The exhibition ‘Close By’ opens on December 4, featuring work by artists Phoebe Hughes and Abi Box.

A Masterworks Museum of Bermuda Art spokesperson said, “Opening on Thursday, December 4, 2025, with an artist reception from 5:30 – 7pm, Close By brings together the work of Phoebe Hughes and Abi Box, two painters whose practices intersect through a shared attentiveness to landscape, flora, and the steady, observational processes that shape their work.

“While both artists’ active printmaking practices initially drew them together, the influence of print appears here less as a direct technique and more as an undercurrent—surfacing in the subtle repetition of forms, the layering of marks, and the sensitivity to light that threads through their canvases.

“Hughes and Box approach the act of painting layer by layer, though often through contrasting working methods: Hughes, echoing the discipline of screenprinting, builds her images through calibrated layers that align with careful intention; Box, recalling the fluidity of monoprinting, embraces a more intuitive process, allowing layers to drift, merge, and find their own edges. Despite these differing approaches, both artists remain attuned to place and to the ways we move through, and often overlook, the environments that surround us.

“Throughout the exhibition, there is also a sensibility in the work that gestures toward what has long been described as a “Bermuda light,” with its glare and flare, its capacity to wash forms out or sharpen them into focus. Box and Hughes allow this light to push and pull their focus, to continually negotiate their subject, their gaze; reminding them to consider, and us to appreciate, what is kept, close, and what passes just, by.

The Abi Box Masterworks exhibition, Noise Maker, which recently opened in The Loren’s Mare-e Lounge, is suggestive of colourful, exotic landscapes. Yet, according to the artist’s statement, her paintings are born partly out of slapdashery, derived from fast and erratic drawings that have been thrown together in stolen moments with whatever is close to hand, such as biros, pencils, markers, felt-tips, or crayons.

All these artistic accomplishments have taken place in between Abi being the mother of two small children. Given this exhibition’s end product, one could almost believe they belie what she has described as her way of working; nevertheless, I do believe it’s all true, all seemingly an amazing result of multitasking.

I have some understanding of Abi’s methods of making art; her allowing things to just happen and never admitting to the ruination of anything.

Years ago when teaching drawing, I would place a variety of objects on a stand, for the students to draw. I discovered that if I just picked up a bunch of stuff and then dropped them on the stand, they would frequently organise themselves in a far better arrangement that I could have ever managed.

At this junction, a quote by the French writer, Andre Gide, seems fitting: “Art is the collaboration between God and the artist and the less the artist does, the better.”

This allowing things to happen, it seems, is part of Abi’s methodology, but also, she edits her work and sometimes paints out intrusions that get in there way of creating successful compositions. Her work is a mix of spontaneity and intention.

This Masterworks, Loren exhibition consists of only seven paintings. Given this small number, it provides the visitor the luxury of viewing each painting as paintings should be viewed – with care, thoughtfully. One can wander slowly through each painting; along its pathways, meeting whatever wherever. Indeed, this is an exhibition by Abi in Wanderland and she is allowing us along for the stroll.

I am intrigued by the exhibition’s title, Noise Maker. Furthermore, each painting has its own engaging title. One such caught my attention; Oh Yeah, another is Caught by the Morning.

One of my favourites is Mega Mixer. It’s a mix of warm, sunny colours, interspersed with cool blues indicating shade.

The paintings by Abi are pure visual poetry. One paragraph from the artist’s statement describes succinctly the details of her way of painting:

“These interactions, both intentional and unintentional, have driven this whole body of work, in some capacity towards texture.

“Visibly layered surfaces, thin translucent washes covered with rough and opaque, or heavily saturated brushwork. In the way that dry brushwork catches the weave of the canvas, like worn tapestries, the paintings have a patchy and threadbare quality to them.

“While simultaneous contrasts create a sense of depth; glowing opaque pastels pinging against dull atmospheric translucency.”

Make an effort to see this exhibition. You will enjoy the experience.

