Art Blog

Welcome to Paul’s Blog-Spot

 


Introduction to the Blog-Spot:

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I have decided to write a few words about art, and the thoughts of a miscreant artist each month, but to add to these whenever the spirit prompts me to do so; in order to share with others what I have learned about what it means to be a practicing artist; now, at the start of the 21st Century. Doing this with the sole aim, of providing a critical commentary on my own art practise; and, perhaps also to sprinkle stardust of unwisdom into one or more receptive ears. Let me say immediately that I am no writer of books, and what I set down here, in this blog-spot, will no doubt betray itself to be ill informed, badly written, and in innumerable other ways deficient. I am not discouraged from writing by my own perceived lack of ability, this is surely an act of bravery or folly on my behalf... any way let’s get on with it. However, at the outset, I ask for your kind indulgence, and patience; for what I am about to write is no more than an attempt at writing and the thoughts and ideas contained herein are provisional, yet sincerely meant and hard won after bitter experience.  In fact, it is far better that you don’t read these writings at all, they are not seemly, nor entertaining; and conceivably a little boring.  

 


 

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There is a strand in Western thinking, which says, that until you have divested yourself of all possessions, and become resigned to solitude and bitter dissatisfaction; you cannot be saved.  This kind of unwisdom is rightly despised today, and in the most enlightened circles, among the intelligentsia, these wretches of the denial of comfort and ease are despised and pitied.   

 

The mystery that is our lives on the earth, is well hidden from the prying eyes of the multitude, it is hid in the field of our existence so expertly, as to almost not to be there at all.  At the heart of the Western revelation, is a process of divesting oneself of the exterior world of things; doing this so you can enter the world of essence.  The world of our true nature, it is only here that we ultimately find satisfaction, and solace for our many sins and omissions; and where we are able to fulfil our need for repentance, and receive the gift of forgiveness and acceptance that otherwise eludes us.

 

Unwisdom is hidden from its unruly children, and is not at all easily discovered; and it can take many, and innumerable life times to uncover its presence.  The political world that is our abode at the present time is not our abiding and sustaining home, it is not the source of our being, and neither will it be the cause of our end.  Life goes on, and we too will go on, once this present stay on the earth is at an end; and what is called the whole of things by the materialist, is gone. 

 

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The book of the Revelation of St. John is probably, the most misunderstood book in the bible.  It contains all manner of nonsense and unwisdom; it is really a most perplexing amalgam of images and events, and unheard of occurrences.  It is a wonder that it has survived as a book of the bible at all, it is only mentioned in hushed tones by many of its readers; what to make of such fantastical writings, ah, what is it all about? 


There are some mysteries that ought to remain mysteries, and there are some that it is harmful if they remain so; and perhaps the Book of Revelation, is one of those that is in need of discovery.  The truth is the book contains many things, and has many layers of meaning; in some respects it is an incantation and a magic spell.  It is also a history book, which records the history of a particular people, and at a remarkable and significant moment in time.  I discovered it is a map, a town plan, a guide to a cemetery, a time capsule containing an ancient and precious secret, a secret that cannot be told, only discovered for oneself.  All of this makes the book an exciting read, and exhausting, mind numbing and demoralizing.  Still, it is a wonderful book for all that, it is not the fault of the author, that we, in our modern age, space age, scientific skeptical age, are unable to understand it; after all, we abandoned intelligent reading aeons ago, now we have television.

 

This brings to mind my fascination with the Great Pyramid of Egypt, the monument that is meant to bring an end to all monument building.  The architects of all succeeding  ages, including our own, must look at this mighty edifice with undisguised envy, and they undoubtedly think, if they dare not say, I wish it were mine.  I am an architect, and I only wish that I had designed and built, this icon to all future buildings, the building that is the envy of all buildings.   At least, if I were an architect, this is the sort of nonsense I would spout; this is my most secret thought and desire, if I were an architect.  This mighty and wonderful pyramid is a time capsule, a message from a people long since gone to meet their Osiris, in the sky. 

 

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It is the best sort of wisdom that masquerades as unwisdom, and is hidden in plain sight.  And of course, there is genuine unwisdom, which knows nothing at all about these things, and pretends to knowledge.  I am a most miserable and lonely fellow, my words are barren, my memory empty and bereft of those things, that are precious in the sight of our God.  I am an atheist and a mortal person, and I am on the road to hell.  We shall forgive others their sins, especially those sins, we have committed, which we refuse to forgive ourselves.  It is our human lot, and it is the cause of much unhappiness, and conflict in the world.  I am unredeemable, this I am certain of, and I don’t seek to be saved, or diverted, from the direction my life has taken; it has been my individual choice, and is my only consolation.

