The magic of defying darkness

The darkness was that mid-winter kind of blackness. There was no moon to gild the night and the stars were hiding. The heavens above me were a huge, aphotic void.

The town was deserted. As I walked through pools of light from the street lamps, the crunch of my footsteps echoed off silent buildings.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and shrunk down into my scarf as a bitter-cold wind skipped and twisted through the roads, rattling Christmas wreaths on front doors and clattering bin lids.

And then I became aware of a beautiful sound. Like sparkling aural diamonds, it was coming from the tree branches.

I stopped to listen. Birdsong!

What kind of creature has a heart big enough to sing with such joy and hope when the world around it has withdrawn into the shadows?

This was a job for Google. And the answer was my brother's namesake, the robin.

It made me realise that courage doesn't always have to come in the shape of a roaring lion. Sometimes a tiny little bird can be just as strong.

Pearl

Prints of this painting are available here

The magic of everynow

‘Gone are the days when I didn’t need glasses, I’m afraid.’ The elderly gentleman leans over in his seat, rummaging around in a sturdy, battle-scarred briefcase. ‘Would you like a newspaper, George?'

‘Well I bought a Daily Mail earlier. Terrible rag I know, but...’ George, bespectacled and sporting a valiant whisper of snow-white hair, seems to be disappearing into his starched suit, a little bit like a tortoise.

‘Oh no, this isn’t what we voted for, a Norway thing,’ says his friend, peering at the Evening Standard he has just shaken out. Another man, sitting in an adjacent seat, flicks his eyes in irritation at their chatter. 

‘What’s that then?’

‘Well we still have to pay money don’t we?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ mutters George, apparently hopeful of steering the conversation away from politics. 

A guy with red socks, a ring in his ear and a bleached quiff, is sitting next to an orange Sainsbury bag that looks like it could be stuffed with his great grandmother’s mink coat.

A brown-skinned girl with silvery-violet hair stares vacantly into space as she chews on gum. I can hear the clattering sound in her earphones from here.

A young couple hold hands while they both gaze at their phones in silence, heads tilted towards the spellbinding, glowing screens.

And none of them have any idea that I’m sitting here writing about them as we rattle through the night on the last train home from London.

People ask me, where do you get your inspiration from?

It’s everywhere and now...

Pearl

The magic of other paths

Back in the summer, when the train I was travelling on pulled into the next station, a young woman blew in through the doors and hurled herself into the seat across from me.

She was rail thin, her T shirt and tracksuit bottoms hanging off her frame. When she swivelled around and hugged her knees into her chest, I saw that her massive trainers were way too big for her. Her messy blond hair was scraped back with a scrunchie, and her sharp features were riddled with grime and tell-tale sores. The energy around her was scrambled, hostile and defensive.

She tilted her head back against the seat and closed her eyes, shutting out the world.

I surreptitiously watched her. If, as some religions would have us believe, we are all made in God's image, here he or she was, sitting across from me, broken.

And I saw a fragile kind of beauty.

Who knows what her story was. But I was interested to observe the line where grace meets ugliness. Where someone has managed to spin a fierce fable in order to survive.

I don't have to live this woman's life – lucky me. But something about her has gone into my subconscious and will emerge in my work, I'm sure.

Pearl

The magic of cinnamon tea

I'd had an idea for a new painting. I'd seen flashes of how I might want it to look. Striking, sparkling and brilliant, of course.

And so I consulted the Creative Muse.

'I'm not getting out of bed today,' it said. Granted, it was a cold and dark November day; rain-lashed and dour.

'What can I do to help get you motivated?' I asked, standing at the foot of its gold plated four-poster lair.

'Bring me biscuits!' it cried, flinging its many arms into the air. Then - 'No! Wait. Bring me opium instead. That's way more romantic. And a live jaguar.'

I decided a brisk walk might help to pull us together. And a foray into the Siberian winds outside did begin to shift the malaise. I didn't find any opium, but I brought back a box of cinnamon tea instead, and hoped that would do.

Sometimes it's hard to create. The mood is not always right. But you just have to keep picking up those pencils, or instruments or dance shoes, and having another go.