The direction my work has taken in recent years is born partly out of the slapdashery that comes with having added a second child to our family. Paintings derived from fast and erratic drawings that have been thrown together in stolen moments; drawn in whatever is close to hand, Biros, pencils, markers, felt-tips, crayons. Not always with a sketchbook nearby I now also have a folder labeled ‘floor drawings’. Structured with little intention, compositionally they have been worked out through trial and error. Working with masking tape and correction fluid, off-white clumsy daubs, obviously once mistakes, and tatty edges have become part of the poetry; drawing attention to the unintentional. Visually, the drawings have something to do with adding and taking away; some kind of alchemy happens digging in and out of the shapes on the page. Elements subtly appearing in the form of negative space, cut out of some other object already on the page and where something else has been stamped out. 

"I’ve found myself describing these surfaces as like worn tapestries. They have a patchy and threadbare quality to them in the way that the dry brushwork catches the weave of the canvas. The contrast between these two fields gives the paintings a sense of depth, glowing opaque pastels pinging against dull atmospheric translucency."

This year’s Bermuda National Gallery’s Bermuda Biennial Exhibition is the most cohesive ever and probably the smallest. Small is obvious, for the space designated for the Biennial has been limited to only the Humann, Young and the Sharon & Paul Gurtler galleries. The Watlington Room and the Ondaatje wing are excluded. The Watlington Room was last used in a Bermuda Biennial in 2012.

In the past, the Biennial included the entire BNG exhibition space and often the City Hall grounds and on one occasion even the City Hall Lobby.

The cohesiveness of this Biennial is not one of stylistic similarity however. It is stylistically wide ranging, from realism to abstraction. I use this designation to highlight the overall high quality of the art, meaning its craftsmanship and skill, as well as the underlying concepts. There is nothing that should be eliminated.

While this Biennial may be the most cohesive, it is also the least contentious. In the past, there were a notable few who appeared to intentionally push the boundaries of what was socially acceptable, be it in terms of race, religion, sexuality or politics.

So is this year’s Biennial a beautiful, appealing exhibition? Yes, yes. It’s one art lovers must see.

The jurors for this year’s BNG Biennial are Ebony G Patterson and Helen Toomer.

Patterson is no stranger to the BNG. In 2012 she had a solo art exhibition at the BNG. Since then she has had numerous exhibitions and awards, not only in Jamaica, her home country, but also the US and the UK.

Toomer has been an organiser of art events for over 15 years, primarily in the New York and Hudson Valley area. She points out that she is especially dedicated to uplifting women in the arts. Two-thirds of this year's Biennial Exhibition showcase art by women.

In the past, the Biennial, as indicated, took up the BNG’s entire exhibition space, but with the elimination of the Watlington Room and the Ondaatje wing from the show, space for the Biennial has been considerably contracted.

In the jurors’ catalogue statement, they wrote that “space too provided a guiding force for the works”. This begs the question; is it possible that the decision to eliminate certain works form the show, was made because of a limited exhibition space?

And now to the art in the 2024 BNG Biennial.

I was recently speaking with a local collector and asked him what his choice would be, if any, from this year’s BNG Biennial? Without hesitation, he said drawings by Jacqueline Alma. Her contribution to the Biennial, although modest in scale, is nevertheless spectacular. Her drawing skills are amazing.

Abi Box’s painting is a refreshing view of the world. Her painting, Noise Maker, is basically an exploration of paint, layers of paint and in that sense, it is an abstract. Although there is a suggestion of landscape, her underlying subject really is paint and what she can do with it.

Nadiyah Brown’s photograph shows that there is meaning in the ordinary, in story, in community for those whose eyes are wide open to the everyday.

Jordan Carey is a Bermudian kite-maker, whose work provokes the question; what are kites supposed to do? Fly of course, but to his BNG Biennial kite, he has affixed the image of a motor bike. Is Carey suggesting that motor bikes should also fly?

Analogue (film) photography is undergoing a revival, although it is doubtful it will ever be anything near what it once was.

Signe Constable is both a digital and analogue photographer. For the BNG Biennial, she has submitted two analogue photographs and her Fennel Way is especially engaging. It shows a sunny Bermuda lane, with fennel superimposed by means of a double exposure. In memory, I smell the fragrance of fennel.

