Stumped

Stump K Howell 2012 (tiny study) Pastel on Paper

Torrential rain last week and now the sky is a careless, indifferent grey. Maybe that's what I like about living here. The unpredictable, intense flashes of sunshine that never last, but are more interesting for their infrequency. Well, it's a theory.

I've painted this stump before - it looks totally different now, having entirely shed its bark. It's looking more vulnerable and exposed. Fibrous. I suppose what caught my eye was the dance of supple limbs around the ragged remains. An intricate, rented world momentarily brightened.

Moving on with some larger acrylics which are building slowly, but hopefully will be ready for a tiny local exhibition next month. They are twin paintings, exploring paint application and dancing with the devil in the detail, it seems. We'll see what emerges.

Undressed

There will be more on the website soon, once the actual work is on walls. Virtual Preview:

Friday, 23 March 

Do drop by, have a virtual drink, and leave a link to your work!

Reflections

Lightly Here K Howell 2012 Acrylic on Paper 36cm x 26cm

      In slick February mud, a crater-basin  collects the rain and grows a flat forest...
       One of the advantages to having an unadopted road nearby is the infinite capacity for puddles. They constantly change shape and colour. Each one contains its own shifting microcosm, a small reflection of the surrounding world.
     Trees don't move around much, being rooted in the earth the way they are. But they can turn up in unusual places.
     Puddles are transporting! Even without wellies.

Sum of its Parts

Oak Queen (Detail)  K Howell 2012 Acrylic on Board 61cm x 92cm

     In any creative endeavour, we're looking for synergy, aren't we? We want to make something that proclaims itself Complete and more than the materials, time, energy, inspiration and technique that go into the making. Greater than the sum of its parts, as the saying goes.

     Well, I'm posting a detail of a finished painting. For a few reasons. It's large and will probably look ridiculous reduced to a thumbnail. Looking at something as a reduced, flat image, rather than 'life size' in a large space can be dispiriting. I don't want to see this piece reduced right now. I enjoyed the process, and need to take the real thing by surprise a few times to see what's there. 

     So, there it is. I hope the part is indicative of the whole, and I hope one day to see the whole and make an assessment of its state of completion in view of the sum of its parts.

Winter Sun (and winds of change...)

And the shadows steal over the hill... K Howell Acrylic on Paper

     Last week we had a dazzling and brief day of winter sun. So very cold.
     This wasn't the painting I wanted, but it's what I ended up with. A little Stiff, you say? A little Awkward? Let's blame the uncooperative frozen digits, shall we?  
    
     January is an extreme month. John Updike describes it brilliantly in "January",  from A Child's Calendar:

The days are short,

The sun a spark

 Hung thin between

The dark and dark.

      It's the right time of year to drag the heaps of studies out for an overview, which I'd intended to do. I'm developing larger acrylic paintings on panel, and want this series to work together as a body. Well, bodies. Time for the method in the madness.

     Instead of this crucial bit of analysis, I found myself aiding and abetting with the production of pugiones in the kitchen. I have to remind myself, no, I don't have ADHD, I have children. And they've decided to be Roman Assassins. It's that sort of day. Beware the Ides of March...

Investment

Broken Birch K Howell 2012 Pastel on Paper 14cm x 21cm

     Howard Hodgkin says, I don't think you can lightly paint a picture.
     A painting is the product of such focused energy. It's a ritual that is repeated again and again, and each new painting has all previous experience behind it, somewhere. Each empty page, canvas, board becomes an investment in understanding.
     When the process goes well, there are Discoveries, Epiphanies and Exciting Accidents. Other times, it's hard work, reminding ourselves of what we know and seeking out something new in the activity.
     A painting is a serious effort. And yet, on the face of it, it does seem a frivolous way of living. Sitting in the woods or in a studio, making a mess; all for the magic of conjuring an image, an impression, a feeling, a memory onto a blank surface. We are so lightly here. Why compound that reality by chasing the elusive?
     At least as artists, we can rest assured that our investments won't cripple an economy.

