Bombs and Blossoms

Some thoughts on Bombs and Blossoms. 

Since lockdown #1 I’ve been starting a new painting process by creating a base structure of many layers of screen printed explosion iconography, intuitively adding each new image consecutively to create a shape that simulates natural arboreal forms.

Then I glue on older, recycled, previously rejected drawings, or failed paintings and prints on top of that image, altering but enhancing the image underneath. 

The final act is painting final layers of trees on top, representing the present day. This process tends to eradicate the source material underneath, sometimes completely, which is a direct reference to how I see these trees throughout time; it refers to a memory, an apparition of the past underneath, a place where bombs were made (or are still

made) before having seedlings planted to conceal what is, or what was once, there. 

Source references are taken over many visits and seasons, so the trees appear unnatural, exaggerated, and artificial. Their colours span many annual cycles - some even span their own lifespan where the tree has been cut down and only a carcass remains. The explosions lie underneath - often peeking out in places - and their energy forms the canopy. This same force is reflected in the contorted limbs of the branches, the windswept leaves, the formation of blossom, burning summer sun radiation, the bright decay of autumn, and the weight of fresh snow on bare dormant tillow, all competing as a final painted act where they are applied all at once.