James Cooper’s submission is surprising in that his work appears to be taking a new direction; an exceedingly beautiful new direction. In an earlier artist’s statement he described his art as being light-hearted. I saw in his earlier work something akin to “Pop”. I would not describe his current work as light-hearted, however. Their beauty trumps whatever light-hearted means.

There is a visual link between Cooper’s palmlike digital print called Untitled (Palms) and Keishunda Curtis’s nearby installation titled Family, in that she uses actual palm fronds as a metaphor for certain life concepts. The visual link between the two is coincidental, however.

I see in Curtis’s Family, the life cycle that we all go through, one way or another. We are born, grow, develop, mature, move through life’s stages into old age and hopefully we do it beautifully.

Over time, Curtis’s palm fronds have gone from green and fresh, to dry and brown. These are metaphors for life cycles.

Back in the 1950s, black velvet was frequently used as a ground upon which really cloying, overly decorative, cliché art was painted. I did even then realise, however, that there was nothing intrinsically wrong with black or any other colour velvet. Indeed, it is historically a luxury fabric. It was the manner of usage that cheapened it.

When I first encountered the art of Soleé Darrell, I did not realise that her ground was velvet. I did see her art as having considerable appeal however, and I was drawn to it, but only on close inspection did I realise that she was painting on ivory-coloured velvet. It is by this means that she is able to produce such softness, in her painting.

In Darrell’s artist statement, she indicates that her use of layers of mixed media can be seen as symbolising wounding and healing and as paths into the unknowns of life.

IN DE RAIN, a Gombey video by Dion the Creative, showcases a Gombey troupe dancing at night in the rain. At first I neglected taking the time to view it, thinking to myself, “not another Gombey cliché,” but when I did view it, I realised that this is serious stuff and beautiful to boot. Consider also the longstanding history of the Gombey, an important aspect of our history.

When I was a kid, a long time ago. I recall that Gombeys were a lot more ragged and fearsome. Today Gombeys are usually more colourful and entertaining.

As I was watching IN DE RAIN, diagonally across the room was Jahbarri Wilson’s Star’ erfolk, that caught my attention, first by its large size, but especially by its magical light. It’s about night fishing, recalling Picasso’s Night Fishing at Antibes; but as famous as Picasso’s painting is, I’ll take Jahbarri’s magic.

Christina Hutchings’ Five Lines of Thought is a standout assemblage that demands attention. I see it as the skeletal remains of Duchamp’s Nude Descending a Staircase, No 2. The linearity of the broken tape measures that make up the compositional verticals reminds me of the pioneering research into human locomotion by Etienne-Jules Marey. Marey’s Model wore black with a white stripe along the vertical length of his body. Marey’s photographs are reminiscent and obviously related to Duchamp’s Nude, but also lingers at a distance in Five Lines of thought.

Was Hutchings when creating her Biennial submission, thinking of Duchamp’s Nude? No, I’m fairly certain that was not the case, but in previous exhibitions, she has referenced Duchamp as an influence and influence has a funny way of subconsciously intruding, even when not in conscious thought.

Hutchings’ How High the Moon is a continuation of her Bermuda night sky series.

There is a remarkable amount of experimentation and inventiveness in this year’s Biennial and Johanna Flath’s triptych is such an example in that she has developed a way of working that is the outcome of experimentation. She begins by using plants, be they ferns, flowers or leaves etc, which she inks and prints on watercolour paper. she then enhances the print by working into it with whatever seems appropriate, such as paint or pastel. The end result is wonderful.

Daisy Gould’s small Polaroid emulsion photographs on watercolours paper are examples of photographic minimalism. There appears to be a veil drawn across the image, which Gould suggests gives them a look of daydreams or memories. In a take from the author E.F. Schumacher’s book, small is beautiful; small can also be beautiful in art.

Gherdai Hassell’s ambitious installation entitled Organic Matters, is a continuation of her interest and research into Nellie Musson’s book, Mind the Onion Seed. Hassell says that the book inspired her to think about home and the interiors we inhabit. Indeed her installation is a kind of surreal parlour, couch and all.

Although there is also within the installation suggestions of onion stalks, these could be seen as something otherwise as well. It brought to my mind the saying, “Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly.” These elongated stalks reminded me of spiders, hence the above quote.

