neil mcleod

Brittle boned memories ache to the gut. A pocket knife, a phone, a handful of dirt. Carry your grave, a trench crudely cut, the measure by which you live. What to take, what piece of home? Something to slip between the borders, less than a heartbeat but more than a hope. A shred of wallpaper, a whittled talisman, the edge of a lover's kiss, an emptiness. Hide it well. No favours permeate the membrane between here and there, no season will shelter you. Faith will see you through, the faith of the traveller.

 

Nomadic Objects V is part of a series of paintings which explore the transitory nature of home, whether this be in the political or spiritual sense. Objects which, to quote Francesco Clemente, 'are not answerable to the world', surface through the paint, submerge back into the canvas. In the fixed world of a painting there is still slippage.

 

from the Nomadic Series