All images are my copyright. Do not use without permission or payment.
The original is in my Etsy shop.
https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/644831714/peace-piece?ref=shop_home_active_1
A painting on canvas. I made this painting in response to the beautiful piece of music by Bill Evans.
Sometimes I weep
For a love I once had
Or a kindness from my dear one
For the love of my children
The look in his eye
His closed sweet smile
Her beautiful voice
The sound of jazz piano, by Bill Evans,
or played by my mother.
Born from the belly of a pianist, it was the first sound I ever heard.
No wonder I love it so.
Then the sound of the accordion played rousingly
Like my father in his folk days.
He used to listen to recordings of steam trains.
We laughed, but he didn’t mind. Daddy, my daddy.
Looking back on happy memories
Magic memories
Of a London Summer in Camberwell
Followed by two more. Complete joy
We listened to soul music, Prince, Stevie Wonder
and lay in bed doing dance moves with our hands
Laughing til we cried
and loving til we slept.
We used to say ‘I’ll miss you when I’m asleep.’
We slept so deeply.
We slept through the hurricane of ’87
and awoke to post-apocalyptic Brixton
Trees lying across Coldharbour Lane
Windows and roofs smashed
We loved each other so much
But he went to India,
and I to France.
Funny how, we have never seen each other since
He returned from India and turned to religion
Devoutly
And I, resolutely to America
L.A. memories are bathed in bright light.
I worked hard, played hard,
married, left and ran away
Onto the beach
He destroyed all his paintings once
And shredded his books
I hope he’s alright now.
He was a child of Hollywood and Vietnam
And all the damage fallout.
Sometimes I remember
Everyone
Inspired by a Dutch master but my interpretation, painted many years ago.
And a quote by the wonderful Toko-Pa:
“For all the times someone has asked you how you are, and you felt pressured to say ‘I am well’ when well wasn’t your whole truth, I offer you this wish: that this finds you not just well, but all the things that being human asks of us. And to remind you that your being alive, in all its magnificent and complicated colors, is more than enough for love. Rather than endlessly seeking to get well, or yearning for ‘how things used to be’ or ‘may be one day again,’ we must be willing to walk with our pain. Or at least be willing to be willing to say, “This too is welcome. This too belongs.”
.
by Toko-pa Turner, Belonging: Remembering Ourselves Home (belongingbook.com)
All art works on this blog are my copyright and cannot be used without my permission or payment.
“Oh Great God, swift one. Who comes to him who calls. Watch my sister for me, the woman born in the same womb as me. Do for her as I have done for you. Spontaneous miracles that cannot be denied. Elevate her children and make them prosper, even as you did for me.”
-From Taharqa’s prayer to Amun, at his temple in Kawa-
Link below is a wonderful illustrated site about the Kingdom of Kush, or ancient Nubia.
All works on this blog are my copyright and cannot be used without my permission or payment.
This painting ‘Nubian Queen’ is available in my Etsy shop:
https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/653213473/nubian-queen-and-her-king?ref=shop_home_active_1
When I was a child, I used to have a recurring dream, wherein I was in a huge house, an old stone building and there was a secret door that only I knew about. I would enter the door and a whole new space opened up to me, and it was mine alone. There was something so enchanting, mysterious and secret about this labyrinthine special space, with doors and rooms and corridors where i could explore or escape from everyone and just hide.
Well today, I found a place like this, decades later. I am teaching English part-time in an independent school. In an ancient abbey. Sometimes all the classrooms are being used and today was one of those days, and I had to ask my line manager where I could take my two Chinese students. It’s the end of half term and i had brought in one of my favourite films, Paris Texas, for them to watch on my laptop as a treat. She suggested I used this old classroom in the eaves. She found the keys and led me up through a network of stairwells and doors to the old classroom. I loved it. Now used as a dumping ground for piles of pillows used by the female boarders; there were old telephones, folders, pots of pens, rickety chairs and tables. It was perfect. I found my classroom and a secret place very similar to my childhood dreams.