At this point, because of space constraints, it is best that I finish this review with a sequel. The artists and art not yet considered deserve consideration.

“... plexiglas is completely repellent. It means working with something wet is difficult because the paint pools and fragments. But as it starts to dry, you can work into it with a bit more definition and you get these really lovely, crisp marks alongside these big pooling areas and it’s very satisfying.”

“There's so much room for error – which is also kind of a nice thing about it. It means, for me at least, that I don't get quite as attached to the plate that I'm painting on as I do to a painting because it could still get ruined in the printing process. It's quite brutal.”

Biennial has freed artists to explore the world as they see it.

  The 1992 opening of the Bermuda National Gallery and subsequently, the inauguration of its Biennial Exhibition was a major catalyst for developments in the visual arts in Bermuda.

Now 30 years on, it is useful to look back, to consider the impact this institution and its biennial has had on the cultural life of the Bermuda community.

The initial idea for a biennial was the suggestion of the late Dennis Sherwin and from the outset, the National Gallery invited international jurors to select the entries for each biennial. The thinking was and is that if the BNG held to its high standard, artists would strive to meet the challenge and indeed, they have.

So what kind of impact has the BNG Biennial had on the local art scene? For starters, the biennial has encouraged and freed Bermuda’s artists to explore the world as they, as individuals, see it. The upshot has been a greater variety of creative endeavours and expressions. Additionally, there has been over the last three decades, an overall improvement in art skills and techniques, plus a greater professionalism.

With this current, 2022 Biennial, over 70 artists submitted work, but only 32 artists had their work selected. I am told that the jurors were particularly demanding in upholding a high standard.

The jurors for the Biennial were, Alexandria Smith who is head of the painting department at the Royal College of Art, London and Claire Gilman, chief curator at the Drawing Centre, New York. This year’s Biennial also introduced a new component to the show, that of poetry and the juror for poetry was Richard Georges who is the first poet laureate from the British Virgin Islands. For this review my focus will be on the visual art, still, the poetry aspect of the show is beautifully exhibited.

This year’s visual arts submissions are wide ranging, including drawings, paintings, photography, videos, printmaking, sculpture and installations. Budget some time to attend the Biennial, it is thought provoking and deserving of your time.

Abi Box’s two abstract gestural paintings are notably bright, all sunshine really. One that got my attention is called, Silver Oyster Sun. Of her paintings, she says that she likes to think of the possibilities present in gesture and suggestion.

James Cooper’s two wooden totemic cutouts in painted plywood are in slight relief and since they are lit from multiple light sources, they cast multiple multicoloured shadows. These shadows are, in part what makes the work successful.

John Gardner’s three small hand drawn, multilayered images should be read as a singular artwork. They are reminiscent of complex city maps. In imagination one can wander down streets, alleyways etc. It also appears that these drawings were made on something already printed. Although small, they require time and close viewing.

Charlie Godet Thomas’s work defies categorisation; the work being a mix of drawing, painting and language. In his artist’s statement, he wrote that his painted works combine historical and contemporary methods and references. He likened his approach as Blakean in that he pairs language and imagery. Altogether, the meaning of the work is summarised in its title, which is Downpour Dream Song.

The work is about decline and downpour describes the downward trend expressed in the case through substance abuse. The work itself is on newsprint, which I suggest, was a purposeful choice as newsprint is highly acidic and will also self destruct in short order.

Gherdai Hassell continues her exploration into identity in her transparent layered work, which I see as a kind of genealogical tree. We usually know a fair amount about our parent’s lives and also our grandparents, but if we go back several generations, our knowledge often becomes more limited, until we have maybe only names or even gaps; completely unknown ancestors. In this Biennial piece, she uses layers of transparent fabric and aluminium rods.

Each layer has images that get smaller and more mysterious as we go back through the layers. This work suggests that we carry within us, aspects of our ancestry. We are who we are because of who they were.

Teresa Kirby Smith’s photographic triptych highlights the development of photography with three photographic techniques. The first is a cyanotype, an early photographic printing process that is typically blue. It was invented in 1841 by Sir John Herschel. The middle photograph is a gelatin silver print; the most commonly used process in black and white photography. The third photograph brings us up-to-date with a digital print. Each photograph is of a similar image; a double exposure of a rocky cliff face with cedar tree.

