A Tangible Crossover

Langenbeck in hand, retracting, I can see right through the hole we’d artificially made. A bunch of questions accompanied each dissected plane. 

— What structure is this? 

— What innervates it? 

— What’s the blood supply? 

Theatres are a nice escape from the ward round, especially since I was surgically inclined at the time. That day though, I just wanted to push a trolley around and be a type writer for the morning whilst a coffee worked its way through me. Through the exhaustion and incessant questioning, one thing stuck with me - the orientation of the blade when he made the initial incision. Clearly not important enough to be quizzed about, but since curiosity killed the cat and all, I interviewed the interviewer. 

— Why did you make the cut in that direction? 

The Lines of Langerhans are topological lines which represent the natural orientation of collagen fibres in the skin. They follow the direction of maximum tension, and are matched closely when making a surgical incision, so when closed up, the skin heals optimally. Without prior knowledge of this, I realised that I orientated my brushstrokes in the same way. The arrangement of texture in my figurative paintings, which I pursued for stylistic purposes, actually followed tension lines which represents and serves some function in the human body. I lack the facility of language to express this more beautifully, but it’s kinda mad no? 

To recreate the feeling of something now, I don’t even try to get the colours and that exactly right. As long as I can make my eyes flow over the forms within the painting, using texture to reflect the topological lines that flow over all objects, then I know I’m on the money. It doesn’t have to be accurate, just has to make sense. 

Thank You, Have a Nice Day

B — There you go 

A — Thank you brother, have a nice day 

B — *acknowledging nod* 

A — Actually, bro, lemme get that bag as well please

B — *puzzled nod* 

A — *takes a hold of it, feeling weird for asking, walks out the shop* 

I first saw these bags in Egypt before noticing them in the UK. Leaving the shop, I was more interested in the plastic than what was inside. When the bag was empty again, I didn’t throw it away, or use it to store rubbish. Instead, I meticulously folded it and put it away in my luggage. Confused by my own intrigue but certain I’ll have some use for it.

Months later, taking note of the clear box I used to store that bag, and others like it, I had the impulse to use them in my paintings. A commonplace item, ubiquitous, yet so overlooked.

It’s just a bag at the end of the day, but I’ve come to like what it represents. I feel it speaks to an impersonal politeness, commonplace in our society now. Thank you, have a nice day - a rule of civility or do we actually mean it? The same way asking someone how it’s going as a way of saying hello and goodbye at the same time. Or maybe it’s survival. I mean, to a large extent, the survival and growth of your business is dependent on how well you treat your customers, the likelihood of their returning, or recommending you to others. It’s better coming from a human but when weariness takes over, give the job to an inanimate object. 

Really though, it’s just a bag. 

Mileage

It’s mad thinking about how much mileage some of my brushes have done. Join the strokes together and you’ve got the length of the A40 in a single one. Body beat down, brake pads worn, engine hanging on for dear life. It still serves the function. A to B. Palette to canvas. 

It kind of pains me to throw one away. Finally having to admit defeat. 

The untold stories the objects we have around tell. I used to even keep the palette scrapings from the previous days oil paint in disposable cups of coffee, hoping to one day transfer them to a jar - a display of effort over years. Unfortunately, my mum threw those out unaware of my plans.

Don’t be so precious, she said to me.