A delayed post since the visit but, a reflection.

Although I wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to own a Rose Wylie painting I was less interested in the graphical drawings painted on the canvas than the actual canvases themselves. The puzzling together of canvas, the stitching, switching and mending of edges, sides and compositions. Suggesting an ad hoc, hastily improvised or transformative nature to the work, manifesting, transmuting and deconstructing as a means of creation. The physical thresholds between painting and surface, reminiscent of comic strips, filmic transitions, those little flic books we made as children to create an animation or renaissance panelling. I was interested in the possibly which this then suggested, the re-puzzling of paintings, dissolving the intention between one arrangement and the other to create a hybrid panelling. A muddling collage of communication, language and form.

The interesting filmic, story board like arrangement of the work- integrating in to the walls and corners of the architecture was also resonant. Narrative and forms carried on through canvas to canvas, from wall to wall, corner to corner. Paintings blurring the thresholds between architecture and object is an interesting proposition. And begins to question how this might play a roll in the viewing of the work, the physical movement and effect of and on the viewer.

My limited documentation of the visit was a result to my phone kindly deciding to die mid visit- which actually resulted in more engaging visit- being in the presence and moment, rather than thinking ‘oh I need to snap this and instagram that and facebook those’- my mind or subconscious wasn’t else where. (Perhaps except maybe at first when I wondered how the hell I’d make it back home to Buckinghamshire without google maps or at least a podcast or two for the 2hr commute… but once I’d let that go…). Traveling from one threshold to another, one land to the next. Looking and finding myself in the cracks rather than the space provided, or perhaps thats exactly where I was meant to be.


April Jackson