Reality & the Irrational

This green-eyed indigo child in the early stages of making, a further addition to my growing brood of spiritual collaborators, an ally envisioning a magical dimension I'm mostly too blind and afraid to see on my own. 

There is a spiritual dimension, where the soul is untethered from the illusory material world, a spiritual world which offers true freedom and enlightenment. 

These paintings break free from the world of reality, and the illusions that exist within reality. They embrace the Unknown. The formless world is beyond language, it is a state of innate, natural spirituality. It is the only true state of being. Meditation brings one closer to a formless world. These paintings as such are a form of meditation, suffused with words which are ultimately useless in capture the spirit of their intention. 

The blood of two brothers runs deep. One brother was denied a future, and the other got to live his future. But what does the artist do with this opportunity? What does art mean? Can it take reality and reconstruct it in an imaginary world? Can it heal fractured histories? Can the use of a creative mind resurrect lost futures? These questions are pointless. It's the act alone which holds value: the creation of paintings. 

What sense of guilt or responsibility drives this desire to bring meaning to James's existence? More than success or money and acclaim there must be a powerful creative impulse to somehow entwine my life with my brother's once more. 

For years we were together in the same horror film. Then for years we became separated by the horror, repelled to our respective distant lands. And now, through and beyond the horror, we come together as brothers once more: instigated by me and generated through my art. My art is for and about myself and my brother. This is an impulse beyond the sale of a painting, beyond a gallery and its representation. This is art with meaning and value for me first. Beyond that, others to, hopefully. Because art has to be shared to truly exist. Not liked, just shared. 

The references in my paintings are loose. Never explicitly referring to that of James and his lost future. This is an intangible world I'm creating. There are no laws and rules to adhere to. In my mind and spirit I make a connection, even where one doesn't appear readily apparent to me. I know my heart and mind are making a connection, a bond, a union, and that it is always there, if not visually, then somehow spiritually - embedded in the canvas. The canvas is enveloped with intention. To explore, to navigate, to journey. Not literal intentions to generate a literal future. But create an environment in which to commune.

I paint for myself. I paint for James. I don't paint for clients. I don't paint for galleries. I don't paint for magazines and website. I don't paint for critics and newspaper columns. I don't paint for friends or colleagues. I don't paint for anyone other than myself and my brother. This is our world, a world where everyone is truly welcome - truly welcome. But it may not be for you. You may not understand my art. You may not get my meaning and intention. I understand. Some days I just don't get it myself. I really don't. But some days, I do. And there lies my passion. 

Art has to mean something. It has to resonate deep down in one's fibre. It has to exist beyond the consideration of any external factors: beyond styles and likes, beyond opinions and tastes. It can only truly exist fully when it doesn't exist. That if it is never seen or liked, bares no factor on its creation and value. It is created in spite of any lack of acknowledgement. And it's value exists outside of the external world. It has its own inbuilt value. 

Reality is beguiling, but it is the irrational world I mostly to turn to now for creative stimuli, as it seems by far the richer field. The more irrational, the more meaning I find. But paradoxically also a world where meaning doesn't really matter. Where nothing really matters other than the expression of oneself creatively, and as authentically, as possible. Which of course, changes from day to day. What feels authentic day, may feel hollow tomorrow. Such is the creative journey. It is never ending. 

Rethinking my position on symbols

The 'spiritual' dimension which has come to seep slowly into my life as I get older, very much previously concealed I might add, is slowly but surely becoming  a formidable presence in my art. 

With the sudden onset of this realisation it now seems clear that the world is by no means made up merely of the empirical things which surround me. So why would I limit myself to representing the things which surround me, when there are inklings of further undiscovered realms to be explored? 

There are fields and forces at play which underpin my existence which I cannot fully grasp. Intuition can then play a big part in accessing these realms. 

But things which are seemingly unfathomable today (Flat Earth/ Round Earth), become less so tomorrow. 

Telepathy has long been regarded as far fetched, for the likes of Dr X and other science fiction characters. Reading books thirty years ago I believed William Burroughs was merely being fantastic in his Yage expedition for telepathic drugs. But while telepathy as we have always envisaged it - mind to mind - is unlikely for the future, it is still possible to transfer thoughts between humans via binary decoding and software. 

Telepathy is not 'spiritual' of course, but an example of the unknown revealing itself. 

Telepathy is now the subject of intense research at universities around the world where scientists have already been able to read individual words, images, and thoughts of our brain by combining the latest scanning technology with pattern recognition software. 

It often feels like I'm blindly wandering through this life I'm beginning to recognise as a 'spiritual' one. But I suppose I don't need to have 'data' to support my intuition. My art tells me to cease painting what I see, and paint a world that I can intuit. This means, to a degree at least, of letting go of the limitations of rational thinking. 

I once believed paintings had to make 'sense'' such that the entirety of their existence could equally be explained in words as they could in paint.  I now feel the less sense my paintings make in a rational world, exponentially the closer I get to my own Spiritual and Creative Truth. 

But I accept for me this is a curious journey, and I don't understand the route. But as mentioned, perhaps 'understanding' this journey is less important than 'feeling' this journey. 

Personally, I feel there is more to you and I than meets the eye... I don't know the name for it, but for want of a better expression, I call it 'spiritual'. It begins by looking within, not outside of myself. When you suddenly have this realisation that you are a formless entity, the parameters change somewhat. For when form loses its preeminent status you have to wonder on the nature of what is left!

Artist as Quality Controller

I had a realisation of a very positive kind the other day, which sounds on the face of it fairly negative. But it's not in fact negative at all. 

This may or may not be relevant to your artistic practice. 

The realisation is that my latests three paintings aren't finished and that they're mediocre. 

Big deal, you say. 

