Last year I was creating wall drawings, about the size of a person. I enjoy doing these. For me it makes so much sense to make art about architecture on the architecture itself. I was given a challenge at the start of this year, partially in response to my decision to start making paintings that are less temporal and more, to put it honestly, sellable (not everyone can commission a large wall drawing). That challenge was to reduce in size, considerably. Make the work more intimate to see what happens. So I made the previously blogged paintings. 150 x 200mm. First they were on the front surface, then the paintings ran around the edges. Now they continue to expand and are creeping back onto the walls... So what are they? Paintings or wall drawings? What happens if the paintings are removed? Are the two parts still the same artwork? Are they something new? If someone bought one of these paintings would I insist on it needing the wall drawing around it? Or could they just have the removable painting by itself? Lets just say, TBC for now.
Slipping, expanding
The series of small paintings I have been working on are expanding, Originally from human size wall drawings I compacted them into 150x200mm boards. However they are filling not only the image plane but spreading around the edges. They are still growing. What happens when they outgrow the boards they are on and creep back onto the wall itself? We'll see next week when art industry experts from Wellington are invited into Massey University to give feedback on students work.
These paintings will also serve as a test for the upcoming group show at The Engine Room, Massey University's art gallery.
Sometimes it hurts
The city is hard edged and angular.
It is black and grey, glass and concrete, smooth and flat.
It is full of fast metal boxes and soft colourful bodies.
We do not belong here.
These unrelenting forms will not compromise if we fall.
How could we have created this alien world so opposite to nature?
It harangues my senses.
It hurts to live here.
A little quirk
As life becomes complicated, I search for simplicity as a form of escape. It is a way to retreat back in time, when cares could be forgotten in a matter of minutes. I find it pleasing to bring into my world objects that are seemingly logical and understandable. The grown-up me then requires a little quirk. On further perusal, there is something amiss, something twisted. A puzzle. I am not good at riddles, but as I have written this one myself I feel the relief and pride in being able to answer it. For once I can get something right. For once I can be the winner.