Rupture

Rupture K Howell 2011 Pastel on Paper 14 cm x 21 cm

     Being as it's fireworks season, minor explosions seem to be everywhere. Burning sofas, glittery sparklers and those keep-your-cats-indoors whistling rockets... I thought I'd been ignoring them. But I see that a seasonal theme is inescapable.
     I've been painting this fallen tree quite regularly, it's constantly changing. But today, it was bursting apart in the sun. We've had some spectacular autumn days; and the studio space is getting messy with experiments and work underway. So... flee!
      Today, there were deer. A pair watched me watch the tree. Emboldened by the sunshine and the quiet, they stood about for ages.  I might've been beneath their notice, but their indifferent company was enjoyable.
 

Words with Bite

Oak King K Howell 2011 Acrylic on Board 61 cm x 92 cm

     This is the first of a pair of disparate paintings based on the same oak tree. It has complete dominion over a sloping beech grove, and although it's not exactly a typical 'Frame of Civilisation' oak, it has attitude. Its wild disarray and exposed heartwood are intriguing; its galls are quite incredible.
     I've painted it many times and in trying to research what has caused the galls (disease, bacteria or parasite), I did find some recipes for oak gall ink, used extensively in Medieval and Renaissance manuscripts. The smaller galls produced by parasitic wasps are boiled to extract gallic and tannic acids to make an ink that bites into parchment. Over time, it slowly eats away at the substrate, and leaves a tracery of empty space instead of words.
      The word ink is directly related to encaustic, from the Greek 'to burn in'.  While I knew that many manuscripts were slowly 'eroding' due to chemical reactions, I didn't realise parasitic wasps were at the heart of it.
     It does make typing seem so ephemeral...
      

Out of Season

Window onto Winter II K Howell 2011 Acrylic on Paper 14 cm x 12 cm

     This blog is a year old. Thanks to everyone who has dropped by! I've really enjoyed reading other blogs and seeing what people are working on. A 'blogs to visit' sidebar will be coming in the near future.
     This tiny piece is out of season, but I've been putting together a series of Very Small Paintings to submit for a winter exhibition. I enjoyed the challenge of confined space and tried to go for truly microcosmic pieces, based on ice and snow collecting on a hawthorne tree.
     I did some studies last winter exploring structure, and used these as the basis for some miniscule work. Working small is very inhibiting, but this was an exercise in limitation. An experiment. Having completed seven, four of which are 6 cm x 8 cm, I think I'm suffering from some kind of repressed brush syndrome. I was going for jewel-like, and if nothing else, the paintings are small. Terribly portable.
     Anyone else tried working ridiculously small? Any lasting damage?

Shadows

 Birch Outstripped by Shadows K Howell 2011 Pastel on Paper 28 cm x 28 cm

     I like shadows. They are rich and full of mystery. Often, they are extreme; a dense pool of dark at your feet, an elongated exaggeration of your height, stretching effortlessly over uneven ground. In a wood, the patterns become entrancing. Actual trees and shadow trees connect and overlap in fascinating rhythms.
     Shadows are the places light doesn't reach. Obviously. They give the world definition. An intriguing wealth of colour goes into the illusion of their solidity.
     When I was small, I developed an obsession with the word penumbra, which is harder than you might imagine to use in conversation. But the sound of it was (and still is) magical. Almost shadow. A word that is evasive, vague, yet exact. I had to make do with umbrella, and translate it in my head as an epithet. Shadow-maker.
     It seems the right time of year to wax effusive about shadows. For the Impressionists, it was all about painting light. Today, I chase shadows.

Rain Song

Song K Howell 2011 Pastel on Paper 14 cm x 21 cm

     Partially owing to the wet weather, I've done very little painting out of doors. The rain has been spectacular. I love the smell, the heavy skies and the slick varnish on the world. I'm happy to get soaked, but my favourite moments are those bright breaks between showers, when a flash of sunlight bursts through from under the bruised layer of cloud and illuminates the wet world.
    This tree struck me as lyrical. It seemed to be having a good time in the rain, and has found a moment in which to shine. The very-close-but-not-quite manganese blue was admittedly an odd choice. I was thinking to evoke the elusive, toxic qualities of that blue. That's the colour I see when I smell rain. Usually.
   Interestingly, the main commercial use for manganese blue (other than its value as an artist's pigment) was to colour cement for swimming pools. It's attraction might explain my early, failed shallow dives...

