The Circle

paul
circle in pink & blue
‘miss circle’ Acrylic on wood panel (16″ x 16″) 2018

A painting as a symbol of the metamorphosis of life and rebirth. The transformation of  caterpillar to butterfly; from mortal to ancestor. Yet encoded in both  the blueprint for life in an endless repeating circle.

‘Where does a circle begin or end?’
(equal credit to miss circle 2014)

The circle of life is my central study. How replication and inheritance, genetic and spiritual information, take us through the generations.
Lamarckism and the transfer of inherited memory, held in the very fabric of our existence. Dismissed by Darwin but recently confirmed as a detectable possibility in the DNA.
The study of such notions is documented through the centuries also the quest for the purpose of life.

 

 

Mining the mind

The transient state of life in mortals. The evolution of the mind and it’s multiple layers. Everything is locked away in the ‘onion skins that lead to the core of what we are and where we  came from.’ What memories, abilities and understanding are trapped in those layers. How can we drill for that hidden treasure?

 

 

 

What memories do we all share, inherited from common ancestors? Do we see them in our dreams, hopes, imagination?  No linearity, no single key, no treasure map has given a simple path.

 

 

 

 

Fleeting and mysterious

 

 

 

 

 

 

Perhaps tied up in the complex chaos of nature and revealed so poetically in the butterfly effect? The simplest of actions creates an eternity changed. Something so beautiful and delicate yet so powerful in significance.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

sleeping with the ancestors

 

Do we lay in the arms of the ancestors, do they guide or passage?  Does this brief and never fixed journey of mortality play part in a grander plan?

We illuminate existence through metaphors and emotions, collective conscience and shared experience. Art and music, poetry and imagination…and love.

 

 

a footprint of mortality

 

‘We leave a footprint, one that picks up a little chalk and clay on its sole . It speaks in memories from an empty house.’
-paul

‘…and yet to me what is this quintessence of dust?’
-William Shakespeare

 

 

page2: The journey is a cascade of events