 

The wise and the unwise hide their wisdom in a multitude of words, and phrases; they conceal what they know, the better to preserve it and ensure its usefulness, and longevity.  Anyone who reads any of the sacred books of the world, and from diverse cultures, must have come to this realisation.  It is one of the oddities, of our time, that all the best books have already been written.  This truth has always engaged me in deep meditation; and my best solution to the conundrum is that it is a lie; that future books shall out shine the literature of the past, the ancients were not all wise, and all knowing; and their words shall one day be trodden, in to the dust, underfoot on the ground.  My head and my heart, don’t really believe this at all, and so the enigma of these splendid ancient writings remains, the gift of our foremothers and forefathers to us, their unruly and ungrateful children.                 


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It is important for me to mention at the outset of this blog, a heroic man, and a great humanitarian; a Russian, his name is Stanislav Petrov – the noblest man of the twentieth century.  Petrov is a highly significant human being, and his achievement is immense, humbling, and mind-blowing.  All this and I bet you have never heard of him?   

This is what happened:  On the twenty sixth of November 1983, Petrov, then a Colonel in the Soviet army, was on duty at Serpukhov – 15; a forward observation bunker whose purpose was to watch the skies for incoming ICBM’s, “Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles”.   

On that night the alarms sounded, the computer monitors, with their maps of the world lit up and the trajectories of four nuclear warheads started to be plotted on the screens.  The nuclear missiles all were headed directly towards Moscow, apparently the Americans had started a nuclear war!  As the Coronel in charge of the facility that night, it was Petrov’s job to phone his superiors and to give the warning, then all hell would have let loose, there would have been an automatic response from the Russian side as they fired off their nuclear warheads straight back at the USA. 

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If the Soviet military had reacted as they had been trained to do, the world as we know it would have ceased to exist; it certainly would have been the end of human civilisation, and this is no exaggeration.  Our lives, our world, humanity would have become nothing more than darkened ash, and fowl smelling dust.  Fortunately, for us, Colonel Petrov was on duty that fateful night and he literally saved the world; he rescued all of us, from our collective folly.  Without his presence of mind and calm response to the events of that night, there would have been nothing left.  He had the courage to disbelieve what the alarms and the computers, and view screens were telling him; he determined that this was a false alarm, that the computers had got it wrong.  Later that night the same thing happened again: the alarms sounded, the view screens showed yet more ICBM’s being fired by the Americans at Russia; at that moment Petrov’s heart must have been fit for bursting.  What if this wasn’t a false alarm, what if those nuclear warheads hurtling towards Mother Russia were real; and in the next eight minutes Moscow had been destroyed.
  
And out of weakness and indecisiveness on his part, he had ignored the warnings and his country, his beloved home land, the one spot on the planet most precious to his heart, had been destroyed; blown up in one colossal blast of fearsome energy.  Leaving only radiation, and the debris of the cities of a once proud Russian people, scattered on a blackened earth.  There being nothing left to be handed onto posterity, no inheritance to be given to children yet unborn; there being nothing left and nobody left to procreate the species, even memories of how life used to be before the catastrophe, are burnt up in the deadly fire.  And if there is any possibility of a remembrance, and who is there that can deny it with any certainty? that this memory could only be of an immense brightness in the sky; and a whirl of wind so violent and penetrating that to see it, and to experience such unbridled power, is to find oneself to be an echo and a ghost, a shadow being, silently murmuring.

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All of these thoughts must have been going through Petrov’s mind; at that fateful moment, he would have been experiencing an agony like no other; the responsibility on his shoulders was immense and tortuous, even unbearable.  What must he do, if he does nothing what will be the consequence of his inaction; or if he decides to act and gives the warning to his superiors, what then would happen, might he be the individual responsible that brings about a nuclear Armageddon?  The upshot of it all is he came to the conclusion that the Americans, though the adversaries of his country, were not mad, they were not senseless killers, a reckless and unfeeling people that would unleash an unthinkable destruction on his country; and that the alarms therefore must be false; that the technology had got it wrong, that the flawless unerring computers has got it wrong, that the whole incident and nightmare of that night was a great mistake. 

 He was right! 

