I don’t dream. I put this down to the prolonged period of insomnia that I suffered after my divorce, however, I have recently been waking up with fragments of an image that has coincided with my rekindled interest in painting.
I’m colour blind; good old fashioned Red / Green combo and this has always been a crutch to stop myself from painting. Who wants a violet sky and magenta grass? Well it turns out that plenty of people do provided the piece is well executed and within an abstract framework, and there lies the dilemma.
Painting abstracts, to me, is not about “Not being able to paint properly” or “Not having studied for X years at Art School”, it is primarily concerned with expression and partly about technique; the proportions of these two factors is what divides the opinion. I suppose the “Expression ‘v’ Technique” debate is the art world equivalent of the chicken and the egg scenario.
We live in an existential world, trees grow upwards, grass is green, sky is on top etc. To challenge these representations (visually) means to think and to think is a powerful life skill.
It is said as humans we use only 10% of our brain’s capacity and the average time spent looking at artwork in a gallery is less than 30 seconds and in that 30 seconds we make broad sweeping generalisations not only about the piece “Doesn’t look like a tree” but also about the artist “My kid could do that” so may I suggest that if your child can emote like Jackson Pollock then nurture and treasure that child beyond your earthly years for they have that rare and precious gift of independent thought.
My artwork is my own, through my eyes, echoes of my past and shaped by my hand. If this piece progresses my painterly technique that’s a bonus; If it strikes a chord with another human well that’s much better but if it hangs on my wall and engages my thoughts every time I look at it then it has achieved it’s purpose.
Abstracts are about painting the emotion not the object. If you want a picture, take a photograph.
Words and Pictures © D. Archer. December 2015
Has it always been like this?
inside this low, living headache
where everyone is closed or taken;
where the pressure is blinding
and the quiet assumptions are the worst.
The mirror lies,
I’m not the only one in this room
as the argument begins
“What lies beneath my ink stained skin?”
Words and Pictures © D. Archer. November 2015. A mixed media effort of watercolours and Photoshop.
(C) David Archer. July 2015
At the bottom of Pandora’s box
I found an I.O.U.
© D. Archer . June 2015
In hindsight it may not have been such a good idea to read a selection of Sylvia Path before going to bed. It is very very unusual for me to dream or in fact to wake up with any thoughts in my head. This morning I woke up to the sound of rain.
I like rain.
What words can I give you tonight
to place under your pillow,
to rest your head against the world
and dream of our tomorrow?
How can I speak of love
when it is but a fraction of what I feel,
why should I live in dreams
when I have you
and you are real.
© D. Archer December 2013
You tell me
that it’s all over,
I tell you
that it’s not over,
we go around in a perfect circle
and never speak again.
© David Archer. July 2013.
I stand in the shadow of a towering goodbye
with a sin in my head I cultivated a fire;
the pills, dated for convenience
in the cabinet holed for a heart
stretch out in their foil covered graves,
all the days of the week,
all the dose the same.
In the frost reflected glass
I see your fragile outline fading,
I sit in a circle of one
and to yesterdays same crowd
announce my faults and failings;
I listen to the mocking silence,
the phone reluctant to ring and
in the pennyless minute
I’ll hold my own hand
for as long as I can
until I slip into the calming black
that comes to cover
all remembered things.
© D. Archer. December 2012
I want to wake up
facing a face not a wall;
this is my waking dream
not another sleepless metaphor.
© D. Archer. November 2012
Note: Strange how sometimes we wake up with words in our heads, quite unusual for me so I thought I’d commit it to paper before I forgot.
2pm and my mind thinks of breakfast
I see a clock and subconsciously subtract five;
10pm and I forever think of traffic
2am finds me answering my own questions
as I await dawns breaking light.
© D. Archer May 2012