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Passage in the Wind

£500.00

30 × 25 × 4 cm (12 × 10 x 1.5 inches)

Acrylic on canvas.

Free shipping anywhere in the world.

Part of the passage series of works - I remember lying on a bed and watching the curtain move in the breeze. I could spend a long time doing this. There was something about its movement that made me aware of the outside — something vast, changing and not entirely knowable, just beyond the room. I think that feeling is somewhere in this painting. The curtain becomes a threshold, dividing the inside from the outside but never quite separating them. Light, air and movement pass through.

I've always been drawn to these spaces between things. A doorway that isn't quite a room. A window that isn't quite outside. A moment when one space begins to dissolve into another. Perhaps this is what I love about Rothko, and in a different way Turrell — the sense that light and colour can become a kind of space, somewhere between the physical and the imagined.

And maybe there is something of Cage in it too. The idea that nothing needs to happen. That a small movement, a sound, a change in the air can become enough if we stop and notice it. Nothing. Just the curtain moving, and somehow the room becoming larger. A small space between inside and outside. Between stillness and movement. Between what we know and what we imagine.

30 × 25 × 4 cm (12 × 10 x 1.5 inches)

Acrylic on canvas.

Free shipping anywhere in the world.

Part of the passage series of works - I remember lying on a bed and watching the curtain move in the breeze. I could spend a long time doing this. There was something about its movement that made me aware of the outside — something vast, changing and not entirely knowable, just beyond the room. I think that feeling is somewhere in this painting. The curtain becomes a threshold, dividing the inside from the outside but never quite separating them. Light, air and movement pass through.

I've always been drawn to these spaces between things. A doorway that isn't quite a room. A window that isn't quite outside. A moment when one space begins to dissolve into another. Perhaps this is what I love about Rothko, and in a different way Turrell — the sense that light and colour can become a kind of space, somewhere between the physical and the imagined.

And maybe there is something of Cage in it too. The idea that nothing needs to happen. That a small movement, a sound, a change in the air can become enough if we stop and notice it. Nothing. Just the curtain moving, and somehow the room becoming larger. A small space between inside and outside. Between stillness and movement. Between what we know and what we imagine.