I attempt periodically to discover what I can say about what I do, and to say it succinctly.And if I can say anything, where has it come from? Have I invented a spurious fiction, or engaged in a process of revelation? I have a similar difficulty with words as with images. If they are not right, they are wrong.This painting has obviously evolved. I didn’t exactly catch it unawares, but I have been a little surprised by it. I thought it was going to die.
The dividing line is intransigent, unsympathetic, uncompromising. provoking claustrophobic sensations. But I am compelled to return to it, in the hope that it will have mellowed, will compromise, sympathise, and my return is welcomed. In painting it I appeal to it to be different.Being tied into repetition of subject-matter signals unresolved need, nuances of image nudge the imagination into further uncertain territory. The dividing line moves to create unequal distribution of surface. The stillness of flower and bird is both reassuring and disconcerting. Not knowing past or future they are suspended in continuous present. They remain forever close and infinitely distant.The issue is resolved when its imagery is redundant.
