The most general concept of Noēsis (the psychological result of perception and learning and reasoning, a higher knowledge in Plato’s Greek) comes from the idea of slow but continuous integration of different elements, so that they finally form a new inseparable substance.’’
Erkki-Sven Tüür
STRATA
Nordic Symphony Orchestra
2010 ECM New Series
The paintings of Rembrandt van Rijn (1606 - 69) exude a powerful impression of dark rusty-brown, which persuades us of a certain sincerity and honesty in the artist. . . . .
By the 1650s, Rembrandt was using just a half-dozen or so pigments, mostly of dull earthy tones. He was a master at ‘breaking’ colours - breaking up fields of colour by using complicated pigment mixtures. One contemporary commentator praised Rembrandt’s use of these mixtures ‘harmoniously to depict nature’s true and vivid life,’ and went on to denounce those who in contrast ‘set the hard, raw colours quite bold and next to each other, so that they have no relationship with nature.’ . . . .
Rembrandt’s restricted palette excludes several of the brightest pigments available in the seventeenth century. His blacks (charcoal and bone black) and browns (including Cologne earth, as it would then have been called) are supplemented by most of the earth colours: ochres, siennas and umbers. His red lakes were mainly madder and cochineal. Blues, too, he used with restraint . . . .
His principal yellow was lead-tin yellow, which was never the brightest of colours.”
Ball, Philip: ‘Bright Earth The Invention of Colour’
VIKING, Published by the Penguin Group, London, England, 2001.
Chapter 6: Old Gold: The Revival of an Austere Palette, P162 - 163.
After early influences from the great American pioneers of abstraction, i.e. Rothko, Pollock, Barnet Newman, along with intensive studies of Pre Renaissance and Renaissance painting, my investigations in to the history of painting led me back in time, so to speak, into medieval painting.
I found the complex techniques required to enable the paintings to transcend their physicality, a perfect way to push the techniques of abstraction toward a better communication of their merits; particularly in the way that a painting can take a person’s mind to a place they may not have been before.
The digital age and fast access to information may have reduced our ability to look at anything for any length of time. My travels and immersion in ancient cultures has resulted in my wanting to capture at least some abiding spiritual depth, and a sense of place and of lost civilizations, from the ancient Maya, to the temples of Cambodia and the Far east; Stonehenge in England, etc.. These mysteries are worth preserving since we can’t always go there. Painting for me, including some ten years or so of inspiration from Icon painting, has become a way of holding onto memories, [some of course are not my own memories] and a way to bring the achievements of the past into a contemporary framework. In a way, taking a stand against the banality of constant information…Painting, if nothing else, can transport the mind to a new place, whilst at the same time reminding us of some of the great achievements in art, architecture and cultures of the past.
I have lived all over the world, including many years in the Far East, and my current works include the somewhat romantic idea that exotic and mysterious places can be contained within painting - giving us all the taste of the unknown without having to make the journey ourselves.
In recent years I have made paintings that I hope contain the spirit of places as diverse as a pirate cemetery in Madagascar, the grand nineteenth-century hotels and palaces of India and the Far East, a Mayan temple in Southern Yucatan, of the remote deserts of North Africa, to name just a few. The most recent paintings in this exhibition are an attempt to deal with certain codes of ethics, aesthetics, and spirituality that run throughout the history of humanity. This includes the warrior code of the Samurai, the devotion and loyalty of people such as St Francis of Assisi, the great tradition of Russian Orthodox icon painting, and finally homage to the sublime, ethereal portraits of Leonardo da Vinci.
I've been drawn to islands all my life and grew up in Devon and Cornwall in southwestern England, amongst early memories of the sea and stories of smugglers and pirates, and later, the mists and fog of the Moorland and Celts and the mythology of the ancient world. I've lived on islands: the Maldives, Indian Ocean, Greek and Spanish islands, and keep on returning to them whenever I'm restless. In a recent exhibition that I named Architecture of Silence, I was thinking of sacred places, abbeys and Cathedrals perhaps, of darkened, candlelit rooms and the perfume of incense and spices from the East. Most of all, I was thinking of silence - the kind of silence I connect to icons, especially the great icons of the Byzantine period. In these paintings you see angels transfixed in ecstatic, petrified silence.
I've often thought, ''Is it possible to produce this kind of frozen silence in a painting, the kind that comes in the form of petrified longing? ''
Trying to connect these thoughts of Byzantine culture, my yearning for the islands and the ancient mysteries of prehistoric Britain is possible only through the traces and threads of my life that leave behind the idealized geometry of these paintings.
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