It's odd how artistically legitimate painting a still life feels. How liberating it is-freeing the artist from the flourishes and intensity of concept, falling instead on the prop of form, light and hue to carry it.
Carried along with the passage of extinguishing time, watching two dying roses wilt under the studio lights was a welcome distraction from the negative energies of this past month for me, and very grounding as an exercise.
Which reminds me...It would be all too easy to dismiss Brett Anderson as just another bad Bowie wannabe, or worse-Gary Numan-except the song 'Still Life' from 93's Suede album, DogManStar, is at least worthy of anything in the dukes cannon:
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