Here I am, working on the beginning of the end, though still four short of that sum when all said and undone.
Had wanted to be chronological about it, do each piece in sequence, tying the whole grand finale up in a neat bow.
Then I hit a wall on the one before and apropos with all these blood moons, needed the salvation of retribution, as opposed to merely feeling like a madman chipping at a mountain with a toothpick.
What a caper this art thing is, like inclement weather eh?
It's at such times that I realize the paintings exist entirely on another plain to their earlier sketched counterparts, and looking backward is often like retracing a forgotten trail obscured by brush or at least a sable.
I realize I'm talking riddles, but the conversations I have in my head seldom make sense.
I suppose artists are just cryptologist's of their past.
A work in progress of the piece currently on my easel-the Sycorax manifest as three sisters, or if you like, Shakespeare, Chekhov and Weishaupt in tow.There's a dinner party right there, and as good a piecemeal for what I have on my plate right now.
I'm at the halfway point you see , the eye of the storm I suppose, the midway curse-too far to go back, the point of no return. I have Dali up the rear, because when it doubt, one of his crutches will always do-a bigger stick to beat me with. I'll save my thoughts on the mustachioed minstrel for another time.
You can't see, but the Sycorax is spewing a fetid,toxic, black river-a virulent paint slug warping and manifesting into a mishapen hound. Like the words and images that dog us throughout, it's something that's vexed me of late-the legacy of what I do, the cause and effect, the imprint on the ether. If any.
We are all sinister architects in one form or another.
If I've been silent of late, its because I've been using my other voice-the only one that really matters, before large looming canvas's that are like a hungry hole longing to be fed. And whilst I can't show you anything for a while, that's me in the studio amongst the detritus of past-masters and the sketches of my intention,dressed in appropriate attire.