The double exposure can be read as a metaphor for the passing of time. This is of interest as we often think of photography as freezing time. The concept of space-time as is indicated in this triptych goes back to the pioneer photographer, Edweard Muybridge, the father of chronophotography and his research into human and animal locomotion and also cinematography.

Cynthia Kirkwood’s three submissions are enigmatic, mysterious really. All three are made with a variety of unusual materials, such as walnut ink, rosewater and various pigments, such as gold, mica and garnet. Each of her marks are by their very nature, beautiful little gems. These small works, it seems are the product of creative intuition, meaning they are produced without much conscious thought.

Kirkwood says that her Triple Spinning Balance, came to her in a dream. The concept of spinning is a fundamental aspect of all nature, from the sub atomic level to that of the galactic. There is even some thought that the universe itself is spinning. Although Kirkwood’s art is small, her concepts are huge.

From what I recall from past exhibitions, Catherine Lapsley’s work is usually based on the grid, which tends to the static, but in her current work, the grid takes off from the more fixed left to a sweeping diagonal on the right, This suggests swift movement. At the same time the left is darker, more greenish, while the right is dominated by a progressively lighter blue, especially on the upper right which enhances this sense of motion.

Kevin Morris is up to his intricately, densely packed overall imagery of just about everything you can imagine, from architectural elements, Greek Orthodox iconography and paraphernalia to Persian carpets and Viking ships. You name it, you will most likely find it. The overall impact to all this upfront, perched on the picture plane imagery magnifies a great sense of magnificent flatness. Like several other works in this show, this highly engaging autobiographical painting requires the viewer’s considerable time.

It is possible to see Bryan Richie’s lithograph from several different perspectives, as a cardboard box that has caught fire to a high-rise building that is on fire. The box cum building is surrounded by four toylike helicopters. I say toy; for each vehicle is attached to the ground by what appears to be wires (or is it a water hose?). One can guess that they are some kind of fire fighting rotorcraft. Flames and smoke are seen emitting from the box/building’s top, which then magically become flowers. This is a wonderfully imaginative work of art.

Michael Walsh’s contribution to the Biennial recalls the pessimism of Ecclesiastes. Here is a quote from the artists’s statement: “Our desire to prove ourselves worthy alienates us from each other, and from experiencing the whole imagined systems of value, fabricate division. Recognising beauty creates ugliness.”

The work itself is called, Nothing Remains. Well not quite. What remains are bones set in concrete. Back to Ecclesiastes; another quote: “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity. What profit hath a man of all his Labour which he taketh under the sun. One generation passeth away and another generation cometh.” It's a work that certainly grabs your attention.

Sabriyya Harvey’s Over de Boundary, is of course about cricket, still, it got me thinking about boundaries generally. We live with all kinds of boundaries, many of which are shifting enough to create tensions and stress. In her impressive painting, the boundary is a see-through red plastic, that at least allows us to see the game, if even from a distance.

Alex Allardyce’s monoprint recalls the Protracter Series created by Frank Stella back in the late 1960s. Having looked at this artist’s website, I did see that he has printed this same image in a variety of different colours. The term; “monoprint” needs some explaining however. It can mean the artist made only one print from a plate that could have been used to make multiple prints. It can also mean the making of one print from a plate that by its nature can only make one print.

In the case of this Biennial submission, the artist’s use of monoprint is of the former definition. The inspiration for this image was a decorative concrete block that inspired the artist/architect during lockdown.

AB Wilson’s beautiful green photograph is an extension of her experiences with nature, trees in particular. Her apt title is The Language of Green Things In her statement, she writes: “Imagine if humans had the language to communicate with trees, the leaves would absorb our meaning and we, in turn, would embrace their syllables.”

An Act of Erasure (Neriah’s Hill), a photograph by Rachel Simons, is of an Ireland Island ruin that draws attention to a unique history. Ruins generally stimulate ones imagination, in that their histories are an aspect of human history, which frequently, unfortunately have become obscured through the passage of time.

