It’s with a sense of surprise that my painting practice continues to develop in curious and diverse ways. For now I’m simply going with the line thing and watching patiently as the triangle comes out to play. Triangles? Me? Also – recognisable shapes (defined forms) me? Me of the nebulous not to say smog drenched canvas…Yes, me.
And when the triangles (two yes) burst forth it was really quite joyful. Trees! I knew this was landscape and that these were trees. I almost pointed in that way small children do just before looking back over their shoulder at the adult observer in charge, to share the delightful identification – that moment of recognition which the young mind seems to adore (we later take it for granted don’t we?)
So perhaps I should not be so surprised after all to find another landscape with trees painted by the much younger me – to which this new landscape appears to refer ( a complex reference to be sure). Mexico City, at the age of 5 I painted the first image in commemoration and as narrative. The story can be repeated elsewhere – here it is simply the backcloth to unconscious memory in visual form, which joins me to my former self. Trees I say! Trees! And the moment is childlike, wondrous and joyful. The power of paint to connect pathways to and from the in-between is breathtaking. It feels like coming home.
