Felt a little lost yesterday and over the weekend, darting from one thing to another in an unconstructive way. This was partly due to the circumstance of needing to visit Cotebrook on three consecutive days, that plus charging into developing 12 paintings at once, and aiming to write bits of my book - scattergun plans.
Last night I listened to my latest music purchase, Queen's The Miracle, an album which was (when it was released) our first CD purchase for our new and amazing CD player when I was 16 years old. Oddly, my memory of this event takes place in our old house in Culland Street, even though we left there in 1985 or so. Anyway, I've had Queen's albums up to The Game for years, but have recently decided to buy the rest as a reward for different milestones. I've bought the Deluxe Version, which comes in rubbishy cardboard packaging which went immediately into the bin; but the music is brilliant, especially the second CD. I didn't like the album much in the 1980s, but now I love it.
Last night I sang along, and have even jammed along on guitar, which is always great fun. At night though, I fell into a despair, and today too.
Today I think this is a new disease: John Deaconitis. I used to think that John, the so-called 'quiet member' of the band, somehow let the band down by leaving Brian and Roger to tirelessly (in every sense) perform and promote Queen since Freddie Mercury's death. Queen are uniquely a band with a fixed canon (we must discount the Queen and Paul Rodgers album); and Brian and Roger have promoted their legacy and performed their past works for longer, now, than the band itself was active.
John wrote 'I Want To Break Free', and I felt this was a not-so-hidden message. I suddenly felt that he was the most emotional member of the band, perhaps the most fragile. I thought of Anthony Phillips, the original guitarist from Genesis who couldn't cope with the pressure of being in a band and quit after one or two gigs. I, with Deaconitis, was hit again with the devastation of Freddie Mercury's death, and suddenly felt unable to continue in art. I thought of the desperate quest for financial security, which is an ever-present trap for art; nobody is secure, the engine of success is to charge forwards aflame. For an artist, art or death must be the only options, and only in death can an artist succeed.
In the morning I wrote a few more words to my oil painting book, then investigated plans for making some new stands for art photography, though these were distractions from my main plans of painting; these unwelcome distractions due to my searching brain. Then, at last, I felt cured and started to work on one of the new painting ideas. One way to limit being overwhelmed is to plan works in group of 4. Here's the original idea:
The painting is as much a mood as anything, perhaps a quest for love or recognition. I expanded this a little, using a dandelion as a visual theme. Now the figure in repose, perhaps like the woman in The Untouchable Strawberry, is a monolith and monument. I changed the title to 'All Things Bright And Beautiful'.
In my mind, it's a funerary monument, yet organic and beset with weeds, a monument to art. It's not so much personal as heroic and romantic. I'll complete the drawing transfer this evening. Tomorrow I aim to paint Kafka. Onwards we charge.