Well, I thought they were finished and I even thought they were great! How we fool ourselves. 

That's the big deal! 

I'd duped myself into thinking they were not only finished, but we're great too!

For some reason, I suddenly came into the studio one morning and saw the brutal reality of their actual mediocrity. 

But it's from this that I can now begin to see their potential to be better. And this is of course of great value. If these paintings don't change based on this insight, the ones to follow surely will. 

My current concern is that I don't know how to make these current works better. Or what that even means, 'to make them better'.

The yardstick I often use for determining whether a painting is successful or not, is this: 

Could this painting hold its own while hanging on the wall of the National Gallery?

(I know this sounds grandiose, so forgive me for that.)

If the answer is no, then I instantly know I have a problem. And currently, my answer is an indefatigable no. These paintings couldn't hang on the cloakroom wall of a major gallery. 

So something has to change. But what, and how? And are these just vacuous words? Or can they be made concrete with actual change?

With these large-ish paintings it's easy to allow sloppy passages to appear. And because they're big paintings the passages of sloppiness can be big too! A definite drawback of working larger. 

How do you step out of creating mediocre paintings to creating great paintings? 

I know all artists have great paintings in them. But how do we create a change in ourselves to bring about this greatness in our work? What exactly needs to change?

It's all personal of course. But I suspect it begins with 'seeing' the mediocrity in one's work, when it arises. Nothing can change and grow until this awareness comes about. But you need to look for it, as it conceals itself from us. Or we slovenly allow things to slide. 

So today my three paintings are mediocre. Certainly one of them is, without question. I see it. I know it. But tomorrow is a new day. And tomorrow they don't have to be mediocre. If a paintings not varnished, it can be reworked. 

I think an artist also needs to know for themselves what it means for a painting to be great. Greatness has a different criteria for different artists. 

I personally 'feel' a great painting, you don't necessarily need the words to describe why it is great. It's not always clear why a painting seems great to us. We just know it. And we also know it when it isn't great, too. But my National Gallery test is my best yardstick. 

I think that knowing when you've created something mediocre is a deeply empowering thing. It allows scope for change and growth. Without this recognition growth can't begin. 

How do you each determine when your paintings are great, or if they're great (or maybe that's a word you feel uncomfortable with), and when they are mediocre? Is it something that can be put into words, or simply a feeling?

Or do such questions seem irrelevant and for the concern of those arrogant enough to believe in there personal capacity for greatness?

No business with a product for sale allows the product into the public arena without first passing quality control. Artists (entrepreneurs that we are) run our own quality control departments. And that means recognising when we create something that is mediocre, and when we create something that is great. 

I wonder if the greatest gift any artist can have is to own the capacity to see the shoddiness in their own work when it surfaces!

Bon voyage 

Voids in a Painting

Recently I’ve been trying to make sense of my new painting, but it’s resisting making sense. It wants to do it when it’s ready, and won’t allow me to force a sense into it. And yet who else can do it? The painting doesn’t have a separate existence. Yet it resists my attempts to make it make sense. And I have been trying to make it make sense for several days.

Transitions don’t come easy. This is when artists with more sense than I, put their paintings aside and begin new ones. That’s not how I work. The thought of a painting in the background unresolved seems almost abhorrent!

There is this void in the painting which is begging for something to be put there. Maybe something which will raise the painting out of the ranks of tameness. It’s hard painting beauty without it appearing tame. After all, how can beauty be fully understood with out a little ugliness to give meaning?

Sometimes I feel my paintings cry out for a little rawness. As Tennyson said, Nature is red in tooth and claw. This absence actually gnaws at me sometimes. Because I know there is a brutality out there festering beneath polite society, and somehow I feel it too needs a voice. A subtle voice for my needs, but recognition all the same.

There is such a strong psychological element to my work that I feel it sometimes needs a more raw expression; but with this element comes a fear of losing the beauty of simple things; as though any hint of ugliness will cause a recoil.

But there comes a time when the viewer’s opinions no longer figure. For the mature artist, perhaps the viewer will never figure.

I think there is a fear with approaching the darker aspects of the psyche, a fear of what will arise. Of course the fear is without rhyme or reason, but it’s there all the same. Much of my work is an avoidance of this darker aspect. When the blood of insanity runs through one’s history as deeply as it does in ours, one soon learns to keep all thoughts as healthy as possible. And yet as an artist one also wants to engage honestly with ones creativity, to not dilute or tame it…

So I look at a canvas with a big gaping void in it. Perhaps I should do what Turner did, and turn up and stick a red blob on my canvas and all will make sense!

I suspect there are a thousand ways of approaching the problem of a stuck painting. There are as many ways of dealing with this as there are artists perhaps. Almost certainly, putting a painting to one side would work a charm. But I stop for nothing.

Pushing through will also bring a truth. Because this new painting is a template of sorts for future paintings it needs to be resolved here, otherwise it will simply recur in the next painting. So it’s a language which I need to understand. So I prefer to pursue this painting until it is resolved.

Perhaps my real problem is the fear of ending up with a tame picture. Even one that sells is of no use to me. I’ve done so many tame pictures, which I of course loved at the time. And still do.

But there is something bigger out there. And to get to it you actually have to find your raw emotional truth, your authentic personal expression. How you then convey this with an exquisitely controlled paint brush such as mine, I couldn’t begin to tell you.

So much emotion can come from the brush stroke itself. A vitality. I’ve never seen a raw vitality come from a 0000 sized brush. But that’s my choice of tool. Dali of course had a very precise, tight control over his technique, and also found his emotional truth. So perhaps tools are neither here nor there. It’s what you do with them that counts.

Nude Distortions

My perception of the female form is not a fixed notion of femaleness, but a shifting representation of femaleness.

