Sometimes I see a space so beautiful that it makes me ache with longing. I want to situate myself within it, preserve the experience of it. It is comfort and discomfort. Belonging and sublimity.
How can I make art that satiates the need for this feeling?
In short, I can't. It is a chance occurrence; a coincidental ripple of pure, rapturous perception through the fog of quotidian experience.
So I'll set some shit theories in orbit around the idea of this feeling, hoping in vain to contain it. To make some flawed sense of it so that it might be worked towards.
What is it I'm left with? What is its function?
The 'real world' intrudes; what is the practical application of this maelstrom of ideas, with its invisible-to-the-human-mind nucleus? What is its relevance?
Honours, man. Honours.
Anyway, here are some watercolour and ink thingies that aren't really about anything at all.