On the 3rd of May I started a marathon of painting. The time and place is just right for it.I always feel like aggressive painting in the spring, especially here in England. The winter leaves me, leaves everyone and everything, wrecked. Endless months of greyness on an epic scale.
Claude Monet spent time in London He created his worst paintings ever. They were just London grey. Monet said at the time that he’d never seen before this variety of grey. Bless him, after that he went back to his French garden to create the most colourful of all of his paintings, the lilies in the pond.
Painting for me after an eternal London winter is an attempt to stay alive. That’s why I don’t care what surface I paint on. I’m broke, again. And that’s why painting on paper is always the answer.
To be honest I also got sick and tired of the starkness of this place; a lot of the time it doesn’t feel like a creative environment at all. (Sometimes it feels like a huge finishing school for future Tory wives.) I’m sick of the zombie state of the detached, cool, arty-farty academic engagement.
And so to work!