#Divorce and the #afterlife – a painting proposal

Memories:

Dead birds and rubber gloves, stolen kisses, pouches of Chinese fresh drinking water, broken dreams, sections of discarded fishing nets strewn across the tourist beach, lovers in the darkness groping for the dark, hands first finding spaces, then they find there mark, my father, my ghost, my hopes and dreams, stinking of rotting carcasses and seaweed, paintings of objects, places, people and dreams. I think I am back!

Interiors:

Life has changed, I have lost the familiarity I had of interiors, objects and experiences (but this is actually very liberating).

People:

Support and understanding (love even). Waking up on sofas, stumbling back to my temporary home. Meeting new people who have inspired and have opened my eyes to new (and not so new) things. Love, hope, care, faith, determination…

 

Wistman’s Wood:

Wistman’s Wood is a magical place (I visited again last weekend) it is where pitted stone becomes knotted oak and the moss and lichens weld everything seamlessly together. I have found calmness and a really odd inner strength in that place. I’m not that into ‘finding God’ or ‘finding myself’ but it is a place that forces these contemplations and ideas (punching you in your back) into your consciousness, making you wake up and get on with it.

I have struggled to regain my ‘voice’ with my painting, I have however been inspired by a series of events that have given me a jolt (made me truly feel again) and believe in myself. The self doubt has gone and I have realised that I should stop bleating and get on with my life (and my Art).

Divorce is a gut wrenching thing to go through – there is always that cloud hanging over your head that smothers you with an overwhelming sense of failure. Yes it is tough but…

I have begun a series of paintings based on the things that have inspired, disappointed and shaped my afterlife after failure:

 

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About peter

'Death by Sushi' Fish can kill me. When I was very small (maybe 3 or 4 years old) my grandfather, who lost the sight of one eye from a bullet fired by a German sniper (fortunately not a very good one) during the Battle of the Somme in World War 1, wiped my face with the corner of his apron, an apron he had used to wipe his filleting knife on. He was a grocery shopkeeper who specialized in wet fish.

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