Ruins often have about them an aura of mystery. Note: this photograph is accompanied by an audio installation with the sounds of natural Bermuda. Its worth spending time with this installation especially if you let your imagination wander, while listening to the sounds of kiskadees and other melodies of nature.

In attempting to review the BNG Biennial in more than a superficial manner, but keeping in mind the necessity of concision, I have had to eliminate numerous Biennial participants that deserve recognition. This is unfortunate and for me, regretful, painful really. In writing reviews, it's my intension to inform the general public as best I can, but also encourage the arts and artists.

The BNG Biennial continues through December 2022 which allows time for multiple visits. The nature of this show is such that revisits help us see each work with increasing insightfulness.

- Charles Zuill

Bermuda through fresh eyes

Beauty is a fundamental human need, albeit one that is often overlooked, but at the peril of diminished living. Beauty is a conveyor of joy.

The current exhibition in the Rick Fairies Gallery at Masterworks Museum of Bermuda Art is one of a gentle beauty.

Its primary feature is that of colour, muted colour. The title if the show is: Yellow Felt Tip. The artist is Abi Box.

The exhibition consists of twelve paintings, all rectangular and of similar size. None are very large or all that tiny.

The artist’s way of painting is one of layered forms and colours, one on top of the other in scumbles of dry acrylic paint.

This method of painting allows that which is beneath to show through the haze of that which is above.

This gives these paintings a sense of depth, while at the same time respecting the surface, the flatness of these paintings.

Additionally, the artist has given each painting a catchy title, such as Beach Bum, or Mint Choc, Chip.

The titles, while suggesting a subject, never is so explicit as to be definite, nevertheless, they give a sense of mood.

To me they say summertime, picnics, beach parties and so on.

I am reminded of the atmosphere depicted in many impressionist paintings, even though her manner of painting is a far cry from Impressionism.

The artist Abi Box hails from the UK, from Yorkshire. She is a graduate of the Camberwell College of Art in London, and has been living here in Bermuda for the past five years.

One of the fascinating aspects of seeing art about Bermuda as seen through fresh eyes, through eyes from another landscape, is how that vision helps us locals also see the beauty of our island in new ways.

This is an exhibition that is joyous and I think you, the general public will also enjoy it too. It continues through May 17 at Masterworks Museum of Bermuda Art

“I’m drawn more to the painterly qualities within sculpture. I’ve found a lot of inspiration in the work of Rebecca Warren, whose bodily sculptures could almost be three dimensional paintings; raw, clunky structures, boobs and butts rather horrifically rearranged. They’re thrown together, full of finger marks, fleshy, as though the clay has been grabbed at. They have a defiantly unfinished, almost ugly quality to them, and I find that rawness gutsy, it dares me to hold on to the rough edges within my own work, to keep the clumsy lines, muddy colours, and indulge in the grittiness and unpredictability of paint.”

I want to make spacious, minimal, balanced paintings, I want to make awkward, messy, chockablock paintings.  I’d like to make both kinds of painting at the same time, and then there’s the risk, every time, of making a bad painting.  The good paintings are so often accidental, ignorantly brave and beautifully reckless.

I joke that I make my best and most interesting marks when I’m not looking at the page at all but there is some truth to it.

More than anything I’m interested in the fundamentals of painting and mark making.  All the ways paint can be put to canvas and the ways in which a mark might be made.  The depth and contrast to be found between dry, scratchy lines, and dripped, poured, wet translucent pools of colour.  Taking things apart on the page, the confidence or uncertainty behind specific marks.

Walking through woods and through jungle, arguments of branches interrupted by leafy debris, trekking across hills and rugged terrain all mossy green, brown, ochre and burnt mauve, unevenly knitted together, knotty and folded hills.  A dichotomy of painterly gestures and sense of place, painting as poetry makes sense to me, translation and interpretation, visual descriptions poetically detached from reality.  

