At his death, the French literary critic and writer Roland Barthes, pictured right, left a manuscript whose title I borrowed for this post. It takes a lot of effort to discern what it is one loves, and that is part of the discovery process in becoming an artist. I paint to make that love clear to myself. As the study with Annie and Mona has developed, I reach back into memories of childhood in Newport. My youthful love of country has become complicated by my mature understanding of its imperfections. But I love it all the same. I paint what I would not want to fail to speak.
“One always fails to speak of the things one loves”
16 Saturday Jan 2016