|The Black Series of Self Portraits|
Drawn January to February 2012 this is a selection, the full series being on my Facebook page.
|There is nothing more exhilarating than line, in drawing. It has a mystic power - but it must always be remembered that the line doesn't belong to the object it delineates, nor does it belong to the space around the object, nor to contiguous objects. It belongs to nothing - it is the conscience of seeing.|
I recline, on my haunches, seemingly relaxed as I attempt to capture my Self in the Glass. But the very air is electric, black, steel.
In the old age black was not counted fair, or if it were, it bore not beauty's name. But now is black beauty's successive heir, and beauty slandered with a bastard shame. [Shakespeare Sonnet 127]
'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed. [Shakespeare Sonnet 121]
In this black room I draw white lines on a black page, just as a condemned man feeds only on bread and water.
In this bare room there is only the most basic of furniture, and that ...
That mirror, which lusts after the light and wants to draw me into its voidal vortex, its black hole.
What gods are in the pit of this glass?
|The night is a vampiress - but even she feareth to taste my blood, for my blood is black ... black - shot through with silver shocks. How the Medusean doth fear this glass!|
|7th of February 2012. The snow fell over night. What else could I do but make a drawing? Drawing during the still of night, white on black - Occult Essence.|
|Ultimately, drawing is about
*line* - Klee's 'taking a line for a walk', however 'pedestrian' that
|Woodcut influence here. Of course, as I started to make this white on black drawings I immediately started to look at woodcuts, particularly those of the German Expressionists etc.|
|When line is pursued it begins to take on a patterning, distorting forms. In my case the distortion and attenuations are always from a psychological base. I don't need to tell the reader that these pictures are a psychic journal. And here let us remind ourselves that the situation for each picture is the same. The same environment, the same mirror, the same pencils and the same black drawing pad. And the same Self? There's the rub, it is the Self that varies so wildly from one moment to the next.|
|The mirror's surface at night seems to cackle with a black, burnt, shimmer, sucking out my eyes like the smoke from a naked bonfire.|
|Still Hiding ... Every Revealing is a Hiding.|