An Ever Changing Landscape

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An Ever Changing Landscape is the first work in a new series exploring meditation, silence, harmony and the intuitive relationship between sound and colour.

There is no particular place represented within this contemporary abstract landscape. I was not trying to describe a mountain, a forest, a river or any recognisable location.

Instead, I wanted to create the feeling of somewhere quiet. Somewhere that might exist in the imagination, in memory, or perhaps in that elusive space we enter when the mind becomes still.

The painting began with a desire to explore silence.

Not necessarily the complete absence of sound, but the kind of inner silence that can emerge when we stop trying to rationalise everything around us. That quiet space where thoughts become less demanding and we become more aware of what we are feeling.

Music has always played an important role in my painting practice. With this work, the ambient music of Wouter Veldhuis became particularly influential. I listened extensively to his beautiful album inspired by forests while working on the painting. The music created an atmosphere within the studio that gradually became part of the creative process.

I wasn't attempting to illustrate the music.

I wasn't trying to translate a particular sound into a particular shape.

Something more intuitive was happening.

I was listening.

And then I was responding.

The sound seemed to create a rhythm beneath the painting, something I could feel rather than consciously define. I began trusting my instinctive responses to it, allowing colour, movement and space to emerge without knowing exactly where they would lead.

This is one of the things I find most compelling about abstract painting. It allows me to step away from the need to explain. I don't have to begin with a predetermined image and then work towards reproducing it. I can begin with a feeling, a sound, a colour, a gesture or even an absence of something, and allow the painting to develop through the act of making.

For An Ever Changing Landscape, I wanted to give myself permission to be free.

Free from the expectation that the work should look like a landscape.

Free from the need to make every decision rationally.

Free to follow an instinctive response to sound.

Free to make a mark simply because it feels right.

There is a certain amount of trust involved in working this way. Years of painting, drawing and photography have taught me about colour, composition, light, balance and observation, but there comes a point where accumulated knowledge has to become instinct.

I don't always want to think about why something should be placed in a particular position. Sometimes I simply need to feel that it belongs there.

That trust is an important part of my process.

As the ambient music continued to play, soft washes of pale yellow began to appear. Hints of blue entered the composition, accompanied by muted earth tones. I was drawn towards a restrained palette because I wanted the painting to have room to breathe.

The colours are deliberately gentle.

The shapes are not intended to announce themselves immediately.

The composition gradually reveals itself.

There is a quietness within the work that became increasingly important as it developed. I wanted to avoid unnecessary visual noise and instead create a sense of openness, allowing the eye to wander through the painting without being told exactly where to go.

Perhaps this is where the idea of meditation entered the work most strongly.

Meditation is not necessarily about having an empty mind. It can be about observing without immediately judging, allowing thoughts to arrive and disappear without needing to follow them.

In some ways, painting intuitively can be very similar.

A mark appears.

A colour feels right.

Another mark changes everything.

Something needs to be removed.

Something unexpected happens.

Instead of fighting it, I listen.

The painting becomes a conversation between intention and accident, between what I think I want and what the work itself seems to be asking for.

That is why the title An Ever Changing Landscape feels appropriate to me.

A landscape is never completely still. Light changes. Weather changes. Seasons change. Our perception of a familiar place changes depending on our state of mind.

The same can be true of an abstract painting.

What you see in it today may not be what you see tomorrow.

One day you might notice the pale yellow passages. Another day, the quieter blue shapes may become more prominent. Perhaps you will discover something in the composition that I never consciously intended to place there.

That is part of the freedom I hope abstract art can offer.

The painting does not have to tell you what to see.

It can simply give you somewhere to look.

I think that is particularly important in a world where we are surrounded by constant information, movement and noise. There is something valuable about encountering an artwork that asks nothing from you except a little time.

Stand in front of it.

Look.

Breathe.

Let your thoughts wander.

Perhaps allow the music that accompanied its creation to become something you imagine for yourself.

For me, An Ever Changing Landscape became a meeting point between ambient sound, colour and intuition.

The music provided an atmosphere, but the painting was allowed to find its own language. I trusted my ability to respond to what I was hearing, not by attempting to reproduce sound visually, but by allowing the emotional essence of that sound to influence the decisions I made.

Sound became feeling.

Feeling became colour.

Colour became space.

And gradually, a landscape appeared.

Not a landscape that exists on a map, but one that can exist within the imagination.

A quiet place.

A place without coordinates.

A place that can change each time we enter it.

An Ever Changing Landscape is the beginning of a new series, but it is also a continuation of something that has always been important to my practice: the belief that painting can be an intuitive experience, a place where rational thought can step aside and allow something less defined, more instinctive and more personal to emerge.

Sometimes the most interesting discoveries happen when we stop trying to control the destination.

We simply listen.

We trust.

We make the next mark.

And we see where it takes us.

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