Sanctuary
Sunday morning, and I walk into Mickey D’s for a cup of coffee. It's early, and already there is a child glued to a screen screaming, a lady watching a soap opera on her phone, and a guy underneath the loudspeaker listening to the radio he has brought in, apparently to compete with the music. I quickly finished the coffee to then walk into the Sunday morning mall experience, with loud music playing to customers that haven't even arrived yet; I put my coat back on and went for a walk.
Over the dual-carriageway, and then over the railway bridge, I stopped at a stream that runs by the tracks. All I could hear were unseen pigeons, cooing from a place of safety. The silence was cotton-wool, cloud, fine mist, marshmallow-like in its comforting softness. My nerves stopped vibrating and I slowly followed the bank with my eyes drawn down. The pathway was filled with autumn: ochres and siennas and umbers: this is my palette. I studied how the wind and the leaves had painted the ground, and I experienced the repairing of a jarred nervous system.
These colours invoke a childhood that I created for myself, away from the horror of family. This palette, combined with particular brushstrokes and visual embellishments is sanctuary on canvas, and is as close to an artist's statement as I will ever get. I used to wax lyrical with my statements, but now it's simple:
“Sanctuary.