I have quite a private and obsessive painting practice. These obsessions end up making me feel like I’m in some kind of a film noir, like a Hitchcock movie, it’s like watching someone or some thing and the more you stare the more the story develops and the weirder it becomes, it escalates into some kind of madness, there’s just me and these dumb things staring at each other trying to stir something up, maybe even enchant them, conjure up some kind of magic.
Some of the gestures I use turn into something like a machine, it could be something like what a car washing machine might do, a never-ending rubbing against the surface, rolling around a surface, an endless spin, wash, clean and repeat. This can escalate and fall apart in a split second, especially in the cold light of day. I think that’s why I like painting at night when everyone’s gone home, you’re on your own, there’s a few foxes prowling outside the window.
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