The Incredible Darkness of Being
Autumn/Winter 2013
Once upon a time there was a woman who to the world in general lived what would be considered a reasonably quiet albeit stylish life. Never outwardly flamboyant she secretly got a thrill out of being studied. She liked to sit. She liked being painted. She loved to be depicted in dark oils, as her wardrobe was as brooding as her thoughts: all olive, inky blues, midnight pitchy black and her only concession to colour was with touches of sky blue and early sunrise red. For her new series of portraits for the coming winter she prepared all her colours in her favoured boiled wools but added small effects of leather, French lace woven with thick threads and she also added some oblong sequins for ornament and luminosity. The shapes were rigorous yet still there was an undeniable undertow of deep sexuality to it all, a promise of piety laced with passion. The painter was happy. He captured her modesty, her incredible plainness and rightness religiously.
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