Eternal Return

Ouroboros (almost) K Howell 2011 Pastel on Paper 28 cm x 28 cm

     This broken branch is almost an ouroboros, quite desperate to complete itself. Like the serpent Jörmungandr, encircling the Midguard world of Norse mythology, the ouroboros makes itself whole by grasping it's tail in its mouth.
     Being in the forest is an opportunity to leave linear, historical time behind and move into the  Möbius strip of Sacred Time. Where exist things infinitely more interesting than quantification, currency and turning lanes.
     Generally, I'm working on a tight schedule when I go out to paint. We are all ultimately answerable to the evil Clock, and I find it very necessary to carve time out to ignore the passage of the same, if you follow.
     In this way, art is alchemy, all about transmutation and immortal moments. In order to get started, I start as a matter of ritual. And the painting develops from there.
     What will happen when one of the factors changes? In a few weeks, I will have more clock time to work. More clock time than has ever been at my disposal, really. Lots of larger paintings germinating. Many shiny new ideas waiting. I haven't thought too much about it, certainly haven't talked about it. Probably because I don't want to be paralysed by possibility.
     I'm finishing the novel rewrite, with the full knowledge that I'll be going back to the beginning, reading through, and finding cringe-worthy bits that must be altered. Suddenly, I have this profound new respect for Finnegan's Wake. Which I couldn't properly finish. Begin Again. Awake.
     Completion may be an illusion, but I'm very fond of the ouroboros. And I wholly empathise with that branch...

Slide

So Inclined...  K Howell Pastel on Paper 14 cm x 21 cm

       Perch yourself on a steep incline, after a recent rainfall. Have a folding camp stool, the kind with three legs. Then see if you can defy gravity long enough to capture something of the dark day, the luminous grasses. While sliding down said hillside.
       One definition of slide is to move smoothly, quickly, or unobtrusively. Ha. Give up on the useless stool. Sit in the wet grass. Get messy and take control.
       A sound decision, as it happens. So this is my philosophy for the rest of the month, in which I hope to finish the bulk my rewrite. Apply the knowledge gained on a slippery incline and recognise when to let go of the furniture. It'll take you down, every time. When in doubt, get messy.
       I generally value the experience of painting more than the resulting product, because the process is so involving. But this study shall be my talisman for the coming weeks. A gentle reminder...

Spent

Spent K Howell Chalk Pastel on Paper 14 cm x 21 cm

     Painting isn't particularly energetic, on the face of it. Unless you're Jackson Pollock, no great feats of physical exertion are required. Painting seems to involve a lot of being still and staring. But without a concentration of energy, nothing materialises.
     I have two large panels, in the slow process of developing, and I find working on small pieces at the same time helps keep the energy flowing.
This tree is spent and slowly being broken down, returning to the soil. I love its irregularity, its mossy coat, its disarray. It has had a rough season and is spent. But life is creeping all over its surface. Just spending time watching this tree is energising.

Making Marks

FIRST POST


Seeing Things and Making Marks. That's what I do. I've decided to use this blog as a way of keeping a record of my work and articulating related thoughts. Because I'm in the uglier throes of a writing project as well, I have to be disciplined. I've noticed my painting lacks subtlety and my writing lacks drama, so perhaps I'm trying to coerce my words and images into the functional relationship the two have been avoiding.

Sometimes my paintings are about a moment in the landscape. I try to summon a sense of Experience and Encounter. Take this Post - it is hidden in a copse. You'd never know it was there. But it sees you coming, and tracks your movements. It has a relatively benign nature, but it was placed for a purpose, and it seems quite intense about Gate Keeping. It is very ghostlike; all traces of the rest of the boundary and gate are long gone. I can't pass it without spending time watching it back. I have a ridiculous attachment to this Post.

So that is my First Post, and an indication of where I'm coming from.