view29 November 2025
Today is the first time I've been aware of a creative cycle seemingly closing its loop in a way that feels akin to releasing an album. Or maybe an EP is more accurate, as the by-product was only four paintings. And the first of those was resolved around October 18th, so they're from a relatively short window—less than two months. In that time I completed ten paintings that I at least considered sharing at one point or another, but six of them ultimately didn't have the legs. A body of work...
What is important to note is how those two months feel more fully formed as a period of inquiry than any other period of artistic output that I've been through. This probably has to do with a number of factors, but protecting and maintaining my attention within my privacy seems chief among them. I've plotted out my points of material, aesthetic, and conceptual research regularly here, so I won't get into all of that right now. I mainly want to notice what it feels like to have been fully engaged in the natural stages of making and showing, from the seeds of a set of ideas to their resolution to sharing them with a wider audience.
Since that sharing, (first via my open studio and then to my community via online channels and outreach to interested parties), I've been pretty unsatisfied with what I've made since getting back to work in the past few days. I think that has to do with how hardened my understanding of my work feels in this moment; as much as I try to put what I'm doing into words here, the time developing my work in my studio before sharing it is not explainable, rational, or logical. The best choices made in my own painting are focused, yes, but not on coherent thought. They are made from a lightness, a delighted joy in the what-ifs that swirl around in the mind during a state of play-centric flow. So the time spent exporting the work into digestible language (in public conversation, grant/art prize applications, etc.) is basically the opposite state. It's an unavoidable part of the process of course, so this is not a lament. It's just a way of telling myself how much more can be done to sharpen the ability to toggle between those modes.
view27 November 2025
There's an interview with Richard Walker around the time of his 2012 exhibition House Paintings where he talks about the process of making the work in the show during a residency at The Haining house in Selkirk:
I started to light the rooms with a projector and lamps, to create shapes, or to obscure things, And another aspect was that I’m often thinking how to use photography, or what the relationship is in my work to photography; using photographs as light rather than a printed image is interesting. I had photographs of the landscape around the house and I started projecting those into the dark rooms. So I was shutting it out, but putting it back in, in another way. And then I began even taking photos of the interiors and projecting them back on to themselves with maybe a slight shift in alignment.
Have been thinking about this a lot on the heels of what I mentioned in my last post here about finding myself being drawn to reflections recently. I think Walker gets at what I have been beginning to attempt to articulate, which is a desire to find a way to work from deeply attentive and faithful observation while still considering a fracturing and fragmentation of perception in the process.
view25 November 2025
I see Parmigianino's Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror (1524) on the cover of John Ashbery's poetry collection of the same name every day—it's on a shelf in my studio. Revisiting that painting and the collection's titular poem (1974) today, as both feel relevant to a kind of visual simultaneity I am pursuing. Reflections in particular are becoming interesting, but not for stylistic reasons (I've photographed a lot of them for reference, but in the vast majority of them their visual warping is a trap). The kind I'm referring to are those that recontextualize and sharpen their environments from obscured vantages, subtly hinting at the ever-changing nature of space. A chunk of the aforementioned Ashbery poem could help here:
”...Francesco, your hand is big enough
To wreck the sphere, and too big,
One would think, to weave delicate meshes
That only argue its further detention.
(Big, but not coarse, merely on another scale,
Like a dozing whale on the sea bottom
In relation to the tiny, self-important ship
On the surface.) But your eyes proclaim
That everything is surface. The surface is what's there
And nothing can exist except what's there.
There are no recesses in the room, only alcoves,
And the window doesn't matter much, or that
Sliver of window or mirror on the right, even
As a gauge of the weather, which in French is
Le temps, the word for time, and which
Follows a course wherein changes are merely
Features of the whole. The whole is stable within
Instability, a globe like ours, resting
On a pedestal of vacuum, a ping-pong ball
Secure on its jet of water.
And just as there are no words for the surface, that is,
No words to say what it really is, that it is not
Superficial but a visible core, then there is
No way out of the problem of pathos vs. experience.
