Dreamscapes
I don’t often remember my dreams, but when I do, the thing that usually stands out most to me is the space the dream took place rather than what actually happened there. I have recurring dreams, sometimes of real places like the one where I am running around the top corridor at my secondary school, but also of places that are purely imagined like the one where i’m in a vast piazza with sliding glass doors and fountains. During the pandemic and lockdowns of 2020, like many people, my dreams became really weird and particularly vivid. This series of paintings was made during that time, and although I did not intend to re-create those dream spaces, something about them became apparent as the paintings emerged.
No Sir, I didn’t do anything
Oil, Acrylic and Varnish on Plywood, 50 x 70 cm
In my hands I am holding a device with lots of knobs and switches. When I turn the knobs, it affects the colours of the sky, the direction of the clouds and the sounds around me. I push a button and lines of cardboard boxes fly out from somewhere and explode, opening out like umbrellas. A policeman walks up to me, I stand there stunned... No sir, I didn't do anything.
Signor Fox
Oil, Acrylic and Varnish on Plywood, 70 x 50 cm
Outside the window, foxes scream in the night, a vast tree branch sways in the wind. Under the surfaces, a face emerges. A long corridor leads its way out. The cracks in the dry ground anticipate the imminent storm, huge clods of water fall from the sky as the face smiles onwards, and the foxes take shelter under a parked car.
It came from everywhere and it went everywhere
Oil, Acrylic and Varnish on Plywood, 50 x 70 cm
(SOLD)
Walking is slow on these pebbles, as if the end keeps getting further and further away into the distance. Skirting the edge, land and sea are one, traces of a hundred years lay open and oxidised. The wind is low, but gentle. A rounded beeping sound fills the air, it circles, with the hungry seagulls up and into the endless flatness.
I can’t see all the way through, but I think there is something there
Oil, Acrylic and Varnish on Plywood, 70 x 50 cm
A vast space opens up, dry and dusty, yet liquid and soft. Sliding glass doors obscure the view, but there is something behind them appearing and disappearing. The remnants of a city, traces of people who lived there and the afterglow of their memories.