Alignments: Traces, signs and veils, obscured by time, are re imagined in this new series of paintings. Particular sites around Bodmin Moor are âmapped', remembered and transformed into works of âequivalence of experience'. Notions of archaeology are explored on canvas, where half hidden images appear in the paint, revealing excavated codes and syntaxes. Some of the paintings are divided into two parts, suggesting the passing of accumulated time or the movement of an ultra violet scanning device, searching for meaning.
Mark Surridge, 2014
Thoughts linger. Hesitations flicker.
Inscriptions to a lesser god. A god of the forgotten footpath, of the newly made track, a redundant circle. Ordered alchemy, wet underfoot. A stile, a glum well, a cobbled wall stretching across the moorland. A pitfall, a digression, an impasse. A rise, a vista, a departure.
The ground is plotted, quadrangles of history remapped across curling pages while memories unfold. A train is set in motion, a recollection carried to a new destination, or a return, back to the waiting platform. Home.
Peculiarities mingle, half hidden. Draw them out. Draw. Sing for your supper. Cast a weather eye across the farmlands. Suspended stained glass colours the gaze. Beyond, the single ploughed field among the heathen. The grass is still, but a storm is brewing. Click of the kettle, click of the laptop, the barometer registers the shift, the reverse pressure, the wider world distraction.
Chores wait, the guitar waits, time doesn't. Turn back to the primordial, the gouging of symbols, meaningful and meaningless as the ancients; cover the roof with a weather map, a mirror of the paint crust floor beneath.
Distillation and expansion
A play, a commotion. Hills sweep under the brush, a tunnel escapes, streams decant, a change is spread, a trouble is poured. Motifs half recalled float on the surface, are the surface, but not the event. Between and beneath are the narratives, the occasional whisper of a mystic's dna. Metaphors drift like ice floes, metaphors of metaphors. Aerial maps of molecular activity, the height indeterminate. An inroad for the observer, an outroad, too. A passing place, a landmark thirty feet tall. A constituent element frozen this moment, thawed the next, its past submerged but still visible. Half figuration loiters in the shadows, a distance, a proximity. Exactness is spilt.
Horizonless referents, tilting environments. Clouds coalesce beneath the stretcher, surfacing only when the plane is reorientated. Gravity is absent, but the bye-laws of physics, of abstraction, abound. Principles are reconstituted, traces impressed. Re-fused shards of pastoral romance.
Depth is given, depth is removed.
A plumb line.
Crossing over a surface, a void. The canvas is an unfenced plot.
Everything is movement
The gesture is witness to the physical, the assimilation through action. It testifies to the glimpse, the movement of the mind. Poetry precise care broken by fissures of graffiti. The shaman sweeps away evil spirits, his spirit broom pushing paint across the intimate landscape. A brush on a stick; an archaeological gift for the future.
Everything is breath
Words, like shy dogs, lurk in the background, wanting to approach, to be uttered, to be recited, repeated, resung, restrung.
A line is chanted, echoed through history.
A line is drawn. A breath taken.
A line meant for healing.
Everything is time
Tempo shifts its weight from one leg to the other. Restlessness is inevitable and essential. Circles dervish and swarm across the surface, a rhythmical pacing, a temporal reconfiguration, between the paintings, across the walls.
Everything is the medium
The medium is the passage. Conditions are mixed on the palette, the deep of seasons crash, withdraw. Abandoned thoughts are rekindled through the illuminate. Shapes sheer, evaporate, recondense. A precipitation of form.
An impulse is earthed.
Introduction by Neil McLeod | Artist, Writer, and Senior Lecturer in Fine Art at Falmouth University