Showing posts with label path. Show all posts
Showing posts with label path. Show all posts

Friday, May 13, 2022

Some way back...

“Every child is an artist. The problem is staying an artist when you grow up.” Pablo Picasso




“I was 19, I was happy, wasn’t sure where I was going. Not much has changed in 30 years.” 


Those were the first lines written on this blog, Touches of sense…


Here I am in 2022, starting a new adventure, a web site, to be entitled: 


Some way back… 

Simon.Ensor.Art


I have always known that I was an artist.


My father used to ask me to illustrate his sermons. 

My mother told the school I painted like Lowry (I didn’t).


"I have come to believe that a great teacher is a great artist and that there are as few as there are any other great artists. Teaching might even be the greatest of the arts since the medium is the human mind and spirit."

John Steinbeck.


My art teacher was a great teacher, he would give me excellent marks and then fail to convince me to do some work. 


Others told me to concentrate on more serious subjects.


Below is a drawing I knocked off for homework when I was 16 years old. 



The art teacher’s comments have been nagging me ever since.


I am writing now as a 60 year old Anglo-French artist, driven by a single question:


“What happens when I really put my mind to developing a body of visual art?” 


Some way back…

is a means to document and share responses to that question. 


“An artist without faith is like a painter who was born blind.”

Andrei Tarkovsky


As an artist, I have been working passionately for the past 34 years as an English teacher with thousands of students, exploring the medium and discovering the desire and the means to transform it. I have spent years studying and adapting my actions to the complexity and unpredictability of human interactions and learning. Faith and hard work has enabled this artist to see further…


Art has always been a way to lose myself and to find myself elsewhere.


Along the way, 

I have developed my voice as a blogger in Touches of sense…, connected and collaborated as an educator and as an artist with kindred creative spirits from around the world and employed more or less academic genres to communicate and to publish radical educational messages. The 482 blog posts that I have written since 2010 have become progressively more and more concerned with visual art. The last one, Touches of light, preciously preserved marked some sort of epiphany.


“A page escapes to leafy paths[...]Ephemera rendered eternal.Taking a moment to contemplate. Pause, gaze, breathe in, remember. Moving, losing sight, feeling loss.”


Ever since I was born, I have been acutely aware of the ephemeral nature of life and the infinite value of artistic expression. My father’s work was rhythmed by life’s passing seasons and the rituals of baptism, marriage,and death. My mother shared her love for music, poetry, gardening and nature,and an eye for beauty to be found in driftwood, pebbles, and bric-à-brac. 


Some way back…

Is made up of moments of figurative and abstract meaning making. I find flow and express emotions by letting myself be moved by the moment, the media, making marks intentionally or serendipitously. I am drawn to gaze at distant horizons and to investigate universes glimpsed through close focus. At times, images emerge organically with no apparent source. Certain motifs are  recurrent: nature, landscape, seascapes, mountains, rocks, trees, paths…the objective is always to discover new lands to be able to perceive what lies beyond the self, the subject, the page.


"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes."

Marcel Proust


Touches of sense… has been a means to map out areas I want to explore and to excavate and to study the reasons why they are important.


Each collection, each image has its back story. Some way back will build upon these foundations. 


Between 2014, and 2018 much of my artistic work was multi-media,collaborative and digital, combining poetry, spoken voice and images in assemblages. I owe much to my friends of #clmooc.

 

Since 2018, starting with “A vine branches wildly…”  I have concentrated my art practice predominantly on watercolor painting, ink, charcoal and graphite drawing. 


The more you learn, the more you realize how little you know and how much you need to learn.


When I speak to those who I consider to be master artists, I am comforted when they agree with this quote of George Leonard:


“We fail to realise that mastery is not about perfection. It’s about a process, a journey. The master is the one who stays on the path day after day, year after year. The master is the one who is willing to fail, and try again. For as long as he or she lives.”


I have stayed true to my path day after day, year after year. 


To my surprise it appears that this is its latest twist. 


I am working now on some way forward.