 Without Stanislav Petrov at his post that night, things might have turned out very differently, we will never know.  Despite this incident, and the destructive consequences if events had unfolded in a different way; the people of the world show no signs of changing, or of achieving any greater degree of enlightenment or maturity; instead we continue to act in the same old way, as if nothing had happened that night at forward observation bunker Serpukhov – 15.   Commenting on his experience, and what he had learned from it, Stanislav Petrov said something which impressed me hugely: “the best way to destroy an enemy is to make him your friend”.  Wiser words have never been spoken.

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We magnify our hurts in reality, way beyond anything it is reasonable to do, and memory of hurts past, are not as reliable as we think; we are often deceived into false memories and mistaken assumptions, about previous experience. Other people, often remember, the same events we have experienced, entirely differently than we do. 

Surely it is a great blessing to be an artist, and to be able to explore what it means to be human,  the better to know myself; and to understand other people, and the hurdles and challenges they face in their lives.  I happen to think that all experience is profitable, whether it is bad or good; our time in this world is short, and we are sent here to learn a thing or two, about ourselves, before moving on.  I feel privileged to be a painter and an artist, and I am still continually excited, by the exploration of the world of paint, and the poetry inherent in the making of images that are substantive, enduring, and relevant to the turbulent times we live in.

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I have just come from my painting studio:  I own a strong feeling of tortured satisfaction.  At times, in fact at all times, painting is a humbling experience.  I envy those artists that don’t have to go through this continual struggle to paint something which is – at the least – considered to be competent good painting,.  Instead more often than I care to acknowledge my efforts at making a painting are cumbersome and laboured, and I experience defeat after defeat on the canvas; at times I question whether I have any skill as an artist at all.  The battle is engaged, the enemy is identified.  Truly it is wondrous, that I dedicate my life to this trade of brush and paint, where on earth do I get my infinite patience from, and why am I so absorbed by this craft, this art of mine?  Despite everything progress has been made, and I am feeling quite proud of my efforts.  Really, I think the paintings, that I am working on at the moment, are decidedly good canvases. 

Over the years that I have been painting, and making images, I have had a lot of fun!  My mind has always been taken up, with this thing called painting, and attempting to get it right!   To be involved in making an image, in doing something creative, is an essential part of my being; rob me of this one preoccupation and I would cease to be.  Funnily enough, I can still remember those first images I made as a young child, of perhaps three to four years of age; I remember the subject matter of each image, and the technique I used to make it.  Amusingly the technique I used, all those many years ago, is not too different to what I do today, a kind of stick it to them technique; with a lot of bluster, a great deal of enthusiasm, and not a straight line anywhere on the paper.  Back then, I was similarly obsessed with colour, and with the texture of paint on the surface of the paper/ or, canvas as it is today.

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I have always been imbued with a sense of the sacred, and of the essential mystery at the heart of life.  It is a fundamental part of me, the part I know the best and am most secure in.  A person is born into this world, lives, and dies, and still with an incomplete knowledge about life.   This is why I am not a materialist: I am much too sensible to our failings, and inadequacies, as a species, to be convinced that we, in our pride and arrogance, have plundered the depths, the lengths, and the heights of understanding; enough to form a settled opinion of the world we live in. 


On the contrary our knowledge is in part, and is forever limited by our  bounded perceptions of the whole, and the advancement that we are so proud of, a mere blip of all that is out there to be revealed.  To be forever, and continually, enthralled with the marvel of it all; I mean, of life itself and of this earth that we walk on, and live our brief lives upon; the brilliance of this constantly changing, evolving, and devolving world is beyond our ability to grasp, I stand in awe of its beauty and majesty and the only emotion I feel is one of gratitude. 


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We live in an illiberal age, were opinions and thoughts are judged by the tenets of “Liberalism”; it has become the sin of the age to hold to any opinions that are not judged to be soundly Neo Liberal. The tortured contradictions of this statement is deadly and the cause of much mental anguish amongst the many and the few; oh, what a circumstance, my head spins uncontrollably and I don’t know what to do. Has humanity gone insane at last, or is my waking dream only a dread nightmare; a confused memory of one possible past, and an idiots Armageddon.

My writing doesn’t make any sense, and I stick my thumb in the hole in the dam, only for the waters to escape and flow uncontrollably away and all is seriously lost. It becomes hard to rationalise the people of today, those masses, and those individuals, that live in our richly rich Western World. The definition of this is that the new liberals are highly liberal in all matters pertaining to social morality and social conscience. The mantra of the age we tentatively live in is equality for all, that all might be equal. It is regarded as suspicious to hold to a different view, or to have a traditional moral code to guide one’s actions through the labyrinthine turnings that is life in our advanced city world.

