A Nobility?

Now, I’m really going to go off the column line here. No political and no general discourse on the noble art of writing – well, forget ‘noble’ just indulge me. This time its art – with a flow or picture of what you like best? I don’t know so much about this, art is always in the mind so experts tell me. Anyway, I was sitting down in my study the other day when this email came flowing through the pipelines toward me. ‘Hello’ I thought, ‘what’s this?’ You never think anything else about the internet do you? An invention in pure confusion but there we are.

Back to what’s this. An email that caught my attention. Ships or boats, depending on how au fait you are with sea monstering leviathans. But just look at them, see and wonder what their stories are? The Pride of Wales, Zeta (Catherine Zeta Jones pinched this name!) and Mimosa. Where are they going to and where are they coming from? All figments of the past, all eaten up by contusions of history. Fascinating. The waves cast my mind back to other times, not so cautious as my existence now. There was more trial and tribulation – more fun though!

The artist, John Richardson, had better watch out for his sea captains hat! He’d better make sure there are no Welsh villains hanging around his harbour. They’ll pinch his painting and hat and not give a damn about the fag hanging out of his mouth. Truthfully, these works of art are worth a detailed scrutiny. They are larger than life. They express a time gone by, a lonelier, maybe even a happier grip of passing minutes. They fly into a part of the world unknown to us all, they are finite. Impossible to achieve.

Congratulations to John Richardson. He’s lambasted me to another place, another time. A distant figment of my imagination.

Isn’t this what an artist is supposed to do? To take us on a journey of self-awareness? Ducking from the triangles of living and the pointed fingers of moral certitude? Sitting or standing, brush in hand and deliberation on what life is or what you would like it to be?

The artist. Using a wrist to paint what he sees as his – in a Welsh context.

What a life!

One can concur on looking at this painting that life is more unsettled when one is young. More reactive, more shouting about the wrongs in society. Perhaps the young ‘uns should absorb more art, it would make then think more deeply but this would be a fatalism on their intention.             

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