31 March 2024
30 March 2024
29 March 2024
28 March 2024
27 March 2024
26 March 2024
25 March 2024
24 March 2024
When I was a young teenager my mother had a friend from work who would often spend time with us. She was very nice, though a bit posh, clearly a class above, but I liked her. On one occasion we were all out together in the local shopping precinct when she spotted a black person (this was the early 70s). 'Oh I hate the blacks!' she blurted,'They should all go back to where they come from!' She never mentioned blacks again but from that moment on I found it very difficult to like her.
23 March 2024
Silence questions certitudes and dissolves apparent binary opposites. It reconfigures absence as presence, emptiness as fullness, quietness as expressivity, stillness as intensity of life.
22 March 2024
21 March 2024
20 March 2024
19 March 2024
18 March 2024
When I was a teenager I loved browsing through the National Geographic magazine in the public library. I remember one occasion looking at a pull-out photograph of the Amazon rainforest in which two European explorers gazed proudly at the camera. As I studied the picture I suddenly became aware of numerous smaller tribes people standing amongst the trees. I hadn't noticed them before, not because they were camoflaged, but because they looked part of the scene; they didn't stand out as something alien or other; they belonged there. And whereas the Europeans seemed to come out of the photo towards me, the natives literally receded into the trees. In fact they looked exactly like the trees – as though they had extruded up from the Earth beneath their feet. At the time I was struck by how insignificant and primitive the natives looked compared to the civilized Europeans who seemed much more like me. But now, my work, which is my day, everyday, aspires to become as those natives. As naked and as natural as they.
17 March 2024
We all carry trauma. If we didn't then we would be enlightened. The average modern life aims to keep trauma brushed under the carpet: everything is organised so that it never shows its ugly face. This leads to a life of depression, mild or extreme, the price most are prepared to pay for ease, comfort and seeming peace. It takes a special sort of person to willingly open the can of worms, peel off the scab and let the wound weep. And why do they do it? Because some need truth, they cannot live a lie. They much prefer the agony of facing truth to the comfort of hiding from truth. They have what I call soul.