Blank walls. They are everywhere. Hospital green, tomb stone grey, white wash smooth, clinical duck egg blue. I’ve always noticed them, or at least imagined how to subvert their silence. The blank page, the blank canvas and the blank wall are not at all dissimilar, they beg for creative interference.
A tag in silver over painted my last bird. A rough job possibly interrupted half way, or by the hand of a beginner. My paste-up was still visible in a textural manner – would have a made a nice shot, but the wall was over painted again, this time with no colour grey, ready for its next makeover.
I’ve been waiting for the right night to begin again. But 5 minutes down the road I was engulfed in an ominous fog that reduced visibility to 5 metres. That feeling of really just wanting to curl up under a doona began to eat at my resolve, but I persisted, and the expedition was as smooth as alabaster. A mask for when I go beyond myself.