September - 2017
Extracts from, It Fell From an Unknown Height

After about twenty years since I last did some painting having studied it at college and abandoning it when I started my degree in animation, I've decided to get the brushes out again. I find it all very relaxing and although I've since forgotten how to properly use the oils, I'm having a lot of fun with it. The flat absolutely fucking stinks now though. I think it was Egon Schiele who said something along the lines of, when he changed from oils to another medium so that his work would look like that of someone he admired, that painting is simply the process of learning how to use paint and not how something may look. In all honesty, painting keeps me off the booze. I find it calming and relaxing and a pleasant distraction. It also gives me something to focus on creatively whilst I take a short break from photography.

The first time I photographed Pride, I was able to merge effortlessly into the parade and walk along with them, taking photographs of the bystanders and those along the fringes. However, a few years later, it seems that anyone wanting to walk with the parade must have an official Pride pass in order to do so. I went there early as usual, to get some set-up shots but was immediately told by someone that the roads were for press photographers only and I'd have to stand behind the barriers. I showed him my standard press card which was enough for him to allow me. Spoke with a few photographers I'd got to know over the years covering protests and whatnot, but soon got bored waiting around some celebrity-or-other. After a couple of hours, I was done.

In bed, I spend ten minutes screen-scrolling along streets in America on Google Maps on my phone. I don't know where I was scrolling. I just wanted to see some roads. I end up in LA. I finger-scroll down a long road. I notice the corner of buildings at every junction. Each building with it's own unique colour and shadow-play. I'm drawn to the corners. I hungrily scroll my way down the street, a street that seems to have no end, which is fine by me - lots of corners. I love the colours and the shadows and take screenshots of them on my phone. I tell myself to go there and get some nice medium format photographs of these corners. But I know I'll never get there. It's something someone there can get done in a weekend but a complete and utter journey of expense if I were to attempt it. I save my screenshots. I guess I could find some corners here, but I imagine they're pretty drab, grey and boring. Or maybe I'll be surprised at what's to be found.

H'm .... The painting is coming along fine. I am having to adjust it every other day or so because my proportions are all over the fucking place and the eyes were too far apart and the ear was crap and the rest was just completely shit, so I've been going over it with charcoal to re-position an eye, which means I have to re-position a complete side of the body - I don't mind any of this. I'll simply keep going until I feel comfortable with the result. As the painting stands, I am neither here-nor-there with it; I don't hate it but I don't love it either. I also don't mind that it seems to be taking me forever. When I was younger, I'd get everything pretty much done in an afternoon. Now I don't mind however much time passes until it's completed.