Friday, 28 December 2012
Monday, 24 December 2012
Thursday, 20 December 2012
Wednesday, 19 December 2012
Sunday, 16 December 2012
Tuesday, 11 December 2012
Saturday, 8 December 2012
Delete, Deleted, Deleted.
Heavy handed on the shutter release I have always taken far too many pointless images. In addition I have generally taken too many superfluous images. As a result most of my time is spent deleting image files.
At the post-production stage, which is carried out in my own spectacularly inept and bungling fashion, I am forced to perform even more, yes, you've guessed it already haven't you ? Even more deletions.
The process is analogous to carving. Removing excess material to reveal a significant form within.
The phrase "whittle down" springs to mind at this point.
What we really need is a box with the following words written on it: " Magic box for initiating a process similar to painting but which isn't painting but neither is it photography, per-se."
But, as someone once nearly said, "An image is an image is an image." So in the end it is just a working process.
Another thing that pisses me off is the fact that Keith Arnett has been in the back of my mind for the last 30 odd years. Black and white photographs first seen in art magazines and later on the white walls of a gallery somewhere.
Memory is a strange thing. It is like being haunted by ghosts. I am glad that one doesn't inherit memories, merely traits and talents and a sort of physical alikeness. Good art should also haunt us, hovering over our shoulder, usually until lunchtime, when you get so irritated that you are driven to rethink your current work.
At the post-production stage, which is carried out in my own spectacularly inept and bungling fashion, I am forced to perform even more, yes, you've guessed it already haven't you ? Even more deletions.
The process is analogous to carving. Removing excess material to reveal a significant form within.
The phrase "whittle down" springs to mind at this point.
What we really need is a box with the following words written on it: " Magic box for initiating a process similar to painting but which isn't painting but neither is it photography, per-se."
But, as someone once nearly said, "An image is an image is an image." So in the end it is just a working process.
Another thing that pisses me off is the fact that Keith Arnett has been in the back of my mind for the last 30 odd years. Black and white photographs first seen in art magazines and later on the white walls of a gallery somewhere.
Memory is a strange thing. It is like being haunted by ghosts. I am glad that one doesn't inherit memories, merely traits and talents and a sort of physical alikeness. Good art should also haunt us, hovering over our shoulder, usually until lunchtime, when you get so irritated that you are driven to rethink your current work.
K.I.A.D Days
Canterbury School of Art, as I believe it was called before merging with Maidstone and Rochester, was a pretty interesting place to be.
In 1994 I had been accepted onto the M.A Graphic Fine Art course and it felt good being back in an art school.
The boss of Fine Art was David Haste, who wore black shirts and chinos to denote the seriousness of his purpose. Richard Davies, a highly talented printmaker, utterly superb in my opinion, was boss of Graphic Fine Art. He wore bright red polo shirts with the collars turned up. Sometimes two. There was also a fit, trim, healthy looking guy called Pierre laPierre, who knew all about movies and narrative structure.He used to wear pale blue machine washed jeans and I believe, denim shirts.
David Haste used to be holed up in his office in the more oil painty part of the building. He was rarely seen.
Richard and Pierre used to cluster in Richard's office next to our studios. The next guy to arrive was Pete Nevin, we could tell he was cool because he wore a round hat similar to the one worn by the Professor in the Rupert stories of my childhood.
These three gentlemen would natter with us students for ten minutes or so, mostly about what we were up to, but sometimes about the football or the cultural significance of Bruce Lee or Chris Marker, sometimes all at once.
Once this task was over they retired to Richard's office. Gales of laughter would then frequently erupt, sometimes bordering on hysteria. This aural evidence of jocularity, goodwill and cheerfulness used to continue until lunchtime. And then I think they went to the college bar, or if they really wanted to be left alone, to the pub round the corner.
After lunch there would be even more laughter gusting from the office. Those guys knew how to enjoy life.
I would like to report that my cohort on the Graphic Fine Art course back in 1994, were a bohemian, hard drinking bunch of drug taking, sexually depraved, antisocial do-badders intent on mayhem, destruction and the downfall of society, followed by a fiery death. Unfortunately this would be an untruth.
In 1994 I had been accepted onto the M.A Graphic Fine Art course and it felt good being back in an art school.
The boss of Fine Art was David Haste, who wore black shirts and chinos to denote the seriousness of his purpose. Richard Davies, a highly talented printmaker, utterly superb in my opinion, was boss of Graphic Fine Art. He wore bright red polo shirts with the collars turned up. Sometimes two. There was also a fit, trim, healthy looking guy called Pierre laPierre, who knew all about movies and narrative structure.He used to wear pale blue machine washed jeans and I believe, denim shirts.
David Haste used to be holed up in his office in the more oil painty part of the building. He was rarely seen.
Richard and Pierre used to cluster in Richard's office next to our studios. The next guy to arrive was Pete Nevin, we could tell he was cool because he wore a round hat similar to the one worn by the Professor in the Rupert stories of my childhood.
These three gentlemen would natter with us students for ten minutes or so, mostly about what we were up to, but sometimes about the football or the cultural significance of Bruce Lee or Chris Marker, sometimes all at once.
Once this task was over they retired to Richard's office. Gales of laughter would then frequently erupt, sometimes bordering on hysteria. This aural evidence of jocularity, goodwill and cheerfulness used to continue until lunchtime. And then I think they went to the college bar, or if they really wanted to be left alone, to the pub round the corner.
After lunch there would be even more laughter gusting from the office. Those guys knew how to enjoy life.
I would like to report that my cohort on the Graphic Fine Art course back in 1994, were a bohemian, hard drinking bunch of drug taking, sexually depraved, antisocial do-badders intent on mayhem, destruction and the downfall of society, followed by a fiery death. Unfortunately this would be an untruth.
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