#074: The Morning Tide Fills the Channels

Oil on canvas.  A painting of London Liverpool Street Station in this morning’s rush hour, as viewed from the platform above the concourse at the eastern side of the station, looking west back across the concourse, the huge board of destinations obscuring the view of half the station. 

While much of the scene is still, lines of matchstick people show the movement around the concourse, forming lines showing the streams that form between the platforms and various exits (up, off towards Bishopsgate, down towards Broadgate, and the Underground station to the right (and left)), as well as little puddles forming of people waiting for trains, or for other people to join them.

Of the people, mostly only their heads are in view, a variety of faces, hair colour and hats visible - these, together with a mix of colours, both bright and dull, from clothes and bags give the streams a sort of rainbow effect.

Funnily enough, my recent experiences of Liverpool Street in the morning are very different to how I was imagining it above.  There’s not all those many people at all.  Far more of a trickle, you might say.

And it’s completely different in the evening, of course.  Much more of a high tide or flood with people waiting and watching for their platform to be announced with little streams of people darting in between them heading for theirs; or those arriving for evening/night work or an evening out.

#073: Finding Yourself

A painting showing a maze.  

Within the maze is a person finding their way through.

Throughout the maze, along its paths, are various statues and other representations of different milestones and versions of the person that they will either pass and partake at different times or miss altogether as they find their way through the maze until finding their complete self (or death) in the middle.

#072: Silence where no sound is made (Does Silence Exist? IV): Physical Version

 

Click here for background twitter thread.

#071: the void since the last time and what the void was filled with

A painting, mix of acrylics and oil on canvas.  

Outline profile of the artist’s head, blank apart from a line marking the area where the brain would be.

This area is divided into five parts.  The first, right along the top, contains the following text in black on a white background: “ファイブセブンファイブ” 

The rest is divided into four sections.  

Clockwise from the top left they show:

****** ** ***** ******* through a suburban scene.

A figure with an exploding face and brown-filled lungs.

Scenes of the same families around a campfire and on a beach by the pier.

A figure lost in a maze.

#070: The Eternal, Ever-Changing, Oil Painting (Alternate III)

Go outside and lie down (or lie under a skylight or glass roof) and look up at the sky.  

Pick a small area and concentrate on it, as if it were an oil painting in a gallery.

Take in the clouds, especially.  

Look at their shapes, follow their edges, watch them drift into, across, and then out of your painting’s frame.  

Take your time to breathe in and feel the moment, relax into the scene and savour it.

Try to remember how you feel, keep this eternal, ever-changing, oil painting with you and, when you need it: close your eyes and recall it.  Clouds of different shapes and sizes drift silently on by as you breathe and relax.  And then, the scene playing in your mind, think about nothing else and just 

Watch.  

Feel. 

Breathe.  

Be.

#069: The Eternal, Ever-Changing, Oil Painting (Alternate II)

Following an exhibition of oil paintings featuring particularly impressive skies, viewers then go to an outside space (a terrace or lawn, perhaps, or even the roof of the gallery), where they are encouraged to admire the sky and compare the clouds to those seen in the exhibition paintings.  Do they look any more or less real or unreal than those created with paints?

#068: The Eternal, Ever-Changing, Oil Painting (Alternate I)

A livestream video on a gallery wall of the sky above it.  Not looking directly up, but up and out, a 360 degree projection shone above the viewer’s heads, with only the sky visible - no buildings or landscape.