White paintings: Part i

Untitled: a certain sense of ambiguity; an unplaceable feeling. Yet “untitled” also serves as an umbrella term- the subject is unconstrained; it can be anything. 

These days I often find myself clinging desperately to the fast-fading memories of the place I grew up in, the place I had to inevitably leave. Like a figure receding rapidly in the distance: I call out, but not once does the figure turn back. There is struggle, but in life, there are times to stay, times to meet and gather, and times to part and embark. All good things come to an end, but it does not mean the future is not good. 

Laying still helps. Still images flicker from another time, another place. Waltz No.1, Op.6 “Collapse” plays in the background as I reminisce and retrieve fragments of intangibles. Are they real? Are they simply stills of fabrication woven by my mind, taking elements from things that have been, things that are happening, things from different periods of time and different parts of the world?

Layers hold a significance to my painting: layers of hidden symbols and white obscuration that needed to be peeled back; stripped bare. It is my unconscious: An inner part of my own self that I sometimes struggle to access; to understand. It is what partially drew me to Dark was the night, cold was the ground in Guglielmo Castelli’s A knife with no blade, missing its handle showing at Rodeo London (at time of writing). The layered approach taken by Castelli in his painting commanded attention- drawing me in to scrutinise the details partially subdued in layers of green glaze, digging for any traces of symbols and visual “easter eggs” to reveal another small detail in the narrative. 

When I try to recall daily happenings, fragments of objects and sightings that I would include in my compositions, It scares me, my mind draws blanks. Suddenly, I recoil in fear when I forget how the road from the station to home looks- what colour were the bricks that I trudged upon, every day, in my past teenage years? I recall glimpses of the Hong Kong orchid trees stretching above like an alcove, letting rays of sunlight through: only quick flashes, never in detail. Floating objects, sometimes grounded; sometimes not, in seas of white and beige, my mind never having focused enough to capture and retain a full picture. 

I realise it is loss, and regret that I feel.

Medium:

Painting: Oil and charcoal on hardboard

Dimension: 

594 x 420

Year: 

2023