Dread and Inspiration

Friday September 10th.

I woke up with a stupid knot of dread in my stomach. It slowly worked its way through my whole body, as I opened my eyes and realised that I had to go to London to collect my rejected paintings. My first thought was, 'Oh no, everyone will see that I'm collecting ALL SIX paintings!' Then as daylight and my pink orchids shimmered before my eyes, it occurred to me, 'Who exactly is everyone?' It wasn't as if the whole of the world was going to mutate into some composite being, (there's an idea for a painting!), which was going to sit there jeering as I collected my pictures. This realisation was calming, as it made me reflect on how one is viewed, or thinks one is viewed. How many people have to like you, or what you do, in order for it to be valid?

Before I went to collect the work, I was lucky enough to see an exhibition of drawings by one of my favourite English painters, Keith Vaughan (who died in 1977). As I entered Gallery 27, in Cork Street, Keith's rich visual energies enfolded me, and instantly I felt all the potential for creativity return. That's what good art does for you - it gives a sense of life, and its onward flow. As I admired this artist's work, I felt a kind of encouragement from each drawing, as if it was saying, 'You never fail, because there's always the next painting.'

As I stepped down into the dark basement where artists were queuing to collect work, several sad faces peered at me. They were all feeling that sting of rejection. No one jeered, no one passed judgement. Silently I wrapped the six paintings. It didn't really matter that I'd been rejected because I knew I'd done exactly what I set out to do in each painting. Even as I walked back up the narrow steps, I had the next paintings in front of my eyes, and could hardly wait to get home to start them.

(Paintings: 'Autumn Stripes,' and 'Flooded Fields.')