The human form shifts in shape, as it revolves around a psychological distortion which I’ve carried since a young boy.

Aged 14 a police officer knocked on our door. He informed us that our beloved ****** had been found dead beneath the Crouchend clock tower – dressed as a woman. The constructed image is emblazoned on my psyche for all eternity.

From that day onwards my understanding of male/female identity began to dissipate, began to melt and merge in slightly incomprehensible ways.

The female for in all its shapes and sizes and colours is perfectly beautiful and perfectly sexual to me.

I feel the male form is a greater beauty when in shifting form, leaning towards the female form as in Caravaggio’s statue, The David.

There is always an aesthetic, higher beauty which interests me, perhaps a universal beauty if this is not to grand. But this is often playing off against a lower carnal self which for some reasoned is ever under suppression: because, mistakenly, we don’t associate this lustful response with serious art.

We always think of art nudes as appealing to a higher aesthetic – that we are referring to a grand universal beauty – no lustful responses involved.

But nearly all female nudes in art history have been painted by men. The female form is a turn on. It would be nonsensical to ignore this instinctual fact. But this is not the whole story.

It’s not always obviously the case. We don’t obviously see this in Freud for example. But we feel we see it in Allen Jones. We don’t obviously see it in Picasso, but we feel we see it in Schiele. Yet in the artists who don’t obviously play out this lust on the canvas, they seem to have played it out in life. Their list of lovers being innumerable.

I find it amazing that discussions of such a strong human, sexual response to portraying the human form in art, is often suppressed at length by artists, as though such concerns are not suitable for high art; a human response which should belong solely to soft porn industry.

Jeff Koons seemingly attempts to bridge a gap between high art and hardcore pornography. Love or loathe the work he did with Cicciolina, it represented a natural human act, though highly unnatural in its depiction.

When I paint the female form there is an aspect of desire, realised through the act of painting. But when and where?

When I work with my models there is not even a frisson of excitement. It is purely about composition and posing and getting all the technical aspects of the camera and lighting correct.

The painter who paints from life has a chance to languish over the form. The hyperrealist working from photos never does. It happens far to quickly and is way too technical.

Does this desirous state occur in the painting process? Never. It is purely about creating the painting and little more.

It happens in the Idea. Before the appearance of the human in flesh, or her appearance on canvas. There lustful ideas if the human form. But once the process starts it never appears again.

Symbolism in stil lifes? No! (older post brought forward)

I'm not too interested in forcing symbolism into the objects I paint, some may say that leaves them as mere attractive objects, and I say, so be it. If there is any symbolism in my objects, it is more by chance, that intention - as it comes after the fact. 

For example, it suddenly dawned on me why I might have chosen something like chestnuts; they reminded me of a time of playful innocence in my early life. But I initially chose them for aesthetic reasons. They came to symbolise something after the painting was complete. So it was a kind of subconscious symbolism at work, not intended.

Symbols in still life paintings are evident, skulls are mortality, wine alongside bread is likely the blood of Christ, butterflies the soul or transformation. But this code seems too much about the artist, and I prefer my work to be less about the artist, I don't want cryptic works where viewer has to be detective, to seek out the meaning of the codes within created by the artist. 

Its not always easy to tell what the artists meant in his construction of symbols, not at least merely by looking. We can hazard a guess, but symbols have multiple meanings, they can mean one thing for one artist, something altogether different for another. 

So how can we know if we're on the right trail? We can tenuously try to grasp the meaning, but we may miss the mark. Some symbols have a universal meaning, others do not, and context of the object is all important. 

If you sought universal understanding in your paintings, it would mean adhering to universal iconography. But that might risk creating stale repetitive art. Whereas creating a more unique art might mean creating non-universal iconography. In which case it might risk being inaccessible. 

Of course the artist may add it stimulates the viewer into entering a dialogue with the work, that a viewer should be made to work, regardless of the outcome. But I want to offer instant gratification, not complex indecipherable  meanings, regardless if it cerebrally stimulates the viewer. If I wanted to cerebrally stimulate the viewer i might do better to write for a pamphlet.

Alternatively we can do some research on the artist to find out the intentions. But how many of us do that we when look at a paintings? More often than not, I think we want to receive a paintings attributes there and then.

There is only one motivation I am really interested in, and that is Beauty, and it is on this basis alone that I choose the objects I choose, not for esoteric meanings, and certainly not for stale universal meanings.

Finding meanings in paintings can be stimulating, even fun, but not all artists seek to create work embedded with encryptions.

Paradise' in Catto Gallery (older post)

Seeing one of my paintings hang on a gallery wall for the first time, with all it's controlled down lighting, walls covered in fine works, the painting flourishing in this new environment, is a wholly different experience from having it sit on my easel, amongst all the studio clutter, art paraphernalia and numerous cups of stale coffee. 

I seem to experience the work differently in a gallery. Certainly context infers value and meaning. Of course, a gallery is a painting's natural home, but an even more natural home is an owner's walls. 

One thing which is a little bemusing at times is that a work can seem large in one environment, and yet minuscule in another. Large in my studio, yet small in the gallery. So today I concluded it is time to move up in scale. When a work looks oversized in my studio, I can probably estimate it will be perfectly fine in a reasonable sized gallery. Why think small when you can think big? The same applies to my painting. That's not to say small isn't exquisite. Undoubtedly it is. My five year old Elm bonsai tree is testament to this, also is the wondrous tiny hummingbirds that appear in my work. But soon a work demands a more expansive space. The natural inclusions demand a greater living environment. A bowl? A basket? In fact a WORLD. So it is the difference between painting 'Objects in Space', and painting 'Worlds Filled with Objects'. 

