‘Looking at the laws of perception, we see that perception becomes habitual, it becomes automatic. All our habits for example retreat into the area of the unconsciously automatic. Visually we may see an object as though it were ‘enveloped in a sack’. We know what it is by its configuration, but we see only its silhouette. Habitualization devours our lives. If whole areas of our life go on unconsciously, such times are as if they had never been.

Art exists that one may recover the sensation of life; it exists to make one feel things, to make the stone stony. The purpose of art is to impart the sensation of things as they are perceived and not as they are known. The technique of art is to make objects “unfamiliar”, to make forms difficult, to increase the difficulty and length of perception because the process of perception is an aesthetic end in itself and must be prolonged. Art removes the object from automated perception by making the familiar seem strange; that is defamiliarisation.’

- Victor Shklovsky in his essay ‘Art as technique’ in 1916

Over the years I have tended to focus on specific subjects for long periods of time. Many of these subjects have been particular places which have intrigued or drawn me. A connection is formed and a desire to explore, to dissect and pull things apart.  Part of this process of visually unpacking involves sitting with the subject, watching and listening. Observation and drawing always takes me on a journey over time, a journey of seeing differently, struggling with the tensions that present themselves on a given day, and persevering towards some sense of resolution.

I try to record the subject spontaneously, responding to specific moments which catch my eye. In a particular place, I become more attuned as to when and where these moments might arise, so I can to some extent anticipate a good time and hour to draw, but working outside these moments are still nearly always unexpected. That is in many ways the beauty of it, being alert to the unexpected moments, and being able to trust in that process. My own comprehension of what I might paint on a particular day is somewhat relinquished and in its place comes more of a freedom and openness as to what might transpire.

Working outside always requires preparation, and especially so in more extreme environments. Speed can be of the essence, with so many changing variables, and the desire to capture something seen or felt in the moment. I generally love working under this sense of pressure and find it helpful creatively because of the increased element of risk involved. You are challenged to push on the materials in these environments to see what works.

In the landscape I tend to work on the ground, both to provide some resistance to the wind and to enable the effective application of medium with my hands. I also often work with materials found on site, whether it be a piece of burnt wood from a fire, seawater, dried grasses, sand or fragments of stone. In the final stage back in the studio I will touch up work and sometimes rework aspects of a piece until it feels finished. There is often a fine line between something working and not, which is part of the nature of the work.

Many of my architectural drawings use condensed charcoal combined with black pigment, a dense black soot like material which is ladened onto the paper with my hands. I generally use traditional materials, and will work on paper, sustainable wood panels and linen. Oils, sanguine, grey earth pastels, natural pigments and charcoal are used directly onto the chosen surface. and inks are also often used.

Much of my process in drawing architecture is spending time with it. Through sketching one becomes more aware of proportions, tonal values and light. It is through repetition that I am able over time to pull out the aspects of a building which most appeal and hold the lines of the subject in my memory. This study of a subject brings license to loosen up my mark making, instil more feeling into the work, and to experiment.

February 2022