Work In Progress

Further to previous posts, here’s how far I’d got with this painting, as of 11pm last night. The flat white painting, which took HOURS to achieve, just wasn’t working. It looked too much like a ‘painting’. “But it is a painting, you twat”, says a voice and, as usual, I don’t listen to it. I’m after a very specific atmosphere, an image that opens up a vault of memories and sensations, and realised that what I needed was a flat winter Pennine sky, leaden and oppresive. The kind of sky under which Branwell Bronte went mad. After a full day painting nothing but layer upon layer of pale grey, it’s now done and I can finally crack on with the bird and the stones.

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