“Ivon Hitchens” by Peter Khoroche

March 24, 2010

What a pleasurable time I am having with the most expensive book I have ever brought; “Ivon Hitchens” by Peter Khoroche. Most of my art books come from charity shops but I splashed out on this one, and I don’t regret it one little bit.

Nice quote;
“It is a painter’s job to paint ideas about what he sees, not to paint ideas about ideas.” Ivon Hitchens

I have been wrestling with ideas… I have too many of them, and within the restrictions of my life time I will never realise them all. My sketch books cannot cope with them all!

Keeping a sketch book (or two) is proving good in one way…I see a unity in my work I was not all that aware of previously, (in terms of pre-occuptations with certain subject matter), and it gives me a chance to make visual notes which I can use later (possibly). Or maybe not. A lot of my sketch book is text, because I like reading, and I like making notes about things which interest me. But I have given myself a few headaches on the occasions I start getting theoretical about my work. It’s not helpful.

The sun beckons me out of doors, and I look forward to a simple, immediate response to my surroundings very soon. Uncomplicated. Just seeing.

However, it is good to have spent some time delving into the depths of my mind…a rather untidy place it is too, but not much different to my house. And I do,(and will continue to) find it helpful to loosen what I paint away from the material world, and allow more scope for experimentation in several ways, not only in my manipulation of paint itself, (which I am only just starting to learn about), but also in the realm of my imagination, (which has always been at times too strong for my own good, and therefore deserves a little more scope I think…why not?) Why not, indeed. For surely both these things are areas I found myself restricted in when I worked only with photography. With paint, things may be different. However, things can get over complicated if one is not too careful. I just messed up a painting in my sketchbook that way. How small is that chink of time when your painting tells you to give it a break.


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