Simon Ensor

Artist exploring the ephemeral nature of life via figuration & abstraction, flow & scribble, intention & serendipity.


P.S.
I have no idea whether this will be the last post in Touches of sense...
It has been quite a while since I felt moved to write here.
The words just wouldn't come...

Saturday, June 2, 2018

Peer Review.

"No you really should look to do a PHD." they say.

So, after much humming and hawing...

I write it and it.... ho hum....

Well it sounds odd.

So much the better!

"Oh sod it!."



"Odd sod!"

"OH! Haw haw haw!"

So, I print out page after page of forms.

I struggle to write myself into their forms.

Is that really me?

"Oh who fucking cares?"

I am missing the point.

I hadn't read the small print.

I am to be rendered procedurally immaterial.

"We don't accept paper, all applications must be in digital form."

I am an object in an inbox to be processed...................................................................(fucking slowly.)

Enough time to be able to think and to annotate my thoughts and find companions.

I wait.



I wait.



I wait.



I hope.........................................................................................................................................................

"Oh think of the wastage!"

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

I, or the executors of my will are to be left with page after page of forms and no ink in the printer cartridge.

"With regards to your application, we have the pleasure to inform you, you have been accepted on our doctoral program. It will cost you/your estate an arm and a leg."

Not hearing anything for the next eight months, I decide I better take things into my own hands.

I write an email.

"Er, what's going on with my application?"

"Er, yes, we have processed your application, the commission has accepted to validate your experience. You can start applying to get on the doctoral program."

So, good.

I wait.



I wait.

I wait.


I phone the appropriate number.

I listen to three of Vivaldi's four seasons...

Winter is coming.



"Er, hello, what's going on with my application?"

"Oh, yes, er sorry, there are a few issues with your application."

...................................................................................................................................................................
(more time passes)

More Vivaldi.

Winter is here.



"Er yes, you have been incorrectly advised, you shouldn't have done a VAP, you should have done a VAE"

"***********"
(exasperation, passive aggressive non-voiced swearing and insults)

"So we will send you the forms in triplicate, and you will have to do an interview in front of a jury, who, if we are fortunate, will find you guilty to be charged: a few pounds of flesh, an arm, a leg, your other arm, and other leg, a fair amount of your adomen, oh and your buttocks (you sad fucker).

Should you die on completion of the program your executors will receive the doctoral diploma with post-mortem as its annex"

...................................................................................................................................................................(more time passes)

Peer Review

So, I had just come back from an academic conference where I felt, for the first time, perhaps, accepted by my peers...on my terms.

I feel that I have a role...which I feel comfortable with...in the margins....no, for ever in their margins.

I spoke with my friend Teresa and we laughed about the absurdity of this system.

I spoke with my friend Terry and we laughed about the absurdity of this system.



I go and look back at what I have written.





I shall trust myself to find my way.




I decide that I shall feel my way through the woulds, to find the will that is mine.



I shall not tread the wood that is beaten out for me.

I can not.

That is not, has never been my path.

"Oh we have never had a case like yours."

I don't fit in their fucking forms.



Of course I don't.

I never fucking did.

Neither do you.

That's my point.

That's my role.

That's it.

PEER REVIEW

I peer around in the darkness, take a few deep breaths, a few steps and review.

I am still alive.

And fucking kicking.

Recognition


Just be assured that I am at peace.

"I don't ask for your pity, but just for your understanding - not even that - no.  Just for some recognition of me in you, and the enemy time, in us all."

Tennessee Williams Sweet Bird of Youth

Recognition.

Recognition for me, is a quest for harmony.

I have tried on so many costumes, played so many roles, that I find myself not so much naked but worn. 

If I be worn, I am not for the instant worn out.

If the truth be known, now my friend I am inhabited.

I remember the seduction of theatrical applause.

I don't know about you, but the applause only ever had meaning for me when it came as confirmation; confirmation of a journey, of an emotion, of a struggle shared.

There has to be...there has to be presence.

Recognition is perhaps in communion.