I have drawn this view many times already, but such is nature that no two days are the same. So, I have to choose, edit and present a coherent image that doesn’t try to do the clichéd thing—capturing a moment in time—which, in my view, is ridiculous to attempt when you can do that better with a camera (and not be tempted to ‘enhance’ it with Photoshop). No, I am looking for the spirit in this land. I’m excavating its layers and finding the beating heart that brought it through millions of years to this precise communication, uniquely, with me. There is land, but there is so much more. There is a solid, ancient presence that towers above my transient experience that I have now, in this small body, in this fleeting time. What lies beneath and beyond even the limited, tiny piece of this planet that I can perceive at this moment, is an orchestra of millions that play evolution’s deep, marching lullabies and punctuate them with impossible crescendos of colour and cosmic energy. It is laughable, on one level, that I even start. That I make such a preposterous move with charcoal on paper. That I can even attempt such a feat and present to closed or open minds, driven by fear, money and myriad concerns and conditionings, a clear representation of feelings and the essence of what lies before me, dynamic and churning with power, in it and in me, far beyond my own infinity, is beyond crazy.
oil
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I have drawn this view many times already, but such is nature that no two days are the same. So, I have to choose, edit and present a coherent image that doesn’t try to do the clichéd thing—capturing a moment in time—which, in my view, is ridiculous to attempt when you can do that better with a camera (and not be tempted to ‘enhance’ it with Photoshop). No, I am looking for the spirit in this land. I’m excavating its layers and finding the beating heart that brought it through millions of years to this precise communication, uniquely, with me. There is land, but there is so much more. There is a solid, ancient presence that towers above my transient experience that I have now, in this small body, in this fleeting time. What lies beneath and beyond even the limited, tiny piece of this planet that I can perceive at this moment, is an orchestra of millions that play evolution’s deep, marching lullabies and punctuate them with impossible crescendos of colour and cosmic energy. It is laughable, on one level, that I even start. That I make such a preposterous move with charcoal on paper. That I can even attempt such a feat and present to closed or open minds, driven by fear, money and myriad concerns and conditionings, a clear representation of feelings and the essence of what lies before me, dynamic and churning with power, in it and in me, far beyond my own infinity, is beyond crazy.
oil
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