Nothing's really happening in my paintings.
There's no beginning, middle or end. No particular event taking place. No story I'm trying to illustrate.
But there's a lot going on.
Lines cross other lines. Shapes appear that look vaguely familiar. A figure might emerge. Or a vessel. An eye. A ladder. Something architectural. Then another mark comes along and interrupts it.
I don't necessarily know what any of these things are.
And I'm increasingly comfortable with that.
For a long time I think I felt that a painting needed to arrive somewhere. That all the activity had to eventually resolve itself into something that made sense.
Now I'm more interested in what happens if it doesn't.
Maybe that's why I've become interested in paintings that reveal themselves slowly. From across the room you see the whole thing. Get closer and it breaks apart. You notice a mark you hadn't seen before. Something that looked deliberate suddenly looks accidental. Something accidental starts looking deliberate.
Nothing has actually happened.
But your experience of the painting has changed.
That's probably closer to what I'm trying to do now. Not tell someone what they're looking at, but give them enough to keep looking.
Nothing's really happening.
But there's a lot going on.