Now this work is hung it is time to complete the third of these circular panel pieces and then look to larger horizons. I always thought it was the objects I wanted to paint but I think this is transforming; more likely is seems I want to create worlds filled with beauty. This might sound a tad cheesy, but I have no other way of expressing it. A world filled with beauty. 

My brother J never knew a world of beauty growing up. And right by his side, for many years, it felt as though I never knew a world of beauty either. If I could envisage painting such a surrogate world to replace his tainted world, what would this world look like...? This, of course, is the possibly deluded vocation of an artist seeking to heal the woes of his world. To put wrongs to right. But some wrongs can never be righted. J's world can't be undone, for example. Though some events in life can still be honoured and a sense of resolve sought. 

The Artworld is No Place for the Faint of Heart

One of the hardest things for an artists to receive is rejection from a gallery. Too many artists sit at home and never step out into the Artworld because of this. But rejection happens to us all. And there are often sound business reasons as to why a rejection occurs. It might be a style or subject overlap with an artist already on their books, it could be a poor fit between the overall style of artwork and gallery, or pricing issues: a high end Mayfair gallery won't likely show paintings which sell for 2-3k, their overheads are too great. So there are a number of reasons why rejection may occur. 

From a personal point of view I always tend to put myself in a gallery director's shoes. They are always having to turn artists away. Is that a hard job? I would say so. But there are enlightened directors out there who reject with a certain panache. That's to say they leave the artist intact and optimistic, not shredded by rejection. Or at least this is their aim. Ultimately it's down to the individual as to how he or she responds to rejection. 

So I have had my fair share of rejection over the years; in fact I've been rejected by some of the very best galleries London has to offer! But when this happens I always look to walk out stronger than when I went in. Is this a case of rose tinted spectacles? Not at all. 

Know this: the artworld is smaller than you think and every contact matters. 

As I see it, the key is to make the transaction bearable for the director doing the rejecting. This can pay serious dividend down the line. That's to say you take it professionally, not personally. You listen to the criticism - if you choose to (this is by no means obligatory!). You take on board that which can serve you, and disregard the rest; and you look to move forward in some way with the gallery owner. 

Know this: it important is to leave the gallery director on good terms. 

As I've said, and will say again, the artworld is smaller than you may think. Conduct yourself with a degree of decorum and the gallery director will thank you for it. And he'll remember you if and when you decide to return!

Always make it easy for a director to reject you. I don't mean don't fight tooth and nail for your place. I always stand and hussle for what I want. But do it respectfully. And when it is clear there will be no way forward with the director, this is the moment to regroup, show your professionalism, and begin looking for an alternative glory before exiting the door. There are other glories to be had!

Know this: just because a gallery rejects you today, it doesn't mean they won't be willing to look at your new work someways down the line. 

I've often found that by persisting in making a connection with a director, by generating a mutual respect, directors offer me things even after they've rejected me and expected me too be long gone. Why? simply because I persisted in being attentive and grateful for their time and feedback - all this while staring in the face of rejection. Taking rejection with a smile shows a strength of character which the director can only admire. 

Whenever I receive a rejection I rarely exit the door without a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. And that lightens the burden on the long journey home. It can be an offer to return in six months. To keep sending over your publicity material. It can be a mini education in the practices of the artworld. There's always something. 

So embrace your rejections for what they are, often simply an act of good business sense on behalf of the director, and most certainly nothing personal. Always look to keep your bridges open, as you never know when you'll be back down that neck of the woods again!!

There a few successful people in the world who've got to be where they are without a vast list of previous rejections. So take heart. Failure equals growth (ignore this at your peril). So go out and fail at something today, you'll be twice the person if you take something positive away in the process. 

Know this: we can't help but feel a little low after a rejection, but in a relatively short time, with a little reframing and understanding, these feelings will soon subside. Then regroup and push on. 

Paintings & Memories for New Ways Forward

Based on my book, Visions of Faun’s, where I wrote about the fragmented memories of Faunn. Here I portent a young boy in a magical world, prior to the world turning into a nightmare. This is an idealisation of a poor reality. It turns the young boy, on the precipice of personal destruction, into a visionary who can see an altered reality, like a Indian mystic, now he gets to really live in his magical world.

Through his eyes he can see strange worlds, and he uses devices, optical devices, to see these worlds. He uses telescopes, mad crazy mechanical objects he makes himself out of glass and string and old radios and pianos. He uses radars and satellites. He sees ships and planes and flying saucers. There are worlds that he’s tuned into, planets, stars, comets, asteroids, black holes. There are natural objects which he befriends, particular the newts and frogs. He collects things in his world, playing cards, matchbox cards.

There would be Indian ephemera, chapattis, Indian goddess sculptures, incense burning, ornate gold jewellery. There would be (Joseph Cornell) boxes, cigar boxes with cotton wool beds, and on top lay a myriad of bird’s eggs. There are scenes by the sea, in woods, in trees.

This is about memories, real and make believe. This is about mythologizing to create the world which I dream Faunn witnessed. Faunn is the visionary boy, he sees the world which is pre-adolescent, prior to the reality which steels away childhood visions.

Is this a fantasy world without an edge, nothing dark or psychological, purely a pretty little fantasy world? With trees and tulips. No, this is filled with PATHOS. There is a coolness in the scene. Where there are multiple objects, its very important that colour is controlled and unified to create a whole, rather than a series of disparate objects.

Sometimes Faunn is dressed in an astronaut’s outfit, or a red Indian outfit, or jet pilots outfit, or a soldiers outfit, or a scientists outfit, etc. This refers to his history, who he could have been. What would his future have held for him? And the style of the painting, a chiaroscuro dark, shadowy evocative scene, peaceful and silent and half hidden.

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Pathos: the quality or power in forms of expression, evoking a feeling of pity, or of sympathetic and kindly sorrow or compassion.

