connected to our culture of management, control, and accountability. My irritability looks for subjects. Escape routes. Sometimes, anything but what might be true. My photographs are a sigh of relief and a reminder.
