It is a strange time to hold a brush, to follow the flow of paint, to sit quietly. The mind staggers at the run of events: the scale of the personal and communal losses, the mountain of grief. It weighs on both our minds and our bodies. We replay events and try to grasp the… Continue reading A Strange Time to Hold a Brush
Writing
To Understand a Painting you Need a Chair
Imagine John Clease bounding onto the stage at the Old Stratford just as Brutus is sinking the knife into Julius Caesar. “Stay in your seats! This is not a murder. Brutus is only sticking a plastic thing under Julius Caesar’s arm. Yes don’t be alarmed, this is not, I repeat not a murder.” This is… Continue reading To Understand a Painting you Need a Chair