Magical Realism: a style of painting and literature in which fantastic or imaginary and often unsettling images or events are depicted in a sharply detailed, realistic manner)

The Rightness of the Wrongness of a flawed Painting

We artists seek to never be wrong in our work, to never create bad art, to never make a mistake in our creative worlds. This is wrong of course as we are human and human experience involves being wrong. It’s as natural as taking a breath of air. And as such we need to accept it, and find ways of utilising the wrongness of our work. We cannot eradicate wrongness in a futile attempt to be perfect.

Imagine a world of perfection and correctness. How imperfect a world that would be! It’s called Peyton Place. And we know how that ended.

The world is interesting because of the mistakes we make. Not the human atrocity kinds of mistakes that ‘mankind’ makes, or the individual perpetrators of horrendous crimes, but a natural human mistake in terms of personal exploration, journey and creative venture.

When I create a painting and it is wrong, it is in fact imbued with a value beyond its apparent wrongness. Because in the wrongness lies my entire future laid bare. I only need to look.

There is always a rightness embedded in wrongness.

But do we slash and burn our wrongness? Do we seek to hide it, to leave a polished pristine vision of our perfect creative worlds?

A painting which doesn’t quite work is in many ways of more value than a painting which works sublimely. From the wrongness comes growth, new directions and insights.

Does a painting seek to be perfect and make that sale, stroke that ego, or enrichen our journeys and lives?

From a perfect painting comes repetition of that which is already been achieved: perfection. But this doesn’t lead to exploration or growth.

So should we always seek wrongness, and never strain or sufferer for rightness? That would be counter intuitive. The point is that a painting which appears to be flawed, still carries a richness which can never, and should never,
Be ignored.

I embrace wrongness. I don’t necessarily need to share it with the world. Only take its lessons and move forward.

Navigating the Female Nude: As a Male Artist

Notes on dilemmas on working with the female nude (bordering on torrid self-questioning)

With all transitions I think we may need to prepare for future doubts to arise…

An artist can THINK themselves into a position of fear: the world won’t like my work, it will be mocked, they will say it is exploitative, the market will despise it, the gallery I want will reject it, I won’t be taken seriously as an artist, women will hate me for my work, I’m repeating trite images, etc etc. So that’s me.

But this ‘problem’, these fears, currently exists nowhere else other than in the ‘THOUGHTS’ I they have.

I have painted a ‘beautiful’ woman for my second portal. She is by no means ‘perfect’ in the eyes of mass media, for these Barbie times, in fact we would say she is ‘overweight’! But of course not overweight at all, just beautiful.

My first portal was of Dina who was in her 40s and had a figure, again, that was not what we would call typically perfect.

My second portal: Her pose is classical, and not one of strength, but neither is it one of availability. But certainly passive.

She does serve my purpose, that is to say she meets the criteria of what I find beautiful. Is there anything wrong with this?

Part of being an artists is staying strong and standing firm when it ‘feels’ we are under attack. If we create work that is of any value, their will certain be times when we are under attack. How to stay firm in one’s beliefs when the world says no!?

My motive is not to exploit the female image. My motive is to capture the beauty as I see it. This may change over time.

But the shadowy self-critical monster says:

The history of painting the female nude has been dominated by men, and as a result from the tens of thousands of European paintings you essentially end up with a portrayal of the woman as idealised and fantasised by the male artist.

You tend not to see a real woman, but a beautiful, idealised perfection of a woman in a very considered, often passive or available pose.

My second portal fits very well into the schema. Another male depicting a fantasy woman of his own creation which meets and satisfies his own desires!

There she sits, a perfect little porcelain doll, elegant and without a bone of personal power in her body.

She is  ‘trapped’ in this peeping hole I refer to as a ‘portal’.

Where the work does tend to make more sense is where there is an ambiguity, where the typical classical and formalised pose of female perfection through the eyes of a male, breaks down, and what you then have is a consideration of the a) the real body of a real woman, and the psychological beginnings of a real thinking human, as opposed to a vacuous object placed on a pedestal for the artists gratification.

Remove the glass and you have little new being offered here in the depiction of the female nude.

Should I reconsider my portrayal of the female nude, forget about making a career out of semi-sexualised images of women, which as we know is a subtle form of exploitation.

Am I thinking too much? Being too hard on myself. Swallowing feminist polemic which would say no man is allowed to paint a woman as it is exploitation for his own needs.

Should I rather consider her as a powerful human being, consider the sinew and muscle which raises a family, the intelligent mind which generates love and compassion, the woman who works hard and equally in a stressful world.

Should I rather consider the women i know, and who they actually are, rather than repeating the old, submissive pretty images of periods long past?

Should I refer to lucian Freud, to Jenny Saville, rather than historical European representations of the female nude as object which satisfies and gratifies the artist? Should I let me models be beautiful in their immense power?

But these are two of many paintings to come. It is part of my evolution.

What I don’t want is frilly fluffy nudes. Or do I? Perhaps I want something with more balls (!), with a power and strength, something which provokes a little awe even.

Chiaroscuro can bring a darker realism beyond the flashlight lighting of models found in glamour magazines. Lighting can make a model appear ‘glamour’ like, or as a great work of caravaggio-esque art.

Never create artwork for a gallery. Create the artwork, and then find a gallery that will take the work. Gallery firs artwork, never artwork to fit gallery.  Artwork to fit gallery distorts your authentic visions.

Painting the female nude is more complex than painting a pomegranate!

Currently my painting of the nude woman is not the problem, rather it is MY POOR THINKING about my paintings of a nude woman that is the problem.

No problem actually exists. Preempting a problem is wise. But the problem may not exist anywhere other than in my own thoughts.

