Sensation

Blasted Trunk K Howell Pastel on Paper 21 cm x 14 cm

There is nothing in the intellect, Aristotle says, that is not first in the senses.

Francis Bacon (the painter, not the philosopher and innovative chiller of chicken) claims that An illustrational form tells you through the intelligence immediately what the form is about, whereas a non-illustrational form works first upon sensation and then slowly leaks back into fact.
Bacon's work often juxtaposes visceral, bestial forms within a rigid architecture, a two-dimensional cage. Primal and urban at the same time. His images affect us as a sensory onslaught, and resonate as we recognise what we are seeing. That's skill.

With this study, I was clearly going for Organic Bacon, in flavour anyway. Strange behaviour for a vegetarian, but I can see more clearly where these studies are going as a Body. When they are developed. But as the analytical part of my brain is otherwise occupied, I have to work at Sensation level for now.

Raw

Human Heart image from the SPL

The landscape of the forest is strangely familiar. It is hardwired into our psyche. We are surrounded by the patterns and shapes that we are made of ourselves. In the bare winter, the trees are stripped back to essential forms. I like to think of the forest as a mirror for our raw selves, physically and psychologically.

Kept K Howell Pastel on Paper 21 cm x 13 cm

In mythic terms, the forest is an externalisation of the unconscious realm, a landscape of hunts, quests, perilous flights and where the Wild Things reign supreme.

The forest is replete with Help and Harm.
This angular piece of work is a hawthorn tree. Traditionally, the berries were used to treat heart problems ranging from irregular heartbeat, high blood pressure, chest pain, hardening of the arteries, and heart failure.

On the other hand, a vampire can be well and truly finished by a hawthorn stake through the heart...

Life and Limb

There is something primal about the Black Line. It's strong, decisive and dark. Unapologetic. Every once in a while, it creeps in and dominates a painting.

In this instance, it's suitable for a truncated tree, maimed and full of edges.

The Latin limbus means edge, boundary, border. Well, no wonder the Black Line took over. It's all about Definition.

It's interesting how we separate 'life' from 'limb'. Life, with the vital organs, is contained in the trunk. Limbs are peripheral extensions. You'd think I'd been to see 127 Hours...

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...

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...