Tuesday, 12 April 2016

A quick aside and something new.

Do artists have days off ? Weeks , months, years , am I still an artist if I'm not making or doing? 

It seems sometimes that there is nothing to say , each avenue explored is an avenue that cannot be returned to , the streets in the city are the ones to map , not the quiet suburbs I've already tramped down . To paint is to paint , to not paint is not to exist , to slip back into the everyday.

Some years I make loads of work , some years none at all , I'd rather not make just for the sake of making , its an urge to do but if all I am doing is repeating the past I'm just not interested . 

And now I'm looking at my sketchbook , a few pages I'll reproduce here as I search for a new language and a new way of doing things .

There's a hint of something  there , but I'm not quite sure what it is , like a word on the tip of your tongue , or at the back of your mind , but not quite there. I should get the cards out and have a look again .

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