Stand firm in the face of critical response. But  also don’t generate a critical response where none in fact exists.

Be open. Be inquisitive. Question. Move on.

For anyone who got this far: you now  get to see that there is something just as important as an artist bulldozing his way through the artworld, and that is an artist saying to the world, I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m struggling, things don’t make so much sense any more.

Being vulnerable is something you don’t often see, or hear about with artists. But know that it is as real. And know that there can be value in releasing it into the universe.

Id imagine even a female artist can mishandle and misrepresent the female form, and become susceptible to similar (though different) accusations.

When in a position like this, there is a strong desire to seek out permission for the work you do. This is of course futile. An artist alone must give him or herself permission.

No new art in the history of art would have been created if artists had sought out permission first. They wouldn’t have got it.

On this subject of nude portrayals, there will be a gradation of thought on what is acceptable when portraying the female nude.

From extreme feminist polemic which says no man may paint a nude woman because he will be exploiting her.

To, any subjugation of the female form in art is unacceptable.

To, any representation of the female form which promotes negative stereotypical imagery is unacceptable.

To, as long as she is portrayed respectfully and artistically it’s acceptable.

And the list goes on and on.

And there are no doubt any number of variations within these positions.

There is no escaping a simple fact of human nature: men and women find each other appealing.

When painting a nude, I would want to paint her in an appealing way, not an unappealing way. This would be counter intuitive, not natural or authentic for me.

I can’t paint like Freud or saville because there is no appeal for me there, when a woman becomes a carcass. But freuds pallid carcasses seem acceptable because he has removed all sensual appeal. But sensual appeal is part of my reson d’être.

How does artist Allen Jones, I wonder, reason his intentions with the lingering image of sexual objectification of the female form in his work.

There must be extreme vitriol aimed at his work from certain feminine quarters. Yes, he does not seek permission or acceptance. Yet the art establishment gives him acceptance! The history books give him acceptance, which is of course permission.

The Absence of Symbolism

I’m not too interested in forcing symbolism into the objects I paint, some may say that leaves them as mere attractive objects, and I say, so be it. If there is any symbolism in my objects, it is more by chance, that intention – as it comes after the fact.

For example, it suddenly dawned on me why I might have chosen something like chestnuts; they reminded me of a time of playful innocence in my early life. But I initially chose them for aesthetic reasons. They came to symbolise something after the painting was complete. So it was a kind of subconscious symbolism at work, not intended.

Symbols in still life paintings are evident, skulls are mortality, wine alongside bread is likely the blood of Christ, butterflies the soul or transformation. But this code seems too much about the artist, and I prefer my work to be less about the artist, I don’t want cryptic works where viewer has to be detective, to seek out the meaning of the codes within created by the artist.

Its not always easy to tell what the artists meant in his construction of symbols, not at least merely by looking. We can hazard a guess, but symbols have multiple meanings, they can mean one thing for one artist, something altogether different for another.

So how can we know if we’re on the right trail? We can tenuously try to grasp the meaning, but we may miss the mark. Some symbols have a universal meaning, others do not, and context of the object is all important.

If you sought universal understanding in your paintings, it would mean adhering to universal iconography. But that might risk creating stale repetitive art. Whereas creating a more unique art might mean creating non-universal iconography. In which case it might risk being inaccessible.

Of course the artist may add it stimulates the viewer into entering a dialogue with the work, that a viewer should be made to work, regardless of the outcome. But I want to offer instant gratification, not complex indecipherable meanings, regardless if it cerebrally stimulates the viewer. If I wanted to cerebrally stimulate the viewer i might do better to write for a pamphlet.

Alternatively we can do some research on the artist to find out the intentions. But how many of us do that we when look at a paintings? More often than not, I think we want to receive a paintings attributes there and then.

There is only one motivation I am really interested in, and that is Beauty, and it is on this basis alone that I choose the objects I choose, not for esoteric meanings, and certainly not for stale universal meanings.

Finding meanings in paintings can be stimulating, even fun, but not all artists seek to create work embedded with encryptions.

My still life is not about sustenance the consumption of enticing foods, they are removed from consumption, seperate and detached from the viewer.

These are closer to the specimens one finds in jars, there is something about the objects having such a beauty that they somehow need to be symbolically sealed in time capsules, or trapped.

My work is perhaps beyond realism, so people are reintroduced to the things they have become blinded too, as my objects are beyond the things people have become blinded too – these are thoroughly alien objects never seen before.

It was the introduction of specimens preserved in alcohol in glass vials and bottles in the second half of the 17th century that made preservation of “living” forms, in all their rich colors and forms, a reality.

This painting’s roots are from the traditional still life genre, but clearly works outside of it – or perhaps in its extremities. In some respects closer to Abstract art.

The striations from the glass distortion, and the melting of an object’s reality, was tentatively acknowledged in previous works, but always as an accompaniment to the main act.

This painting pursues the undermining of its objects identity closer to its logical conclusion: near complete dissolution.

Familiar objects possess a consistency; we understand familiar objects as having a certain shape or size

The squid is less than familiar, and so its consistency already a little vague. But the abstraction of the objects in this painting ensures a near complete breakdown of consistency – though remnants allow us to piece together the object.

This is puzzling in the way we approach the work, causing a tension between the two ways of representing the objects.

What does it mean to leave behind realism to such a degree? – is it a refute of realism, or realism embraced all the more? And does it even matter, for who cares for the isms as a means to compartmentalise.

Perhaps the reality of an object can be more pronounced against a backdrop of its opposite. Opposites define one another, give their meaning and value.

This painting reveals a greater scope for working within the still life genre – for exploring its polar regions; it offers a gateway for new paths and journeys.

Objects of a still life being swallowed into a cylindrical vortex adds scope to the genre which often subsists on apples and grapes on a table.

