My first memory of art is seeing hieroglyphics. When we were told we didn't know what they meant, those strange shapes and drawings became so magical.
Years later, I discovered the Rosetta stone in the British museum. The hieroglyphics there
translated to Ancient Greek is how we finally understood those ancient symbols; but the
pictures of hawks, snakes and eyes are neither curses nor spells nor recipes for love potions. The Rosetta stone is all about taxes and laws and edicts - it is ancient Egyptian admin.
That’s why I don’t like talking about or explaining art. I could translate everything but maybe
you have invented an even more magical meaning. My explanation could be admin to you.
I could write about ‘pieces in conversation with the visual language of...’. Some find that helpful when trying to sell art. But when you look at the pyramids, you never feel the need to ask what they mean.
For me, art is a celebration of being alive. Like that feeling when you ride a motorbike at
night and look up at the moon. Or when you’re daydreaming about summer and you hear the
click as the kettle boils. You will know the feeling. I hope you get that looking at
my art; you might not every time. It’s the same for me too sometimes! But I hope something here finds you on that motorbike, when the kettle boils...
W.O.
