Went back to the flat in redland today to do a ‘changeover’ for airbnb as Suzie is away. It was sunny and quiet and I sat. I imagined/remembered a room full of people, shadows left over from a rowdy meal where things got silly…fun times. I know in the garden is the remains of a rose given to me after one of our miscairrages, I planted it out, it died but I know the remains are there…sad times.
The flat is peaceful and has flickers of life left but mostly it is not ours anymore. The studio, the worklive holds more, more potential, a white space for thought, a place where I can fit in. Not the corridors of houses designated for family making, cake baking and walks to school.
So back in my white box the business swirls around me but I make a space for order, for thought as I look at work for my show with Byard Art. A moment caught between the noise. I see my ‘Family Tree’ painting and realise its not a family tree at all its just about parents and me.
The orange pair of leaves is them, as strong and intense in colour as the land. But I am a leaf. They are leaves.
In my sketchbook I wrote about another painting similar to this also a “Family Tree”
“The family members, the leaves float away, become fish or birds or sails. But ever practical there are yellow structure lines suspending a future 3d reality.”
Obviously still confused wether they are paintings of sculptures or paintings.
And then I go on to write about a painting that I never painted it was when I was in the tamar valley which must have also been in my mind, the colours I remembered and sketched them out “It’s blue sky’s and a green bottomed boat with a red sail on blue water backed by green fields all lit by a late day orange sun”
Then trying to understand the tree painting. The leaves shimmer like light on moving water, or sun haze on fields.
“Its about sailing and flying and swimming and dying”
There is a sculpture called parents as well which was never finished.
I did the original drawing for the paintings in Miro park, then called just ‘Tree’ and ‘Flower’
I wrote this poem when I made the painting, the colours in the painting set off the words