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I am a liar, and we are all liars, this is how we now live, it is our right to dissemble and deceive; this is what experience teaches us, it is what we are made for. The innumerable deceptions that form the balance of our lives is a comfort blanket, a means of escape and reward, truly this our just and perfect outcome. To believe that certain actions are by their very nature immoral, wrong, not the correct thing to do, harmful to oneself and to the wider community at large; or, to think that there is a hierarchy in morality, as in everything else. The attitude to all these things that was once considered traditional is profoundly shocking to an old man like me, my young-old blood repents of its none conformity and lapse in understanding.

It is a truth that I don’t really know these people, and sadly these people have little understanding or tolerance for me. I am a reprobate and I undoubtedly will die alone and be tossed unceremoniously into some shallow grave, a mere crack in the ground; and not a sainted shrine to be respected. Disrespected in life, it is hardly a wonder that I will be disrespected in death; once I wanted to make a grand gesture, make a contribution to the happiness and wellbeing of my fellow man, woman, child, and to make a big splash on life and the world in general.

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For a long while I was under the delusion that somehow I was special, that my forehead had been anointed by the gods and somehow or other the world is to be a better place because I have passed this way. It is truly shocking and more than a little disconcerting to realise that this is all hooey and arrogance, and perhaps not just a little madness. Still I was motivated by a love of people, daily I watched them toil and struggle, I was witness to humanity’s suffering and feeling of helplessness and endless worry.

Is it such a bad thing that I wanted to wipe all these bad and harmful things away? Now I find myself at the start of the 21st Century in hot water, a soup of suffering all made by me, my very own futility, and a lack of worldly success. True I have worked hard but unprofitably over many years, an artist, to be sure; and a darn fine artist if I am allowed to say it just once, and to blow my own trumpet.

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The problem with artists is that nobody understands them, and we as a group, an artist group, are all quite mad and detached from everything that is transpiring around us. Artists, the artists that are like me, are a heartless bunch of malcontents and angels that look on the face of the divine and are swallowed up by this unwisdom to the very last breath of our being, and when we leave this world, or are accused of being unworldly and obscenely detached from other people – then us artists wink and sing and dance a merry ditty.

And of course none of this mirth makes any sense, to either man or beast, and not at all to the artist himself. So the long march to freedom of the liberal mind is continuing at a pace, and will not suffer any contradiction; it has at last been understood that truth, in so far as it exists and can be apprehended, is a malleable and changeable quality, and not a little bit vulnerable to contradiction, and occasional loud voices. A man at last can be shouted down, or attacked with a stick or a club, he can be silenced and abused; you can stop the wind with tawdry accusations and make him cry, and if all goes to plan you can force him to retract his own opinions and to have the emptiness of his bruised and battered head put on a plate for all to see and laugh at.

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This is our brave new world, it is our televisions, our internet, it is the bombs we drop, and the guns we sell to other nations. The angry world shouts out at us, nature is in turmoil all around us and humanity drags its tired feet along in a nightmare without hope. Pray to the Lord, to give us hope. To keep us safe from the ghastly chaos of political strife and the prose men whom do not see, or perceive with the eye, or indeed appreciate their plight or sympathise, or hope, and that are far from an understanding that is unwise, and that quiets the troubled heart and stills the heated blood.

This is my hope, at the end of it all to achieve some semblance of normality, not to be a bigot or a fool; to treat my unenlightened friends with kindness and more than a little love. After all the bluster has passed away we are in finality alone with our god, or our awareness of the divine; there is nothing else, no busy planet to walk upon or sea to swim in. All these pleasant and not too pleasant things will one day pass away and we will be left on our own.

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Then and only then in the great silence, stillness will daily be our accompanying friend and nightly bedfellow, there is nothing more to be had. At the last judgement, the souls of all people will be weighed and judged by the great one, the Lord of all; no matter what name we choose to call him or gender we ascribe to him, he shall look at us and wink.

There are still many secrets to tell but not now, let us ponder the sorry spectacle of the violence and suffering of our lives. It is far better that we kneel in prayer to our god, whoever he may be, that is not for me to determine. I have respect for all traditions, and acknowledge that most men and women are much more knowledgeable about these things than me.