Pearl

The magic of fond farewells

'Do you feel sad when you sell a painting?' a friend of mine asked me over a cup of tea. It's a question I've been asked a few times over the years.

And the answer is, no.

'I feel the same way,' said my friend, a photographer. 'It's as though my relationship with the piece begins and ends with the process of creating it.'

'Exactly,' I replied.

The creation of a painting (or any other type of art, I imagine) is an intimate experience with the creative muse, whatever that is. It feels as though the painting and I are having a wordless conversation, or as if we are collaborating on it together. I'll get glimpses of how the figure wants to pose, and I'll chase this image around the canvas with a pencil. Once the character has been drawn, I'll have intuitive feelings about how the colours should be. Sometimes the paint does things I wasn't expecting it to, but it all becomes a part of the 'painting dance'. I will eventually know when I've reached a point where any further fiddling will 'overcook' the piece.

And then it's done.

The painting will be sealed, wrapped up carefully and put into storage, until it either goes into an exhibition or finds a new home. Which is a wonderful thing, because my feeling is that the paintings have all been created to be a part of other people's lives, not mine. And to know that they are living on people's walls and being enjoyed, brings me a wonderful sense of delight, because the artwork is fulfilling its purpose.

And because the next painting is banging on my door, waiting to be created...

Pearl

The magic of the Pumpkin Queen

The temperature had suddenly plummeted.

An Indian summer that shimmered with golden sunlight blazing on drifts of burnished leaves had somehow slid, overnight, into a dark slush of cold, mud, and clouds of breath hanging in the air.

But on All Hallows’ Eve, the night was punctuated with something magical. 

On each corner, on every doorstep, stood a glimmering lantern. There were flickering eyes; leering, toothy grins, and the gentle scent of warm pumpkin spice permeating the frigid atmosphere.

The Pumpkin Queen kept herself hidden in the shadows, but she watched as troops of children with painted faces in ghoulish costumes made their way around the towns and villages.

And then, when they were gone, she slipped out and gathered up the blackened and charred creations, beckoning their Halloween spirits to run away with her... until next year...

Pearl

The magic of enigma

Earlier this week I shared a story to my Facebook page about the Onna-Bugeisha, Feudal Japan's women Samurai.

I wrote about how these women may turn out to be a source of inspiration for a painting or two at some point down the line.

Interestingly, someone commented that it's better to paint archetypal characters rather than actual individuals, and this is exactly what I do. I very rarely paint portraits that have a physical likeness to a real person. Even if I am commissioned to paint a portrait, I will usually paint some aspect of the subject's character, rather than what they may see when they look in the mirror.

This is because I feel that portraits of actual people can 'seal out' the viewer in some way. You are an observer of another person who is not you – even if you're looking at a painting of yourself. But, if the identity of the figure is enigmatic, you can then start to see aspects of your true self in the painting. You can 'try on' the painting's identity a little bit, and make its story, your story.

I am fascinated to note that my paintings often find homes with people who are like them. By that I mean that I can often see a match in terms of personality, character traits or emotions.

This is one of the things about being an artist that intrigues me the most. Through art, we can reveal and express parts of ourselves we may not even be aware of.

Even if you are a Samurai warrior.

Pearl

The magic of dream walking

I learned today that in some cultures, people believe that 'reality' is what happens in your dreams, and that waking consciousness is the non-important part that happens in between dream episodes.

It got me thinking about how much of what we reckon is 'real', is nothing more than a complicated fairytale that we have all agreed to believe.

Which means that we can choose to believe whatever stories we want to, really.

Of course, there would be consequences to changing your reality – just as there are consequences to living in the 'reality' that most of us see around us.

This painting was inspired by these ideas. I happened to be ruminating on this very sort of thing not long ago, while walking across Tower Bridge in London.

The figure's feet appear to be walking in a dream world, but as your eyes travel up the painting, the cityscape of London appears behind her.

It's turning around the idea of 'head in the clouds' – an accusation that was often levelled at me while I was at school. Maybe it's time to try 'feet in the clouds'.

