The Lie of the Land

Restive. Really. K Howell Pastel on Paper 21cm x 14cm

     I'm all for inversions. I like things inside out, upside down, back to front. So it's no surprise that most of my landscapes are in portrait format. This is because I often do portrait-like details of trees, but also because a vertical layout gives a painting a particular dynamic. Energy is more fiercely contained in an upright oblong. Once in a very long while, I make a conscious effort to work on a proper horizontal, sprawling landscape. I seem compelled to fill the space with the repetitious vertical lines  to compensate for the relaxation of the paper.
     I think of it as a play on energies. According to Carl Jung, Great energy springs from a correspondingly great tension of opposites. Well, it's a theory.
 A piece of paper has such limitations, it's a game to energise it in different ways.
   

Voice

Work in Progress...One of them.

     Works in progress are at once disheartening and exciting. On the one hand, you are on your way. You have Something to work with. On the other, it really isn't very good yet, it's confused, unclear, a bit of a mess.
     It's been an odd few days. After constructing an erupting fabric volcano on a Mesozoic play mat, I went to a concert. Three bands took the stage with the same objective; engaging the audience, communicating, striking a chord. The first effort evoked that painful combination of outraged senses and supportive tolerance you feel for an incompetent effort. The second had more confidence, more energy and took risks with power cords. That's always interesting. It was easy to slip into a noise induced coma and hope for some kind of drama to unfold.
     The supporting bands are works in progress.
     The headline act Worked. The music was Shaped, there was Voice. It hit the mark. Unforgettable.
      Our little lives are whispers in a universal vastness. It's always a fantastic thing when someone stands up and gives mortality the Archers' Salute.
     And that's what it's about, in the end. Resonance. Song. I'll go back to work now.

Rent

Rent K Howell Pastel on Paper 14 cm x 21 cm

    Samuel Beckett says, Try again. Fail Again. Fail better. Well, I struggle with the English Language, but this seems like sound advice. And so very achievable. The slippery words are being rewritten. Coppiced. Clarified. It's progress, of a sort.
     I'm posting another study. Paintings are going very slowly. Something. Glacial. But studies; tiny, concentrated compressions of colour are Essential.
     This tree is rent and reaching. The shifting forest light gives it a different mood whenever I visit, but it's always dramatic. Rain-soaked bark is beautiful.
     Incidentally, rhyming post titles was not my intention. But now that I've begun, it's going to be difficult to stop...

   

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.

Going Nowhere Fast

Inside Out, Upside Down K Howell Chalk Pastel on Paper 

    With its stripped bark and galls, this oak seems made of ritual endurance. It's only mostly dead. Every spring it surprises me by producing something green, a modest display of foliage from an unlikely source. In the winter, it takes on the aspect of the Hanged Man, the archetypal figure of sacrifice and renewal.
    January seems like a month of stagnation and patient stasis in the cold. So much of the world is waiting. Quietly regathering. It's the right time to visit this tree and be amazed at its formation. To get lost in its possibilities. The resilience of trees is remarkable; I like to share their air. Only not for too long, because it's CHILLY.
      Back inside it's more possible to be patient with slow progress... however galling 'Slow' is.

Hard Graft and Games

Pink Eye KHowell Acrylic on Paper 20cm x 28.5cm

Pink and frivolous.
This tree lost its intriguing branch formation after the heavy snow. I dug up a tiny sketch I'd made some time ago and reworked it in acrylic, to see what it would become. Can you have an exercise in frivolity? Looking at Joan Miro and Paul Klee, I think you can.
Andy Warhol says An artist is somebody who produces things that people don’t need to have but that he thinks it would be a good idea to give them. 
A fair description, don't you think?

Having had the privilege of listening to Andreas Scholl sing this week, I was reminded of a few things:

• Countertenors are sublime beyond mortal comprehension. 
• Some can still pull a baritone voice out of some hidden cupboard for a laugh.
• People will refer to this level of mastery as talent. As though it dropped out of the Ionosphere, and hasn't been cultivated through 10 000 hours of concentrated Work.

Creative endeavour is a mixture of hard graft and games. Difficult balance, but so reassuring to know it's possible! Sing on, sing on...

Focus

The eye works in mysterious ways. In distraction mode, it picks up on details that excite the imagination. To create a painting then requires focus and single-minded purpose to make something of this moment and throw it into relief, so it is unmissable. The further along the painting is, the more distance is required to analyse what is working and what is superfluous. During the process, a painting can look pretty dire indeed. That's where focus and concentration become allies once more, because ultimately the material can be shaped into Something. It's a strange ritual, really.

     I blame my antipathy to driving on years of drawing and painting. I like to look at things, play around with associations and then remake them, and this is a disastrous habit behind the wheel of a metal object hurtling down the road. I have to reset my brain before driving anywhere. I'd really rather walk. To be physically connected to the world I'm moving through, and experiencing all the irrelevant details.

     The Latin  focuser refers to the domestic hearth. The centre. Sometimes the most difficult place in the world to focus on anything...Not a bad thing, just a fact.

     I've posted this study because the 'eye' is the focus and makes this post eat its own tail, so to speak.