Gallery of Slip details, exhibition installation and studio documentation
The story behind Slip
Paolo di Dono, called Uccello (1397–1475):
The Hunt in the Forest (c.1465-1470)
tempera and oil, with traces of gold, on panel; 177cm x 73.3cm
The Hunt in the Forest is held in the collections of the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford.
Look at the clothes of the hunters in Uccello’s The Hunt in the Forest (1470) The colours – tangerine, geranium, lavender, rose, olive, blackberry, mushroom – are vivid against the deep forest because Uccello painted in the figures first as white silhouettes (whereas the foliage overhead was painted in from a black background). Each hunter has been dressed in contrasting tunic and hose, with orange being used for the horses’ tack.
I wondered about the inclusion of the small pond in the foreground, and about what might lie beneath…
Slip was first shown in the exhibition Quarry at the Brocket Gallery, London in 2016.
More works in Quarry
As if peering through a gap in the trees this art work focuses on the relationship between light and dark, quarry and hunter. The colour and form of the red figure references Uccello’s practice within the late Gothic tradition and reminds us that red is the colour of fairytales, representing blood (virginity, violence, death).
The relics and ghosts of long ago are brought together here as if in a wild dream of nature. Starting from the verticals of Uccello’s trees and dotted lines he cut into the wood I wanted to present a landscape of fragments that offers a framework for a narrative.
The dogs in south London are running. One of the big ones slows down as it passes me and I step back as its nose swerves into my crotch, waving my arms as though that would make any difference. If it were really hungry it would just eat me but I get a face full of hot meaty air and it’s a lucky day.
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“And this is the sign for asleep,” says Alison, closing her index fingers and thumbs together in front of her eyes. “Go to sleep now my darling.”
She smooths out the duvet cover with her hands, uncreasing the printed astronaut suit, flattening the stars in their cotton void, repositioning the blue Earth from sliding off the side of the bed. She kisses Bill’s hair, feeling his fragile skull millimetres away from her lips. “Night night.”
“Night night Mummy,” he says.