Chardin once said of painting that, it is an island whose shore I have skirted.
It appears as a container, floating between sea and sky. From a distance, it is a shifting silhouette against the intense white light. from above, a circle in space that encapsulates and magnifies the rhythm of life. It is a world of its own, the O in the sea, conditioned by nothing but its own perpetual motion, its tides and seasons. The island is both real and imaginary, and it constantly slips free of the memories tied to it
The island is a retreat, not an escape but a return - to the earth, to the self. Like walking without maps or lying on the ground looking up at a blue sky, it induces a contemplation that is receptive and unconditional like the start of a painting. In my paintings, Miro wrote, there are tiny shapes in great empty spaces. Empty spaces, empty horizons, empty plains - everything stripped down has always made a great impression on me.
Osea Island, somewhere on the east coast of England.