It started somewhere, some time ago. The images I make today are a residue of what I did before. It’s easier said then that I can trace it. The works I made at art school, even before I went there. The pictures I made as a boy, they all are in who I am today.
I remember a drawing I once made, I’m not quit sure it still exists but it was about a lonely stick. A simple sheet of paper with one simple stick drawn on it, on the right side of the paper. The center was empty.
It could have been a minimalist drawing except for the fact that I had not heard about minimalism at the time, I was 12.
Nevertheless, the drawing was a centerpiece of my work. Not that my work is about loneliness. No on the contrary. My work is about connections.
The paintings reflect how I feel. How I connect with the painting. Painting is a lonely process and I love this process, in this sense I love to be alone. With my own thoughts, my own paintings. I created and murder my own artwork. I alone make the decisions about how a piece of art is going to develop. That’s fine, I like it that way.
Today I made a drawing called Connected, it’s a good drawing, it shows how things on the paper have a relationship with each other, how they reach out and want to touch each other. Some parts floating, other parts hanging or being steadily stuck to the bottom of the paper. It’s a nice strong but fragile drawing.
Charcoal is fragile, if you make one wrong move the lovely black becomes a gray smudge. For this particular drawing I used pieces of an almond tree. The tree stood in our garden but was burned down by a bush fire. It was a good almond tree and now I think the best and last honor I can give him is to use parts of his branches for making an artwork.