A little stocktaking. It is almost a year now since I began writing this blog. I just read all my posts with some relief that there is not too much repetition. I intend to wander on.
Some of what I have written has been a look at what I feared, projecting what I am afraid of onto what I am looking at. Surface as a concept is deeply puzzling, but surface as an object can seem unproblematic ‘easy’ and this in turn connects with posts recently regarding value judgements – good/bad. I have been thinking that I shall make some paintings that are surfaces, resisting the urge to ‘validate’ them with figurative references. I was looking at some work by Sean Scully and Jackson Pollock. The problem is there with much abstract work, that its great pretensions are vulnerable to mere decorative conclusions. But in reading my blogs, the thought occurs that I might ditch some ‘pretensions’ and have a good time.
Looking at my grey surfaces, brought to mind the late Fred Dibnah who when demolishing a chimney stack, took great pains to do it in a traditional manner by weakening the structure sufficiently for it to collapse when wooden supports placed in holes he had made in the structure burned away. It was time consuming, hard physical work. Fred argued that the effort required to construct the chimney should be paid due respect in its demolition. This is a statement of value. Implicit in Fred’s attitude was a concern for tradition and for something concerning standards. But a ton of explosive might have made him giggle?
One of my avoidance strategies is to go cycling. I went out on Friday.
Half a mile down the road I passed a young man on a mountain bike, earphones engaged, with tyres that would grace a tractor, and looking like he should be in school. I rode swiftly past him and on up the hill. Seconds later, agricultural tyres buzzing, the young man passed me. My heartrate monitor had palpitations and my lycra took immediate exception. It was being being overtaken by a pair of grey trousers and black walking shoes. It took off in pursuit and swept past him. I managed to smile and say “Is this a race?” “If you like.” he replied, smiling back. He was swiftly dispatched and was expected to resume attendance to his earphones. I cycled on. A mile later, another hill, another attack. The black shoes had not understood, and powered past me a second time. Too much for the lycra’s pride. It accepted the challenge. This time on passing him I indicated that lycra cannot tolerate humiliation. He must now have understood; I did not see him again. Sometimes the trivial is a delight. What it all means I have no idea, but I think I’m quite good at making things hard work.