SEP 2020

I want to make spacious, minimal, balanced paintings, I want to make awkward, messy, chockablock paintings.  I’d like to make both kinds of painting at the same time, and then there’s the risk, every time, of making a bad painting.  The good paintings are so often accidental, ignorantly brave and beautifully reckless. (2018 CHOCKABLOCK)

I joke that I make my best and most interesting marks when I’m not looking at the page at all but there is some truth to it.  (2017 DRAWINGS)

More than anything I’m interested in the fundamentals of painting and mark making.  All the ways paint can be put to canvas and the ways in which a mark might be made.  The depth and contrast to be found between dry, scratchy lines, and dripped, poured, wet translucent pools of colour.  (2019 WINDSWEPT)  Taking things apart on the page, the confidence or uncertainty behind specific marks.  (2017 WORLDS APART)

Walking through woods and through jungle, arguments of branches interrupted by leafy debris, trekking across hills and rugged terrain all mossy green, brown, ochre and burnt mauve, unevenly knitted together, knotty and folded hills.  (STIWDIO MAELOR BLOG 2016) A dichotomy of painterly gestures and sense of place (2017 WORLDS APART), painting as poetry makes sense to me, translation and interpretation (2018 CHOCKABLOCK), visual descriptions poetically detached from reality (2017 JUNGLE SALAD).  

RoyalGazette.com

“Each painting is a bit of a hybrid [derived from both sketches and photography), which helps to put distance between me and the reality of whatever it is I’m painting.  A lot of what I do involves distracting myself away from conscious decision-making.  I sometimes place a textured grid between the pages of my sketchbook which forces me to make very messy drawings, the grid interrupting any hope of a straight line.

I joke that I make my best paintings when I’m not looking at the canvas at all, but there is some truth to that; my best pieces are full of accidents.”

Additional reading: 

More than anything I'm interested in the fundamentals of painting and mark making. All the ways paint can be put to canvas and the ways in which a mark might be made. Making a line or mapping out an area, having a sketchy or sculptural quality, minimal or packed full. The depth and contrast to be found between dry, scratchy lines, and dripped, poured, wet translucent pools of colour. I’m interested in using this vocabulary of mark making to share observations, to translate what I see into something different. As with words in poetry, finding new ways to visually describe something, a shape, some distance, a sense of place. The most interesting of marks being the semi unconscious kind that arrive from my concentration being focused on the act of looking.

I often paint from the same image more than once, to explore different translations of the same thing, and sometimes I combine multiple images into the same painting, constructing them together or layering one on top of another, encouraging recklessness.  Layering plays a big part, I try not to hold back from wiping out large areas of a piece with something new, and occasionally, when I feel there’s no space left to work with, I’ll re-prime the whole lot back to white.  The first painting is never completely lost, a trace of it is left behind, building up character like an old chalkboard.  I work in bursts, often taking long breaks from a piece, hanging it on the wall at home and living with it a while, coming back to it later with fresh eyes and new ideas.  More often than not my painting is motivated by something that has worked well in one piece and that I want to further explore in another.  In this way, in finishing a piece, it's fairly unusual for me to have realised the intentions I had when I started.

The Plexiglass works are a relatively new material for me, a new surface on which to experiment with mark making.  Whereas primed canvas has a texture to it, and is porous, Plexi is incredibly smooth and non-absorbent.  Depending on the viscosity of the paint, the brush marks will sit on top of the Plexi and retain their structure, individual hair marks, the pauses and hesitations of the hand movements.  If the paint is more fluid it will pool on the surface, sometimes allowing for the pigment to fragment, creating grainy, cosmic-like patterns.'

Hallway painting selfie shot, nailed it.  Hola, I’m @abi_box, taking over @contemporary_collective’s instagram account for as long as they’ll have me

Currently I’m lucky enough to be working between UK and Bermuda.  There’s somewhat of a contrast between my UK studio (industrial estate, east London), and working outdoors amidst tropical, jungle, humid Bermuda.

The painting in the photo doesn’t have a title yet.  Our house is full of only just finished (/not-sure-if-it’s-finished-yet) pieces that also don’t have names

TTFN

I enjoy the poetry in painting, to deconstruct and re-interpret, suggest.  I want to make good marks, in response to, but not bound by, properly looking.

I work directly from life and also from photos, often painting from two different images, one thing on top of another.  I also make scribbly drawings to work from.  Armed with only a scrappy piece of lined paper and a biro, I feel more able to be loose and unruly.  Depending on how much of this mess crosses over onto the canvas, compositionally I vary between making spacious, minimal, balanced paintings, to awkward, fuelled, chockablock paintings.

