The online world can give a false impression. Like most people, I rarely post about failures. So you could easily be given to believe that everything I do turns out just fine. Most of the pieces I write, and most of pictures I paint, eventually end up okay, but not all. Today’s picture has an interesting back story.
This weekend, as well being my birthday, is the weekend of the Wales Air Show, which is held annually in my home city. This is a big event that a lot of people look forward to. For me, it comes with mixed emotions. Whilst I can admire the spectacle and the skills of the pilots, especially the stunt teams such as the Red Arrows, I find the militarism surrounding the event extremely off-putting. As a Quaker and a life-long pacifist, the idea of pointing at the sky and marvelling as a bomber plane thunders past just seems plain wrong. This feeling has only increased since I’ve been doing voluntary work for Swansea City of Sanctuary and have heard first-hand of the devastating effects of bombing campaigns – some of them financed or supplied by our own Government – upon innocent people.
So this morning I was sitting drawing and painting my latest Celtic design. Normally, I play music as I paint, and I like to think that some of the beauty of the music goes into the painting as I do so. But this morning, I didn’t have music on. Instead, I had the sound of the Typhoon fighter jets as they thundered over our house, leaving contrails in the sky. I tried to block it out, but my frustration seemed to bleed into the paint, and nothing would work. I could feel myself growing more and more restless, as none of the colours seemed to mix properly. My attempt at creating a rainbow with colours blending from one end of the spectrum through to the other hadn’t worked. Instead, the colours clashed horribly. I felt like throwing it in the bin. I decided to leave it to dry, and went off to do the washing up, intending to throw it out later.
When I got back, the colours had dried and blended a little, but it still looked horrid. The pinks and reds clashed violently with the greens and blues, and it all looked amateurish and, well, angry. But I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away, not after all the effort I had put into drawing it. So instead, I decided to experiment. I closed the windows, switched on some gentle music, and let the rhythms wash over me for a little while. Then I took out some metallic silver, bronze and gold, and got to work, washing over the tops of the offending colours, and re-blending them. And the gentle music and the shimmering paints worked some magic. The resulting picture was very different to my original intended rainbow design, but still had its own unique form of beauty. It was more beautiful still, to me, because I knew it had evolved from a place of anger to a place of beauty and calm. I think there is an edge of resilience to it, beneath the layers of gold and silver – a refusal to give up. A refusal to let anger and violence win.
I don’t always name my paintings – it feels pretentious – but this one has a name. I have called it Heddwch – the Welsh word for Peace. It feels appropriate somehow.
