There seems to be a strange dichotomy in what I appreciate to what I actually produce as an artist, I assume this is probably the case for most people? Nothing really surprising in that appreciating the qualities of an 1880′s Cézanne still life may not translate or permeate into whatever project an artist living in 2016 is working upon…or is it? I think it is actually.
I spend a lot of my nine to five driving around some of the how should I say – less desirable parts of London (and many of the nicer parts also) and as a result have developed a deep appreciation for the work of street artists. The bohemian brick lane area is a literal canvas for the masses, parts of Islington littered with pieces – some by the infamous Banksy. From simple tags, stencils to full blown murals – I love it all and have taken to photographing it in an attempt to record it. This of course would be more than a full time job to make a even halfway accurate record of street art – even just within the confines of the London boroughs – the walls change hands in at a blistering pace in a colourful turf war where the tenure on a section of wall can only be classed as “temporary”. This perhaps reflects our mighty capital and it’s incredible history. The relentless surge of progress and development which is reflected upon the walls with pieces being covered, covered again and chunks of wall cut out, rendered and demolished. I think the fusion of old Victorian buildings and the fluorescent newness of the artwork is simply intoxicating.
I digress.
The strange thing is I have never sprayed paint from a can in anger onto a wall, I have never been part of any subculture that holds graffiti in a particular high regard so it has seeped into my subconscious indirectly via my surroundings on a daily basis, even stranger (for me) is the fact that it doesn’t seem to have found its way into my work as of yet, not really anyway. I don’t mean by way of me integrating some chrome bubble writing into my drawings. More the spirit and the gusto with how it is delivered to us pavement punters. It has guts, it is bold and often beautiful – always ephemeral. I am thinking perhaps I should think more about the things that have the power to seduce my thoughts such as the perpetually vibrant street art that adorns so many walls I pass everyday. Drawing is perfect medium with which to leave history on the paper.
That is enough jumbled rambling for this evening. Thank you if you have read this blog entry.
