A Piece of Wood Chewed By My Dog
Oil on gessoed board
There were all kinds of subjects I could have painted. Or felt that I perhaps should have painted. But for some reason on this day I couldn't make up my mind. In the end, I just looked at the studio floor and picked up this bit of wood my dog had chewed. I thought I'd try and make a painting out of it. It's not just contrariness or being perverse, I hope. I'd like to think that in my own humble way I'm asking that same perennial and thorny question that contemporary artists have been struggling with for the past century or so - what is a painting, and what is worth painting?
Or maybe I've just got a chip on my shoulder...