Currently my work evolves around and within itself, initially drawing from lived experiences, focusing on the humans relationship to its individually perceived world, exploring the everyday mundane within a space built through layers of imprecision, conflict and often impulsiveness.
After lockdown I grappled with myself over a desire to let go without being blindly impulsive in my work. I struggled to see how I could warrant allowing impulsive and gestural brushwork whilst still attaining a sense of order and precision which I wanted to be apparent in my larger work. It was clear I could not afford to be precious over the choice of surfaces upon which I could paint.
Slowly I began to truly appreciate the conflicts involved in scaling up and managing a lot of contrasting shapes and imagery in one painting, especially after months of painting small.
Throughout lockdown I had become extensively comfortable working on a smaller, using reclaimed book boards/panels salvaged from second-hand finds. These paintings were often timid, existential or just confused, though I found joy in them. Be it purely momentary this joy was sparked mainly by the cyclical nature of painting on two or sometimes three surfaces at once. Often, I found I overworked these paintings, though I always found that at some point I would make another that would be a suitable pair. Thus, naturally these things start to pile up, and repeating tropes seep through into the compositions I found gathering behind me in stacks.
Over time, I hoped to build a singular collective of multiples that, together, would form a narrative like a comic book. I found myself scrambling around with these smaller paintings, arranging them initially on the floor, and then the wall. Compiling the paintings into piles of subject matter, hands, figures, windows, objects etc.
Later I realised that I was unconsciously planning larger paintings that would be informed by these individual rectangular book boards once together in one composition. Combining these as individual paintings helped me to see them as bricks that are paintings in a wall of ideas. By doing so I hoped to explore the limitations of our visual and sensory conceptions when restricted to an indoor habitat. I found myself painting grids, reminiscent of window frames, or prison bars, slowly, with very watered-down paint.
Enjoying the therapeutic and somewhat lulling effect of slow up and down brushstrokes. Watching the paint run down the canvas; Sometimes catching the droplets of water with my brush, other times letting them over run.
Rotating the painting became essential, each time providing a new conversation to be had and for the raining droplets to interlink and conjoin into lattice like grids.
The grids of washed out acrylic began to serve as a foundational layer, with some drips and causing organic anomalies whilst allowing for a hue and depth to build through the varied translucencies of washes applied.
Quickly I found this method helped me to balance and fuse objects with further washes and blocking in of colour. The grid’s function was to give a geometric lattice or scaffold for my chaotic desire to paint a lot of conflicting forms. Giving a structure where I could choose to create a building, paint a wall, or erase it.