I am merely an attempter of writing, and not a talented scribbler at that, but I do try and attempt to achieve, what is for me the impossible. Please indulge my ignorance, and admire my hard work and plenty of thinking. This is what society needs most it is what is most needful; the unleashing of the great thinkers on to the world; those people with profound thoughts and original minds. To be continued... 

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Is this the end of the advance of science? All human beings have consciousness; it is how our brain works. As a species we are peculiarly blessed with a high degree of self consciousness we are self aware, we know that we live and that eventually we die, in this we appear to have a unique place amongst the animal species. To our present understanding, no other animal has these qualities of knowledge and self-awareness; it is because we are self-aware, that through experience of the world and of our interactions with other beings like ourselves, we have developed what the moral philosophers call a conscience.

It is universally excepted by all, that humanity has a form of consciousness and is self aware; why then, do so many people have difficulty, in recognising that the universe, which is so much bigger than ourselves, and of which we are but a small part of; also has a consciousness and is self-aware. And because by definition, the universe is the sum total of all that is, including our own fragile lives, its self awareness is so much greater than our own. In our arrogance, we consider humanity to be the intellectual fountainhead of all that exists, or can exist.

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Our natural scientists claim to have knowledge, and a complete understanding of all things. Accepting what they say uncritically, and not acknowledging the contradiction of their arguments and assertions, we elevate ourselves above nature. While at the same instant – and largely in order to discredit religion – we claim to evolve from an ape like creature. And that by chance learnt to speak, and to develop remarkable degrees of organisation, production, and technology. Our forefathers, and foremothers, held to a much more humble view of themselves; and one that is more consistent and uniform with the actual reality of the universe.

They acknowledge their little consciousness and incomplete self-awareness, they did not see themselves as apart from or different to the natural world. And they acknowledged the immensity of the universe, and that it too has consciousness, and because of its great size and its ubiquitous nature, its self awareness, power, and knowledge of “Self” is so much superior to our own. Our ancestors did not see themselves as separate from the universe, but as in an intimate relation to its laws, these laws the ancients called “the way” and they have been followed, obeyed, studied, by people for millennia. This has been called the religious insight, the relationship we have with our creator universe, called by name: G-d; the most high.

We see only in part, and through a glass darkly, the mystery of the world is just frustratingly out of our reach, and we cry out in our nakedness, and helplessness in prayer. The Lord of our life may well prove elusive; I am not a holy man and I simply long for the unseen presence that is beyond my grasp. Doing this with a heavy heart but still with hope and charity, towards what I realize is an inevitable vulnerability.

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To acknowledge this feeling of emptiness, and longing for solidarity, is only to begin the journey into the truth of our existence, and only barely touches the truth of the universe. We are limited beings, our perceptions of the world, evolved to aid our survival; and they only reveal to us a portion of the sum total of nature, the truth of all things. Humanity, despite its great excellence, and many achievements is still grasping at shadows, and always trying to find its way through the darkness.

Consequently our understanding of what the universe is, and whom G-d is; is imperfect, it is the definition of our humanity, our imperfections, and want of a complete knowledge of things is what makes us, the unique and remarkable species we are. It is precisely our not knowing that sparks our curiosity, and is the engine behind all societal development and technological and cultural achievements.

It is not unscientific to acknowledge the fatherhood of G-d; it is the logical outcome of a fully developed and modern scientific understanding of the world, and the rejection of a false 19th century view of the cosmos, that lamentably has continued to persist in society and amongst certain scientists.

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There is a creative tension in the West, between G-d and no G-d; and in the space provided between the two poles of belief and unbelief, traditionally there is room for free thinking, speculation, and creativity. To the five senses: sight; hearing; taste; smell; touch; we must add a sixth, intuition, or imagination. The majority of materialists recognise only the first five, and claim that the knowledge derived from them is the sum of all knowledge. They describe a mechanistic universe where all runs like clockwork, everything is measurable and calculable.

A universe of mathematical certainty, of one’s and zero’s, where there is an equation to fit every contingency, and truly number is the most essential, and “real” element. A cosmos where everything has its place; and the place of humanity is a lowly almost insignificant one. We are described as heirs to the monkey and the ape, and even now, with our wayward drives and instincts, our lack of rationality, emotionalism, by turns violent then peaceful we are not the masters of our own fate. In this world, so described, some scientists have even gone so far as to describe the whole of humankind as no more than slime, or an infestation that slithers over the surface of the planet.

