31 March 2016
30 March 2016
27 March 2016
20 March 2016
12 March 2016
What I'd like to do is say something new. But perhaps photography cannot do that? And besides, why something new? What's wrong with honing the old? Am I not always thinking, if rarely saying, that art now is too quick to attempt to destroy the old and put up something new, something provocative, before we've even half-way exhausted what the old is capable of? And also, don't I want an oil painting of the view through a car windscreen on a rainy winter's evening on the M6 at the junction with the M54, done with all the style and attention to detail of a Caravaggio? Yes, I do.
Anyway, the above are an attempt at something new, something ambiguous, something with the aleatory to the front and centre. But perhaps I ought to explore the old for a while longer yet.
Another thought occurs to me: the aleatory appeals because it is the closest I can get to being surprised by my own work - with muse as partner, freshness is possible. This makes me happy. And closer to Pollock than I would like. And no, I don't mean I'm in the same category, league or anything else: I'm not deluded.