Side note: I’ve also always been interested in what it is that I think makes a bad painting.  I dislike anything too symmetrical, or neat, and there’s a tonne of stuff that’s difficult to put my finger on; a lot of my paintings get binned.  That said, it can often help to go through a hate stage, to feel there’s nothing to loose, free to be reckless.

📸 Licking the Floor II - 2018 - Oil on Board - 40 x 30 cm, Sketchbook drawing, Work in progress, Windswept - 2018 - Oil on Canvas - 4 x 3 ft, Jungle Salad - 2018 - Oil on Canvas, Sketchbook drawing, Sketchbook drawing, Close up, It lit the room with splendour wild - 2017 - Oil on Board - 23 x 18 cm, Leafy Lu - 2018 - Oil on Canvas - 23 x 18 cm

📸 Bad Limbs by Rebecca Molloy.

This girl.

Our work is very different but I love the way Molloy’s head works.  We talk a lot and I like where our conversations go.  I also massively respect the way she doesn’t muck about when it comes to getting on with the doing of an idea.  I don’t imagine anyone else could have persuaded me to grind up to their newly made cactus sculpture for any such dream-like video sequence.

Occasionally I swap canvas for clear sheets of Perspex, which lead recently to Jon Sharples and Stuart J Evans (#simmonscontemporary collection) commissioning me to make a piece for a retired advertising light-box they have located in their office building.

I really enjoyed this project, for me it brought with it a lot of firsts, including the process of having a painting scanned and reproduced in print.  From the get go, especially with the print process in mind and the difference in scale, much of my intrigue revolved around the idea of being able to blow up small intricate brushstrokes into big sweeping ones.  Somewhat unexpectedly, the result combines both the intricacy and the massive-ness.  It now looks as though the painting has been placed under a microscope, appearing almost cosmic-like.  I find something new in this piece every time I see it and I’d be keen to work in this way again.

📸 With Abandon - 2017 - UV Print direct to Acrylic - 181 x 121 cm - available to see in the entrance at CityPoint building, Moorgate.

I like it when titles add a sense of place to a piece.  I pick up bits and pieces listening to the radio, song lyrics, bits of conversation, poems. ‘An Argument of branches’ came from my own writing during my time in Peru in the rainforest, ‘Fresh Water and Something Shiny’ from a conversation I had with poet Lois Jones about how to make a poet happy, ‘Humidity and Compression’ a daft conversation I had with my friend Tim about helmet hair, ‘Licking the Floor’ (a phrase which struck me as equally messy as the painting) borrowed from a poem by Keri Smith called ‘A Case for Not Doing Acid on the Beach’, and ‘Losing Our Minds Together’ .. I could have sworn this was a song lyric.. but I can’t for the life of me remember what from 🧐.

The paintings in the photo above are all still nameless (some not even finished), all apart from the one bottom right which is called Leafy Lu.  The title didn’t come from anything in particular, they just kind of fell together and stuck.

📸 small works, in situ at home

#loispjones #kerismith 

I’ll leave you with an image of a painting I made recently for a couple of friends who had just finished renovating their house (@ourleytonhouse).

When we talked together about the commission they explained the space would include indoor plants, and so to contrast that, they were mostly drawn to the wildlife in my work being on the deconstructed, expressive end of the spectrum.  Fragmented, trees, leaves, landscape explosions .. pot plants but not as we know them.  Couldn’t be more pleased with how it turned out, total chaos.

Cheers for following 💥⚡️ .

BYE

📸 Windswept - 2018 - Oil on Canvas - 3ft x 4ft

Painting as poetry makes sense to me. I like to think of the possibilities present in gesture and suggestion, or to think of light as something so bright that it might be audible. When I paint, my mind is in constant flux for how a painting can be made, constructed, pieced together, and subsequently read and understood. I want to make spacious, minimal, balanced paintings, I want to make awkward, messy, chockablock paintings. I’d like to make both kinds of painting at the same time, and then there’s the risk, every time, of making a bad painting. The good paintings are so often accidental, ignorantly brave and beautifully reckless.