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In much of modern science, the importance of human imagination, and intuition, remains contentious and unacknowledged. And conscience is reduced to that thing that occurs in the head between the ears, and is the accidental result of the evolution of a brain. The brain itself though recognised as a thing of wonder; is none-the-less, in this view of the world, only an amalgam of matter and puss. The prevalence of such opinions in academia would not be taken seriously, except they are also so common in society, and amongst the educated middle classes. This shows the inadequacy and incompleteness of our educational systems that have given us the ability, to invent new and exciting technologies, but has robbed us of the one thing essential, the proper understanding of ourselves; whom we are as a species, and our place in the universe.

More than this, we have needlessly, been robbed of a full and enlightened knowledge of the universe itself, and this has hampered the onward development of science. There won’t be any unified theory of science, until we all have thrown off the yoke, of a falsely accepted and respected 19th Century science; a science which has in its substance, as many false notions about the nature of the universe, as it has truths. Yet it is the foolishness of our era, to cling on to falsehoods, and determinedly doing this at the expense of the truth that alone can set us free.


I beg the Lord of heaven, to give me peace,

My mind is conflicted like a quantum

Singularity, in two places at the same time;

I find it hard to be convicted of anything:

But one must choose a path

Enter in at the straight gate;

Be the person, that the passage of time,

From childhood to youth, and maturity,

The world has made you.

Don’t over intellectualise, and make it a problem,

When to trust in the deepest

And purest hearts affection,

Is all that is required?

In many things, the heart is wiser than the head;

To neglect the wisdom, of the heart, is to be dead.

To your own heart be true:

The wayward self shall come, following along in its wake;

Be true to the hearts affections

Have courage, despite all opposition,

Do not faint be still, and resilient in steely determination. 

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This is really an explosive, turbulent, violent, and unhappy world we live in; the truth is I find it all unsettling and frightening. The ubiquitous presence of TV sets in our homes has brought the worldly chaos alarmingly into all out living rooms. In short, the world has speeded up exponentially; and both old and young live fast lives. The world is getting smaller, and smaller, all the time, and this is especially true of our electronic communications. The TV; the computer; the internet: and all that now must necessarily follow. Well if the truth be known, I find all this a little overwhelming.

Now this is a very peculiar way to begin a blog-spot talking about art. I am sure that many readers will complain, saying, “What on earth is he talking about?” This is an understandable reaction; I am in full sympathy with you. Then again I will justify my impertinence in talking in this way by reference to art and its definition; and what it means to me. I envy those artists that relax in to their work as if they are reclining into an easy chair. I have heard many an artist say that they find relaxation when painting, that the act of painting is a balm to a troubled mind. And this attitude, (and it is a right attitude!) is what has given us art therapy, art clubs, and restful holidays in some sunny or picturesque place; where a person can escape the untidiness of the city and of modern life, contemplate a “view” or a “landscape” and melt away into the creation of an image, a scene, a pastoral heaven – and why not!

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Unfortunately, or perhaps ,fortunately this is not how I am as an artist, it is not how I experience art and it is not how I make a painting. In truth I am cursed with the modern (or not so modern!) blight of an unstill and troubled nature. I see and hear the loud cries of pain and suffering of my fellow human beings, and I feel all too acutely their sorrow, pain, and lack of a secure and calm centre to their lives. I watch TV and I see the bombs drop; I witness the anguish of the people; the drowning youth, the lost child. Sometimes the sight of all these sufferings is much too hard to bear. Over my life time I have observed a continual warfare between peoples. My early education chomped its way through a history of invasions and tribal conflicts, these conflicts only grew bigger and more destructive when the first nation states came in to being. A deep and lasting impression was made upon me, by what is now a long forgotten conflict: the Vietnam war; and by my reading and watching TV documentaries on the Great war in Europe, and the Second World War. It is not any kind of exaggeration to say that these “mental” events formed me and informed the maturation of my conscience.

So the upshot is that the world is going to hell in a handcart! There is inevitability about the eventual destruction of the human world! That either through a natural disaster brought about by climate change; or by the release of some kind of toxin, or biological agent, into the environment; or by destructive war, we are certain to wreak havoc and to finally destroy ourselves. One answer to this eventuality is the practise of art and poetry; another is either the practise of philosophy or religion. My blog-spot shall contain a little of each of these disciplines. Not as in any way an academic thesis (pray keep me safe and far away from all schools, universities; and places of learning! I have had enough of this sort of stuff; it is proper when young to be so influenced, I have reached a certain age of maturity, and these things no longer interest me, as they did previously.) No, what I write is homespun and a rough and ready knowledge and a type of unwisdom, readers beware.





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