‘The subject matter of Creation is Chaos’-The Plasmic Image, Barnett Newman.
While working, I see the possibility of multiple stories jumping out from the artwork. It is a sort of cross-referencing, both directly and in the mind; at being explicit in a crude way that could rob the work of its ‘reading’ as poetry. Beyond visuals, one has forced in the literalness of text.
In moments of quiet, the various elements are then reunited with firm brushstrokes. I blur hard edges, bringing in smooth transitions and coherence to the formal elements of the picture. When I cut bits of magazine for their color, I am surprised by the sudden change that happens to the cutouts when they are ‘relocated’ into the canvas. They acquire separateness, an abstract nature. The soft pastel colors used in magazines have subtle transitions generally. I take the textures of cloth, hair and other patterns and start reinforcing. I take from here, forget it, come back to look at it again and again. The text of the magazine print suggests a complex fusion of ideas. That is how art mimics life- things do not stand-alone. Whole lines of disjointed phrases are included as the fast whiff of a brush.
Ruth, Orpah and Naomi are three women whose destinies are tied through marriage. Then, their characters evolved. This work deals with the theme of famine, migration and marriage, and how it affects the lives of three women from the biblical story of Ruth. The similarities in the cultures of the Jews and the Igbo people of Nigeria make it a familiar story. The work of Art is first an aesthetic statement, then come the stories of people seeing, interpreting and pushing deeper into the picture plane. We try to find sure footing when confronted with the otherworldly encounter with a painting. People take what will become theirs, and then there is the mindset of the artist- usually suggested by the title of the work. We must come again and again to see. Chaos becomes something beautiful.
It was a sunny afternoon in Maboneng
I passed by two friendly lovers
That mingled with the shades
Overhead loomed gigantic portrait of bare-chested Nelson
Poised as though ready to take on Amin
It was a beautiful portrait
But again, should I envy a man in his prime
After helping him regain his father’s throne,
Myself, a fellow prince?
To all casualties of Xenophobia, dead and yet living. 28/02/2017.
Line is everything- gestures loaded with a complexity of meanings. These are multiple influences and references flailing in all directions as in dance, with the intent of revealing the greatest conflict inflicting the human spirit. The nuances of Time and Space transcended by the triumphs of the human spirit, fusing both together in new dimensions deeper in the recesses of consciousness. There is a hesitance borne out of awe, of all the dignity, the glory of living in these times, the melancholy of our times. Form and Context will never again remain the same. Effectual result goes beyond the way to go there. The creative knows these things. Maybe that is why stands apart as both observer, and artificer, dancer and song.
(In honor of Obiora Udechukwu, and those following).Buy the new book at http://www.skira.net/en/books/obiora-udechukwu
Some months back, I promised a friend that the series A Thousand Cattle, Two Hills will be pushed till I have a thousand artworks! Not being the most meticulous person/ artist, I have not been counting. I could always stop at some point and ask anyone to also add the number of ‘cattle’ portrayed in the pieces as ‘individual cattle’! ‘They say the system works but we wont let it(sang Tracy Chapman) I am still looking for that system. There is a formal redirection towards a disintegrating world, where bedlam reigns and colour Red is the new Green. Reality is a horror movie of whirling beasts floating in space. Its all bullshit, really. Await another life, or wake up screaming.
If there is no barking
Sleep well in my arms
When the hairs aren’t so much
Feel mine growing in your touch
I won’t only lick you
I will say how it tastes
I will not only sit by you
We will have conversations about positions
Yours, and mine
So, tell me, though there is no collar on my neck
Am I not your new pet?
So sweet, so light-Such pleasure brings pain
Brown to white cling, bringing imperfections to light,
Again we lunge for it-so dark, so sweet
To our hearts’ delight,
Brown on white so sweet, brings light to our eyes,
Yet shapes us as though misaligned,
Separate from the white rows,
Below and above, yet in line.
So sweet, yet with so much sadness wrapped, full of holes.
The smile is so true,
Not blood pumping-something in the heart alights,
Butterfly on blooming flower.