Toil
Oil, Plaster, Terracotta clay, Ink, Plaster dust and Wire on canvas
Dimensions variable
2017
My piece Toil was a large-scale painting that turned into an installation. I attacked the canvas with clay, picking up small amounts and throwing it onto the surface. Even if it didn’t stick, there would still be a trace left behind. I gathered bowls of ink and threw it at the canvas, it felt invigorating, having such a big space to use all of the materials on. The painting became sculptural, as if moulding something into existence. Through the many layers of impasto’d paint and clay, time seemed to appear. The work was made out of violence. At times I would hammer charcoal and wire into the clay in repeated motions. I wanted the labour and hard work of continually kneading the clay with my fingers and knuckles to be etched into the canvas. Soon, the novelty of throwing something wore off and it became tiring and labour some. By the end of the 3 days I spent in that room I felt physically exhausted. On the canvas you can see marks where I clawed and scratched at the surface, digging into the clay. It’s fascinating to watch the piece you create self-destruct and change, having really no choice in the matter. What was once on the surface could spontaneously fall off the canvas and create something entirely new. What gathered on the floor helped to create an atmosphere around the room. There was a complete sense of destruction. Even the cleaning process was labour some. Despite hacking away at the floor trying to remove numerous lumps of plaster, clay and wire, I noticed how a trace of the piece was left behind. Scratches could be seen; there was evidence of something being there. Before tidying up the project space, I carried out another experiment; I wanted to capture a shadow of myself or objects I had used onto the surface, as my body was very involved in the making process.
Oil, Plaster, Terracotta clay, Ink, Plaster dust and Wire on canvas
Dimensions variable
2017
My piece Toil was a large-scale painting that turned into an installation. I attacked the canvas with clay, picking up small amounts and throwing it onto the surface. Even if it didn’t stick, there would still be a trace left behind. I gathered bowls of ink and threw it at the canvas, it felt invigorating, having such a big space to use all of the materials on. The painting became sculptural, as if moulding something into existence. Through the many layers of impasto’d paint and clay, time seemed to appear. The work was made out of violence. At times I would hammer charcoal and wire into the clay in repeated motions. I wanted the labour and hard work of continually kneading the clay with my fingers and knuckles to be etched into the canvas. Soon, the novelty of throwing something wore off and it became tiring and labour some. By the end of the 3 days I spent in that room I felt physically exhausted. On the canvas you can see marks where I clawed and scratched at the surface, digging into the clay. It’s fascinating to watch the piece you create self-destruct and change, having really no choice in the matter. What was once on the surface could spontaneously fall off the canvas and create something entirely new. What gathered on the floor helped to create an atmosphere around the room. There was a complete sense of destruction. Even the cleaning process was labour some. Despite hacking away at the floor trying to remove numerous lumps of plaster, clay and wire, I noticed how a trace of the piece was left behind. Scratches could be seen; there was evidence of something being there. Before tidying up the project space, I carried out another experiment; I wanted to capture a shadow of myself or objects I had used onto the surface, as my body was very involved in the making process.