9 May 2025

Vacant property. I don’t know what I’m doing. I like working with these warm colours now that winter is here. I don’t need to worry about sales anymore—and that makes me happy. I can do whatever I want. I can do whatever I/you want.

I’m interested in what manifests unconsciously. I think it’s bound up with the spiritual. I make conscious movements that come bundled with a whole stream of unconscious ones, and these are recorded by paint on the board—the now-dry traces of once-wet, watered paint.

This vertical pattern I do makes me think of vast audiences, of rain, of digital noise. Each shape has a lighter outline and a darker centre, because that’s how the paint dried. I suppose I also think of a sandstorm now, with the marks rendered in mocha mousse. An atomised impression—a close-up of reality, maybe.

Then we have the vertical white stripes and circles. The circles might be there because I used a ruler that had a bit of lube on it... from a private measuring experiment. Does that breathe a measure of life into the work? A transfer of essence from a life-maker?

Am I really going to publish that? Mmm, gosh. Why does that feel like it could be a problem? Does the devil distract from the life-maker, like a clown pulling funny faces—woogie-woogie-woogie? Have you no shame?

Oh dear, here we are, thinking about sex again. I suppose it’s not the end of the world. If I go deeper, I hope it doesn’t turn out to be a shallow pool. Mixing my metaphors—I do apologise.

These are fleshy colours. I shouldn’t be that surprised.