Pearl

Dream Walker

The Red Fan

It was a sweltering hot night in Tokyo. The humidity was ferocious, and his wet shirt clung to his back. The evening sky was the colour of burnt orange – dust from distant lands, whipped up into the atmosphere.

He'd had too much sake. It wasn't intentional. More of a tool really, to help with the unease he felt in the presence of his boss and coworkers. Much as he wished he could be the attention-grabbing comedian, it was never going to happen. And now that the business dinner was over, he could be alone again. Relief flooded through him.

Until he looked up and saw the luminous, neon lights all around him were burring, sliding and multiplying.

He paused, one hand on the still-warm concrete wall of the restaurant, sucking in dust-filled lungfuls of air, trying to stop his mind from spinning.

'Are you OK?'

He turned around, and there she was. She had to be at least seven feet tall. With skin painted as white as the moon, she peered at him from over the edges of a large, red paper fan. Her head was perfectly bald. Round and smooth. Her eyes were like glittering black gems, fixed on his face. He glanced up the street behind him, and then back at her again. No one else – not one of the people in the crowds that bustled past, belied any signs of being able to see her...

Pearl

The Queen of Autumn

She came stealing in over the hill early one morning, just before dawn, bringing with her fire and frost.

One look from her amber coloured eyes was enough to send the ageing Summer gathering up her mantle of shining green leaves, and sweeping the cobalt blue from the sky, bundling it up under her arm.

And then she was gone, leaving Autumn to settle into the vacated throne. 

The new queen has breathed russet and gold into the trees, scattered conkers and acorns among the grasses, and peppered the hedgerows with brightly coloured berries. 

The air is crisp, the fruit has fallen, and the night crowds in a little earlier each day.

Tipping from one season into the next, we have a chance to recalibrate, refocus, and light ourselves up for the remaining months of the year.

Pearl 

The Water Nymph's Mirror

When you're a kid – or at least when I was a kid – my friends often asked me what my favourite colour was. I probably cited pink. My nephew would choose yellow.

As an adult, I find my favourite colour can change by the day, if not hourly.

Recently, I've had blue on my mind. Particularly a watery kind of blue with different depths, and with light playing through it. Like a sort of underwater scene, but on a sunny day. Or perhaps under the reflected rays of a silvery full moon.

And so I cracked open some ink pots and put brush to board. A child-like character appeared, with a cloud of white hair that hangs suspended in the currents around her.

She's wearing some kind of vintage dress with ruffles at the shoulders, and a line of beaded buttons runs down the back.

She's holding a mirror. I have no idea what's in the mirror but my suspicion is, she's seeing some kind of truth for the first time.

A water nymph, maybe. Someone who hides among the bull-rushes and has afternoon tea with dragonflies.

And so now, the blue is out of my system. Today's favourite colour is actually three – acid green, sliced through with yellow and neon pink. But I've run out of neon pink so I may need to put these ideas on hold until I can get down to the art store...

Pearl

Imagination changes the world

'So be wise, because the world needs more wisdom. And if you cannot be wise, pretend to be someone who is wise, and then just behave like they would.

And now go, and make amazing, glorious and fantastic mistakes. Break rules. Leave the world more interesting for your being here. Make good art.'


I had managed to sneak into the front row of at an event held at East London's newest and wonderful arts venue, Evolutionary Arts Hackney. And standing on the stage almost right before me, was the author Neil Gaiman, reading out his now renowned speech, 'Make Good Art'.

With his trademark black clothes and wild, slightly greying hair, he had a rock-star presence. The audience around me were sparkling with awe, thrilled to be in the room with him, and yet his demeanour was humble and gentle.

Behind him, sitting at a little desk, was illustrator Chris Riddell, scribbling away beneath a camera that was beaming his work onto a large screen, illustrating Gaiman's words. He drew with a black pencil, sharpened to a long point with a blade. His strokes on the page had the assured confidence of a person who never stops drawing, who has a comfortable relationship with his art.

The two have collaborated, and created a book called
Art Matters, Because Your Imagination Can Change The World.

Like, wow.

And so, we were gathered to hear them both talk about these ideas.