You will stay on, restive, serene in
Your gesture which is neither embrace nor warning
But which holds something of both in pure
Affirmation that doesn't affirm anything.”
view23 November 2025
“My life is a process of generating hope.” – Chuquimamani-Condori
view21 November 2025
Moon/pink (working title), or maybe Rudder: today's Oblique Strategies advised “infinitesimal gradations,” which is timely—this is a painting of the moon or sun in the London winter sky made with many thin layers of white tinted by various intensities of red and blue. Tried to make the difference in the tints as subtle as possible, George Tooker's embossed inkless intaglios in mind. This toward defamiliarizing and holding anew the scene hovering above that has become so familiar in the past three years. Following the details of sensation right now above all else, paying attention to their peaks and valleys, trying to relax into circling around their elusive core.
view19 November 2025
Null map
Air purple to skin dart
down spinal central boots
rushing flat gum sole
our own pockets of water
on a strawberry hill
view17 November 2025
Floor 2 still life: In a 1956 interview with James Johnson Sweeney, Duchamp explains that “the danger is to lead yourself into a form of taste,” and this painting feels like it may have been an affirmation of that idea. The tension between that concept and dogged will to repeatedly poke at the personal/familiar is a potentially fruitful gap to widen; a cultivating of the ability to simultaneously self-reflect and self-negate. Relevant to how after being a vagabond for close to four months now, the idea of the familiar has warped. Paintings that are emerging are of consistent concerns popping up in the least consistent of places. They're waypoints, places to slow the senses into thought.
view15 November 2025
Image inventory: bathroom with tub that turns into a shower by a single glass panel covering half of of its width, a vinyl sign for development plans zip-tied to a fence showing a digitally-rendered image of an empty white room with high arched ceilings and fluorescent white lighting, the corner of a third floor hotel room ceiling that marks a separation between the gray interior and the blue sky outside, a U.S.A forever postage stamp of a red and green compass torn in half with a black ink stamp of an eagle and the numbers 1776 overlapping it, reflection of the sky hovering over a glass-enclosed hotel toilet, a pillow on a chair as an ill-fitting cushion, a bicycle tire missing the entirety of its hub locked to a bicycle stand with a bicycle lock, a slide on a children's playground in the shape of a tongue extending from an open mouth, the empty interior of a stainless steel reusable water bottle, shadows falling over/into a lined notebook, a headless mannequin wearing three layers of black rain jackets, a small brown house with three windows and a satellite dish, a stained-glass door centerpiece of a green leaf pattern spanning the length of a background that fades from pure white to pure black, a mural of a cactus in the middle of Dalston, a wet medical glove on the ground with its middle finger extended, a reflection of a lamppost in a large puddle, a fox sitting on the edge of a train platform, seven satellites attached to four flat windows, silver curtains, rainbow oil in a puddle of rain.
view13 November 2025
Continuing to work with humanless interiors. Bathrooms specifically. About to paint the one I've been assigned at this sublet. But what I have in mind has less to do with making a record of the space and more about creating something that can subdivide itself in the way that these places do in my memory as I burn through them. Discovered, serendipitously, Artschwager's Door Window Table Basket Mirror Rug drawings for the first time. Have been holding Door Window Table Basket Mirror Rug #10 (1974). Of the genesis of the series, he has said:
I flipped to a drawing of an interior, a room I had once occupied, and made a list of the six objects that were in it. I decided to take this as an instruction to make one drawing, then another, and another, and so on. The instruction endured and I “played” those six objects like I play the piano—I guess you could say that it was some kind of fugal exercise.
At this point I'm not interested in a fugal exercise as such, but I am interested in perceptual change located in something static and how I can technically approach rendering that change in a way that subtly points beyond the confines of observed forms.
view11 November 2025
One of the key ideas I was left with after chatting with Edith for the podcast was her awareness/description of painting as an experiential intervention. Which is useful to consider in tandem with attention—her work is characterized by its attentiveness, sensitive to shifting modes of embodied perception and what those different modes imply beyond the sensorial. But what speaking with her about the refinement of her approach taught me was that she is in a constant state of building, destroying, and rebuilding the logic that governs her relationship to deep attention, treating it as something with the potential for both tenderness and violence depending on how it is applied. And what is more important, as an artist, than holding oneself accountable to sustained, detail-oriented mindfulness in the process of reframing and representing experience for an audience?