I have recently discovered the writings of Cecil Collins (1908-1989) a British painter described as "creating some of the most profound and beautiful images of any artist of the twentieth century, a visionary artist as the most important since William Blake. (An artist) remaining faithful to an imaginative vision that owed nothing to passing trends..."
In the introduction to Collins' book, THE VISION OF THE FOOL & OTHER WRITINGS ( Ipswich, England, GOLGONOOZA Press, 2002) the reader is asked:
"With what eyes are we to look at the work of an artist who declares his belief that 'art is a metaphysical activity', and who resolutely claims 'there are no objects in my paintings'? With the images of Cecil Collin's art we must turn our gaze inwards to contemplate the realities of spirit. Here the 'eye of the heart' alone will suffice the transformation of consciousness that such things demand. Faced with a vision that runs counter to most contemporary expectations, are we not justified in asking for a guide? And what better guide than the artist himself?"
How does the language I use to speak and write about my work influence my painting? Why do I search as if on a never ending quest for a way to think, speak and write about my work? There is power in discovering resonance with the works of artists, be they poets or painters or both who have gone before me. These women and men become the silent audience in the studio as I paint. Their writings and thoughts are the companions of insight and critique. The ensuing 'dialogue' is held in silence richly embedded with learning and insight.
Collins held that a picture "must live on many different levels at once, it is an interpenetration of planes of reality, realized as a total experience."
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