Sitting there in the soft gloom of the grand, crumbling auditorium, I was filled with a magical hum of excitement. It felt like we were all part of a little rebel army, intent on shining light into darkness, through the wonder of art in all its forms.

Yes my friends – you can change the world.

Pearl

The magic of practice

'If I don't practice one day, I know it; two days, the critics know it; three days, the public knows it.'

The famous violinist Jascha Heifetz apparently once said this to a reporter, and it's something that I keep in mind.

During the summer I have been focussing on a writing project (- will it ever see the light of day? Only time will tell -) and so my painting has been a little neglected.

But the gift of a box of paintbrushes seemed like a good enough sign to pull out a blank page and unscrew a pot of ink.

I braced myself for some terrible work and yes, there it was. But the thing is, to not tale terrible work personally and just keep going.

'It takes discipline. Discipline to work at it every day, like a ballet dancer,' I said to a friend the other night.

'Well, maybe not,' he said. 'I think it's more about mindfulness. Find the joy and wonder in it, like you did as a kid, so that you don't turn the practice of your work into some heavy kind of fight.' I had to admit, I liked the sound of this. 'And then, if you do practice every day, it will be more about habit than discipline, and you'll be taken to the easel in just the same way that you brush your teeth every morning – almost without thinking.'

So there we go. This is my new intention – to reconnect with the joy of practicing, and to allow it to become a daily part of my life.

Pearl

The magic of glimmer-sparks

I have my friend Rachel to thank for this week's missive, since she posted this quote to her Facebook page, and I thought it was too beautiful not to share.

“In our happiest moments, what sustains us more than pleasure is the mystery itself, not knowing who this is in us. The blind riddle of existence is what makes it possible to live at all, in darkness, in the heart of danger. Being full and happy occurs only in a glimmer-spark floating through an eternity of star-masses.”

— Richard Grossinger, Embryogenesis

Pearl
 

The magic of illusion

I've always taken such huge inspiration from the theatre. Drawn by the dazzling lights, the larger-than-life characters, the enormous emotions and the magic that burns into the audience’s retinas from the stage.

Watching an opera from the wings the other night, I was searingly thrilled by the fantasy effect of faces painted in white powder and glitter, illuminated by the lighting. In that moment, this world of illusion seemed far more real than the reality outside - the one of wet pavements, traffic jams and supermarket queues. It all just swirled away like water down a drain.

There's always an element of the performer that goes into my drawings and paintings. Characters that, I feel, are aware of embodying something 'other', something larger than themselves. Which is interesting because I think when people are drawn to a particular piece of mine, I feel it's because they recognise something of themselves in the work. Which is, in my opinion, one of the most important reasons we need art – to help us to understand ourselves. 

The piece above, 'Bard', is available to purchase here. If you would like to have a print, please contact me here. 

Pearl 

The magic of fear

In the canteen queue at the opera house where I work, the renowned Australian theatre director Barrie Kosky was standing in front of me.

'How are you, Barrie?' asked a passing colleague.

'I'm very tired,' replied Kosky unapologetically. He was in town to direct a revival of his smash-hit production of Handel's oratorio Saul at the same time as flying back and forth to Germany, where he was overseeing another show.

Saul premiered three years ago in 2015. During the process of its creation, I witnessed literal blood, sweat and tears from performers, creators and technical staff as Kosky raised the bar and pushed everyone way beyond their comfort zones. With no idea of how the show was going to be received, cast and crew alike were gripped with fear. I have to say, Kosky was not a popular figure among the company at that time.

But then, after the curtain came down on the opening night, the five-star reviews began thundering in. Realisation dawned that we had a hit on our hands, and the atmosphere backstage became incandescent with crackling electricity.

'This has been one of the most exhausting and frightening yet utterly rewarding experiences of my life,' a singer posted on Facebook.

It's a lesson that I try to keep in mind when I am engaging in my own creative processes. If you want to create something truly extraordinary, playing it safe is no good. You are going to have to walk through fire to achieve it.

But first, I might need another coffee...

