When much had been forgotten (2016)
Gallery of When much had been forgotten details, exhibition installation and studio documentation
The story behind When much had been forgotten>
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.
Uccello scooped out paint from the leaves in his trees and filled these with gold leaf so that they shone in the light, so here I have included a rich gold tree. The shape of the river comes in on the right and the flat neutral-tone collage elements (top right, bottom centre, top left) introduce negative shapes from Trace, quarrying discarded material and reusing in a new way.
When much had been forgotten was first shown in Quarry at the Brocket Gallery, London in 2016.
More works from 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 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.
I think you might like...
Stop motion animation made on my parents’ kitchen table in Lancashire and on the floor of an artist’s clapboard house in Los Angeles.
“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.