The Shapes of Paintings

In 2012 I founded and curated Paint My Paintings, an on-line community of people contributing to and collaborating on art projects. The community was entirely inclusive, free and open to anyone, anywhere in the world; artist and non-artist alike. Paint My Paintings provided a digital platform for people to express themselves, be part of something creative with others and find some creative fulfilment. Its secondary purpose was to explore the potential of social media in enabling wider participation and collaboration in art.  The projects delivered over 120 works by artists from the UK, Ireland, The Netherlands, Nigeria, Brazil, USA and Australia. Here's how it happened: Making art is a solitary practice. Fortunately, I'm not an extrovert and I enjoy my own company, working through a creative problem, trying out different ideas, discovering what feels good, what looks right. Having to please no one but myself, art-making represents total freedom and self-actualisation.

I had intended to keep my website as Zen as possible; couple of clicks, 2019 work only. 3 works max. But the illusion of my current work bursting forth, fully-formed from nowhere would have missed the opportunity to share an interesting illustrated back story of self-doubt, dubious choices, indecision and absence of follow-through that have brought my work to where it is now. Much of that work has been lost in the transit of time, some of it actually lost in transit, some stolen (unbelievably, from a garage in Croydon ) and some pieces have been sold. Fortunately, despite the erratic execution and preservation of my work, I have an obsessional drive to create and I photograph everything. Come with me dear reader, backwards to 1986, starting with the best of my recent work since 2017: I had spent the dozen or so years prior to 2017 trying to quit painting entirely. Here is the evidence that I couldn't even make a success of that: Looking at them now, I can see t

This is my most recent artwork. Oils on eight panels. Each panel painted separately, without reference to its neighbours. I didn't know exactly what I'd get until I'd assembled all the pieces for the photograph here. I had an overall plan incubating for about three weeks, which was a combination of these two sketches. I wanted more unpainted than painted space. The positioning and configuration of each element was improvised in the moment and painted free-hand without rulers, pencil guidelines or tape masking - not that I have anything against the use of tools - it just didn't want that degree of precision. I wanted the lines to be as ragged and energetic as possible. I recorded a video of myself starting and finishing the painting.

I recently completed this painting. My gradual unconscious interest in wave-like forms in my paintings started with my reflections on the ocean as a metaphor for universal consciousness; with you and I and all other sentient beings as waves on the ocean. Existing for a short while and passing. Each wave unique. Waves may die but the ocean lives forever. We're part of something that never dies. Nice. I can now die happily ever after, as Bob Dylan sang. So I photographed it, as one does, and thoughts turned to the next painting. Overall, I'm satisfied with the result but there was one part of it that my eye kept returning to. Something irritating. Time has taught me that it's worth investing the time to get it right. A painting can last a long time. This was the issue: I'm not excessively fussy and I know that it could grow on me in time but this really failed the good egg / bad egg test. I tried a few solutions out digitally: None satisfied. I resig

In 1977 I was 13 and my art teacher Mr Davis (it might have been Davies, but I prefer this spelling) was about to retire. He was short, stout, had a flame-red crew cut and neat beard. Smart casual at all times, he wore polyester slacks and casual tan shoes. If he was around now he would probably be a Leave voter. I rarely heard him speak. In two years he had barely spoken to me except to tell me to get my hands out of my pockets.   It was his last day and I’d dashed off a drawing of a horse and rider in minutes. On seeing my sorry effort he went a beetroot colour and made me stay behind to do it again. Fuming as my mates filed out for lunch, I set to work. Thirty minutes later I took the finished drawing up to him and asked if I could go.  He nodded approvingly. “This is really good, son.” Looking at me earnestly he continued, “You’ve got talent. Never stop making art. Your future starts when you wake up every morning. Seize each and every day and find something creative to do. Mak

January, 2017. I hadn't painted in a while. Out of nowhere, I felt a strong urge to capture an idea that had been gnawing at me for a while. I bought a ready-made canvas 38 x 30 inches. There was a high level plan in terms of what the finished painting would look like but each mark would be unplanned. Improvised. To paraphrase a phrase, the idea would be taken for a walk. Painted flat, on a table top, probably whilst wearing a flat cap, this is where that walk ended up: It reminded me of a painting, I'd done about ten years earlier. Later that month I stuck two sheets of paper on the back of a table tennis table and did this drawing. You might be able to discern that the drawing comprises about 4 cut out elements stuck together collage-like: ..which later grew into.. I thought the drawing actually might have been more satisfying if it hadn't been confined to a square. I simplified the idea and did this digital drawing: In February I bought a s