But apples and grapes on a table will always possess that simple, timeless beauty which is impossible for me at least to ignore.

So this painting is about observing the balance and tension between two ways of representing objects, and exploring the extremities of the still life genre.

Glass bowl filled with butterflies solid and fluid in transitional states
Poetic flight of butterfly. Reality is the board upon which we are allowed to dive into a fantastical world where our imaginations are set free in imitation of the butterfly freed from the confines of its cocoon. It is in this freedom that the viewer becomes the artist, free to create whatever his imagination dares conjure. they are intended to engage the eye and stimulate the imagination

Natural Marketeering Man

Many of us may think we are strangers to marketing and sales, why, because we have never worked in marketing and sales.

We believe it is foreign to us, alien, a language we don’t understand.

But what if the truth was this: we’ve been marketing and selling all our lives and that we are all completely natural at it? And that it’s only when we give it a name and call it ‘sales’ that we flinch and treat it as alien?

Let me cast my memory back some 14 years. There she was. Opposite me. My future partner. Did I not market myself to her like a peacock markets its wonderful plumage? Did I not reveal my brand, declare my value? Having done as much did I not choose to then sell myself to her, and having done as much did I not then seek to close the sale?

The point being do we unconsciously market and sell aspects of ourselves in one form or another already? Are we not already ‘trained’ in this area – and naturally so? Do we not market and sell ourselves in job interviews and the like? And in fact every time we meet someone new?

What if we were all naturally born marketeers and salespersons, and we’ve never actually realised it before because we thought it was something that happens behind corporate doors and not in every day life.

Perhaps we’ve also done it badly in our lives. But surely there have been times in our lives where we’ve done it brilliantly too. If I have marketed and sold brilliantly before, then I can do it again.

Matter to Earth: The Decay of All

Nature has a natural means of returning all matter to earth, and yet reveals glowing instances where it manages to preserve elements of its own creation. I keep a small amber collection – but there is a distinct difference to my latest additions in that they contain life forms. I am reliably informed that these fossils are incredibly tiny flies. Under my microscope they appear as perfectly preserved forms from approximately 40 million years ago. This is an instance of where Nature, with its determination to render all matter back to earth, has only partially succeeded. So why does this interest?

I was raised in a world where it often felt as though the beauty around me was continually being destroyed. In the literal sense of the physical beauty of things being destroyed, but also in a figurative sense: the destruction of a beauty contained in a family unit; the beauty of my brother and his life blighted by illness; the beauty of a childhood innocence, lost. So this kind of beauty often felt like an ephemeral thing. Part of me has always wanted to explore a way of controlling and preserving beauty in my present life. So in my paintings I seek out the objects that fascinate, inspire and bring a sense of order and beauty into my world.

Order & Control: Ocean Series

The ocean series began as a break from what I regarded as the more traditional still-life elements. Of course, shells and fish have appeared in numerous still-life paintings throughout the centuries; but more often than not as supporting players in a broader scene of eatables.

One of the first objects I preserved in surgical spirits was an octopus. This seemed something truly alien to look at in its glass jar, but equally quite captivating and beautiful with its patterned tentacles. I wanted to turn something perhaps lacking in obvious beauty into something obviously beautiful. There was beauty within; I could feel that, even if I couldn’t yet see it. There is, in fact, beauty in almost every object, if we look hard enough – although beauty in some objects is obviously far harder to extract. Squid have appeared in several of my paintings for the wonderful colour and dappled patterns they possess. Again, not an obvious choice for still-life paintings, but then some of my paintings are not obviously still-life.

Using shells comes from a long fascination with the sea. Fifteen years prior to these paintings I was in the Caribbean Island of Grenada, where I travelled around the island from bay to bay searching for shells. I placed each group of shells from a particular bay into its own sealed bag. These were named and numbered. These bags went into a wonderful old cigar box that I handed to my partner as a gift. When I found the shells out of their named and numbered bags, all confused and mixed up in the box, I knew – by the horror I felt – that I had a strange obsessive desire to compartmentalise things, to control and order them; to somehow keep them safe and permanent; to name and number beauty as a way of preserving it. Little did I know that somewhere down the line I would compartmentalise beauty again, but this time in paintings rather than bags and cigar boxes.

Glass Distortions: An Abstract World

Many of the qualities I perceive in a beautiful piece of glass do not in fact exist: they are merely reflections of light. Much beauty in glass seems to appear from how it distorts and displaces the world around it. Glass is, of course, a transparent material – not to the degree of a diamond, the most transparent natural material there is, but transparent nevertheless. From this distortion of light arises the sensation of glass. Many aspects of glass are an illusion, and it is this illusion that I try to mimic in oil and canvas.

Glass is light. But it is not so much the light I paint, but rather the surrounding darkness that ‘reveals’ this light. The striations of glass can be complex but also exquisite and fascinating. These striations bring abstraction into a realist genre; this is where strange rhythms of light dance in complex passages. The light in glass feels like optimism, and when captured it brings an ethereal halo to its surrounding objects, enhancing their natural beauty. Glass also offers an interesting contrast to the softness of fruit. Glass is a hard, manmade material, and this property emphasises the soft, sensuous nature of its organic objects.

The sensation of movement caused by glass striations, such as the optical distortion of objects within it, further brings into contrast the stillness traditionally found in the still-life genre. Glass alters the reality of the objects within it, such that the things depicted are merely abstractions that do not actually exist. This is a reality which I control, through my choice of glass vessels and the objects within it; for each of these decisions determines the degree of distortion the viewer encounters. In places glass acts like a hyperrealist painter: it magnifies and exaggerates reality. Painting glass offers many technical challenges. It is like trying to catch water in a stream: when you think you have a grasp on it, it passes through your fingers. The best one can do in this grand illusion is merely to hint at the magic of this material.

