I have been thinking about colour. Looking at my studio, everything feels a bit dead. They all merge together with the pale, fleshy tones. It is not so uplifting. Whether I want my work to be 'uplifting' or not, I dont know. I have the possibility of being given old climbing ropes, which are coloured. Initially I was not interested, but am beginning to think that I cannot afford to be fussy, and why am I so stubbornly ruling out colour?
Painting covers up the surface of the materials used, which seems like hiding something. A sense of shame. It denies the material's qualities and seems a strange thing to do. But dont knock it till you've tried it.
Additionally, I am still digging holes in my mind. Why is art important? It's a question that doesn't lead very far, but I feel that it is a question that you should be able to answer for yourself if you are to spend your life doing it. Otherwise there is no sense. No one wants to live without a reason or meaning. Art provokes thought. It is an escape from reality and is a way of dealing with reality. It's enjoyable and engages other senses than reading and discussing. Prehaps we need art in our culture to give a representation of the imagination and the desire for beauty and enjoyment that so much of our culture denies us. Despite being able to give a few possible justifications, I am consistently running these concepts through my head to convince myself.
But I do love Art and want to spend the rest of my life doing it and being involved in it. And it's that pleasure that doesnt seem like a valid reason for it. Maybe I am wrong. Love for something is a good enough reason as any.