There is so much more to this ancient abbey.
There is something about me that needs to hide and retreat frequently. It feels sensual and exciting. I couldn’t resist taking a few photos of the secret classroom.
Autumn. An original painting in my etsy shop. All works are my copyright.
An original acrylic painting on canvas on heavyweight paper in my etsy shop. All works are my copyright. https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/649245673/the-green-night
Sometimes I get a song I play over and over while painting. Although during this painting I wanted to echo the feeling I get while looking at paintings by Leonora Carrington and also the beautiful work of my dear friend Emma Turpin, I was listening to ‘Visions of Johanna’ by Bob Dylan while painting this, and the lyrics fascinate me:
Words are powerful. In an age of social media, blogging and the internet in general, words are used constantly. They are used as weapons, and as healing salve. Words are encoded in us, it is my feeling. Meaning, I cannot express this with accuracy but with an inner knowing, that our being is encoded with some kind of alphabet. When I rub my eyes, I see all kinds of alphabets, signs, symbols; small hieroglyphics. I feel that when we use words, and knowing or not knowing, their power goes out into the ether, and the collective consciousness or unconsciousness and creates a kind off accelerationism and creates more of what is contained in the meaning of the words. When the words are used, in printed, published matter, whether in book form, blog form or the ubiquitous form of social media, the words take their place in the minds of the reader, and the power of the reader’s consciousness is beamed out into the cosmos and increases the intent exponentially. When we see acceleration in events, perhaps this form of using words should be considered. I am saying, use words carefully. Use words and actions to create a new paradigm and tear down the old paradigms; not through destruction, but through construction. Construction of new paradigms begins when the old outworn patriarchal systems fall away through disempowerment. It is vital we use words to disempower the systems that oppress us.
When creating images, create them with the same thoughts in mind. Use images to create a new paradigm. Whether it is to create a feeling a peace in an otherwise challenging world, or to illustrate a powerful message of hope in action.
Within my art practice, I use words as under-painting. The intent is thus contained within the image and thereby further empowers and encodes it. The painting is used as a kind of vehicle in the acceleration of form. Taking the form of the painting and asking it to manifest in ‘reality’. Creativity is powerful and it is a rebellious act in a world of neo-liberal, patriarchal values, which only wants to see us working to conform and uphold the status quo. The sacred feminine is needed right now, for women and men. I have a son and a daughter. I create images of the sacred feminine archetypes, to, in my own way create a new paradigm for both my children and of course for myself. Creativity is power.
England.. Land of austerity, Brexit, ‘ Get a Grip’ campaigns, where we are told to send our children to school unwell to keep up attendance numbers.
Land ruled by the Nasty party, selling off our NHS, destroying our libraries, dismantling our hard-won social schemes. Land of fragmented families, lack of social cohesion, where gang culture is following in the U.S.’ footsteps, where young people have fewer youth clubs, because public spending has been so dramatically cut.
England i never really loved you. Where bullies from the Bullingdon club have formed our governments and failing newspapers owned by billionaires control the minds of the masses. Where TV shows are about people baking cakes or even of people watching telly. Wtf? Wtf England?
Land of traffic jams and wind screen wipers; two layers of cloud sometimes.
Pubs are nice and so are the people. The self- depreciation, the humour, the belly laughs, the irreverence, the adorable neurotics, the ability to laugh at ourselves. The music.
My Dad.. he was English and the best kind of Englishman. A gentleman and a socialist, a musician and architect who rebuilt classic cars, loved real ale and was vulnerable yet strong. The handsomest man in the world.
English eccentricity; yep that still abounds. Women are strong here and don’t take bullshit. They are proud to walk alone and don’t need a chaperone.
Multiculturalism still thrives. Long may it thrive.
Random thoughts on a country which is supposed to be my home.
Ambivalent about that one.
England. I can never really love a country so easily persuaded to vote so stupidly for something about which you know fuck all…
Brexit. Don’t even get me started….
Written in mavaise humeur 😉