Erotic Jewels

The pomegranate! Why does this simple fruit captivate so? The pomegranate is surely filled with a rich, seductive life. Rarely have I come across a fruit which possesses such a jewel-like treasure within its interior. Opening this ruby bulb reveals a thousand glistening jewels. These rubies are of course deeply sexual objects. The seeds shimmer and pulsate with the embodiment of erotic excitement. Of course, they have long been reputed to be a natural aphrodisiac. Their erotic nature is further enhanced by a capacity to promote fertility by boosting libido and sexual vigor; the juice of the seeds is said to increase testosterone levels. However, I’m more fascinated by what this fruit evokes on a more instinctive level. So when I paint these pomegranate seeds it’s like painting sexual anatomy.

Though this fruit is naturally erotic, I don’t choose to overtly eroticise it. In fact, I do little but allow it to speak naturally of its own erotic nature. I am merely the voyeur, the translator of this fruit’s natural sexual beauty. I offer up its beauty to a wider audience so that it may appreciate and revel in its erotically charged inner sanctum. On many occasions I have, in fact, sought to disavow this erotic fascination with fruit. But this relationship is embedded in all our Western psyches since the beginning of biblical times.

Conceptual Matters

As a child growing up, from an early age, the mile-long abandoned railway at the back of our family garden became a second home. There I lived and breathed its wild overgrown lands, year after year. There, in the heart of a vast city of London, I had what may as well have been the Amazonian rainforest at my fingertips. Or at least it seemed so through my young eyes.

Within the recesses of this overgrown land – with its sloping fruit trees, its extensive network of berry bushes, its dark, dank areas with frogs and newts underfoot, and its huge dragon flies – I found a partial sanctuary from the insanity of family life. On reflection, this is surely where my initial interest in all things to do with nature began. This fascination became further enhanced over the years through extensive travels: from the foothills of the Himalayas, to the summits of China’s Guilin mountains, to the rainforests of Brazil and to the sunken volcanoes of the Caribbean islands. Only recently have some of these sights begun to filter down into my work: most obviously with my hummingbirds which first mesmerised me in Brazil, then later in Grenada.

My great-grandfather was a naturalist in his own right, and to this day I still browse through the hundreds of nature articles he published over the years. Reading his comments, I understand what it truly means to admire and respect nature: and this comes through the simple process of being in nature, working in nature and observing nature.

Returning to fruit in my paintings is like returning to an innocent beginning. It is almost a rejection of the avant-garde, the conceptualist art, with all its importance laid on the idea rather than the aesthetic. The choice of subject was a stance: ‘I will find the humblest of source materials and make great art from it, as important as any conceptual work hanging in any White Cube.’ Well, that was the motivation.

A stance against conceptualism is, of course, doomed – as it is inescapably conceptual in itself! In fact, all art is conceptual to a degree. It becomes a question of extremes. There is a tipping-point where the concept becomes so perplexing that it becomes redundant to the general populace. I’m not here to confuse, perplex or challenge. There is unquestionably a place for this kind of intellectual stimulation. But that place is not part of my vision. Regardless of concepts in my work, the work has to do prcatically all of the talking and explaining itself.

Halting Decay

There is something satisfying about collecting expired objects from the gutter in order to resurrect them into works of art. When a leaf falls from its tree it is like watching a symbol of decay unfurling before one’s eyes. Of course, I wish to make permanent that which is transient. Any attempt to preserve beauty ultimately fails – such is the nature of life. However, there are conditions that seem to challenge this. As mentioned, the butterfly has always symbolised beauty in nature, and yet those very same formal properties which make the butterfly beautiful can still be found in amber specimens dating back 40 million years. There is, of course, the notion that in death things receive their value, and so their beauty. Remove this destruction and beauty dissipates, losing its meaning and value. I think there is great validity to this idea.

So these leaves are, metaphorically speaking, captured and preserved. Firstly in oils on canvas, and secondly in glass preservation environments – much like the specimen jars of the Natural History Museum – where the metaphor is extended.

Maple leaves have an astonishing range of colours, from the deepest reds, mauves and oranges, through to the brightest greens and yellows, and all the subtle tones in between. In these paintings I am interested in the way light can add a layer of richness to the leaves, giving them the appearance of being washed in an ethereal light. This light is filled with optimism. Like the mythical Phoenix rising out of the ashes, these leaves rise out of the gutter, emitting an ethereal light, the symbol of the falling leaf as decay, suddenly halted.

Paradoxical Nature

I grew up with artistic parents: my mother was a hobbyist painter and my father had a fascination and talent for extremely detailed and realistic portrait drawings. I think, in particular, my father’s drawings amazed and inspired me. I simply could not have imagined a better artist existing. To open his sketchbook and look at the portraits of Rudolf Nureyev or Victor Mature was something exciting and awe-inspiring.

I began painting because I wanted to say something about the beauty in the natural world, choosing nature as a subject almost as a reaction against the conceptual climate of the times. I am fully cognisant of the horrors and brutalities of life. But my aim is not to depict such matters.

Integrity for an artist is to acknowledge what you were meant to do. Some artists were meant to describe the human condition, the political climate, the atrocities of war, social injustice, etc. I, however, have long since accepted that my calling is to depict the beauty in nature.

From this choice comes a sense of personal integrity. To bring beauty into people’s lives is perhaps as admirable as removing ugliness from people’s lives. The world can never have enough beauty. I grew up with the horrors of the human psyche and know how it can inflict devastating effects upon lives.

One needs to breathe in the beauty of nature to be reminded that suffering is not the whole story. However, my paintings inherent paradoxical nature refers to both: beauty on the surface, suffering in the sub text.