Pearl

Once in a strawberry moon

I went AWOL last week and apologies for the delay in this message.

I've been a bit overwhelmed by everything that I've got going on these past few weeks, and somehow also, there seems to be a mischievous mid-summer energy in the air.

Hot, still, star-spangled nights filled with the echoing yelps of foxes. A neighbourhood cat slinking through pools of streetlamp light on soundless paws.

Crowds of seagulls squabbling on rooftops at top volume at 3am, like drunk, rowdy hooligans. And a few hours later, the most stunning, breathtaking colours staining the skies as the sun slides around the corner of the planet again.

A friend picked me up from work on the night of the full moon last month. We drove to a nearby beach and sat on the pebbles, wrapped in a couple of blankets, and clinked glasses filled with something crisp and bubbly. And as the beautiful, shining orb climbed high above us, we talked about how some things change, and some things don't.

Picking up a pen or a brush, I think about these experiences, and about what kind of spirits might be at work to help to orchestrate them, and who might like to be depicted.

Pearl 

Magical environments

It was several years into my painting career before I began to add buildings and cityscapes onto my canvases.

Prior to that, I'd always created characters against an abstract or plain background. I preferred not to give too much away about a character, because I wanted people to be free to project their own ideas about who she or he might be.

Adding in buildings was kind of a big deal, because I felt that they lent a lot of information about the character. They gave the viewer some ideas about context, geographic location, social background.

But also, the buildings to me were characters in themselves. And so this meant that the main figure and the buildings around them would all be weighing in with their own stories and 'noise', so this is something that needs to be balanced.

I went to a writing workshop the other night where we were set the task of giving a geographic location human characteristics. I chose a tower block in South London that I once lived in. I saw it as a malnourished woman in her '30s, who appeared much older. She had scraped back hair, bad teeth, and wore a scruffy pair of trainers that were one size too big for her. She was gobby and loud, but passionately devoted to her Pitt Bull dog, and had a kind heart beneath the surface desperation.

I learned about 'psychogeography' - 'the study of the precise laws and specific effects of the geographical environment, consciously organised or not, on the emotions and behaviour of individuals.' (Guy Debord).

Interesting stuff to think about, next time you're walking down your street!

Pearl

Prints of the above image available here

Speaking in tongues

People say you are what you eat, but I would also propose that you are what you speak.

I've often found myself in situations where I'm either to posh or too coarse to fit in, and I feel that it's the way that I speak, more than anything else, that determines this.

I like to try and move in as many different circles as I can, and language can be such in interesting window into different worlds, mindsets and outlooks.

Paintings don't make much noise, but often I do hear a voice (should I be worried?) while creating a character on the canvas or page.

Usually Southern British, it can range from the plummy, elegantly articulated tones of Received Pronunciation to the yawing, babbling chatter of Cockney.

Yet the sound I hear on East London busses these days isn't traditional Cockney – it's a new inner city dialect that has bubbled up within the past few decades.

I'm normally not too bad at accents, but I find it hard to capture the back-of-the-mouth, low-timbre sounds of what has been dubbed 'Multicultural London English'.

With influences from Cockney, Jamaican, Caribbean and South Asian dialects, the spread of MLE has transformed the way East London sounds in just one generation.

People use language to self-identify, and I find it really fascinating to learn about the new lingo and expressions that young people, particularly, devise to mark themselves as different to the 'olders, innit'. It helps to inform my characters and build their worlds... if not my own.

Pearl

Painting stars

‘We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.’

 

Oscar Wilde’s famous quote is one of the greatest of all time. To me it offers such solace and conjures up an image of magical hope and wonder.

Part of the deal of being an artist, is to live with doubts and fears. In fact, I’ll be so bold as to suggest that an artist without any doubts or fears is probably not creating great work.

But the passion and the drive to create and share magic - the stars, perhaps - keep me going.

Sometimes, on dark and stormy nights, you have to paint your own stars. It definitely can be done. And each time you create your Milky Way, you build more confidence in trusting yourself to find your way.

'(S)he who has conquered doubts and fear has conquered failure.'
James Allen, As A Man Thinketh

Pearl