Permission needs to be sought to do anything, you need to ask for permission, you need to request permission.
When seeking permission you must first ask, ask for permission to do, to make, to be, to exist.
The idea that we all have to ask could be an alien one.
I have spoken about lists and the writing of them and their use within art.
Monday, 16 April 2012
Thursday, 18 August 2011
I think that the art of writing to a loved one is being lost, we can all text, instant message, tweet, but these by their very nature are short missives. They can be beautiful like the Haiku with its structure of 17 on, in a relationship of 5, 7 and 5 on, most are not though.
I am really interested in the art of letter writing, writing to the ones who you really want to know you better. The confessional that is disguised in a wealth of paragraphs, the letting that one know who you are, or who you want to be or what sort of relationship you would like to form.
The subtle use of words, their inherent meanings, their hidden meanings, your own interpretation of those hidden meanings, the reading between the lines.
The wonderment of unscrewing the pen lid, of smoothing out the sheet of paper, of placing the first mark, the first word, the first line. Thinking about how to end the letter, how you get to complete your letter, how you sign off. Do you say regards, best wishes, all my love, kisses ? The written word is permanent, forever. That is the beauty of it, or the horror of it.
Sunday, 14 August 2011
I think that I am one of those English people who dream of the desert. I lust after the thought of great expanses of dry, seemingly empty but incredibly complex landscapes. I do not lust after "that green and pleasant land", so aptly described by William Blake . It has always felt stifling to me, the determinedly neat hedgerows, the manicured landscapes, the cultivated arenas we inhabit in this, oh so small, island.
I think about the expanses of open desert with the rocky floors that are dusty and appear lifeless, but in reality are crossed by a myriad of creatures and cultures, using pathways both real and imagined. I see the history laid out at my feet, stretching out all around me to the horizon and beyond. I imagine my understanding of these landscapes to be greater.
Above all of this though I love the smell of water. A bath that contains enough water, that through its depth becomes slightly turquoise, is a thing of sheer joy. The calmness that this encapsulates is indescribable.
Thursday, 4 August 2011
These are part of a series of images I sent to Mish Mosh, they are altered postcards. Images of Queens and John F Kennedy's Funeral, 2 of my favourite subjects. I do have obsessions and at the moment these are some of them.
I am also obsessing about Elvis Presley's golden inscribed Beretta pistol, I have no idea why. I must visit Gracelands soon to see it in al its glory.
Sunday, 19 June 2011
I really like the number 31.
I have lived at two houses numbered 31.
I sent 31 postcards to MishMosh.
I used 31 pieces of collage.
I have typed 31 blog entries.
I think 31 times.
I dream 31 different dreams.
I read 31 authors.
I use 31 disparate ideas at any one time.
I like that their are 31 varieties.
I watch 31 blogs.
Good months have 31 days on them.
I write lists with 31 things in them.
Some of these don't really add up to 31.
Saturday, 18 June 2011
This is my work at MishMosh, a group show I am in with Josh Page, Liz Bradshaw and Dale Deveraux Barker at the Gallery @ Mistletoe Cottage. My work looks at ideas surrounding JFK's funeral and the pomp and circumstance around it, the ritualisation of death and mourning. I am fascinated by the idea of the glass coffin, always preserved at an age, never getting old and withering.
I am also exhibiting a series of collaged and manipulated postcards of Queens and Royalty throughout the ages. The work is eclectic, odd, unusual and exciting.
Full details here.