LARA PAWSON: This is actually Abe's second appearance at Somerset House in the 1-54 Contemporary African Art Fair. The first was seven years ago in 2017. I encountered what I have called strangely magnetic paintings during lockdown in 2021 [...] at the Clerkenwell Gallery, not far away from here, in a very intimate setting. What I remember is being struck by my response by the work. I was immediately drawn to your use of very strong, striking colours and very deliberate shapes. But, as I stood in front of the work, and I felt this again when I had the privilege of going to Abe's house and studio to look at his work close-up, when you're in front of his work and you're looking at it deeply and carefully, examining the relationship between the characters’ eyes - very often in your work the eyes are a very significant part of the painting - and what they were holding, and what was around them, and what they were looking at, I found my mind and my imagination expanding into the serious and beautiful, but also quite dark places. I think that in Abe's work, one of your skills, and I don’t quite know how you do it, is that you give the viewer the space to consider the work and explore our own thoughts. I feel it's in a strangely writer-ly way that you manage to do that. Abe has shown his work across the world, in the United States, in various parts of the African continent - in South Africa, in Lagos and, I think, Brazil?
ABE ODEDINA: Yes, a lot of the work is made in Brazil. Some of the smaller pieces start off in Brazil and may end up being tweaked and finished in London. You have to have a word with the painting at some point.
LP: Okay, we're coming to that. This is just as a quick intro. It's [Abe's work] also in a number of major international collections around the world. Indeed, [...] this work (Madame Lasirenn) was sold the beginning of the show. Born in Nigeria in 1960, you've spent the best part of your life in London.
AO: I have when I look back, yes - absolutely.
LP: And you live between Salvador, Bahia in Brazil and now in Brixton in South London. And I've read that it was in Brazil - and maybe you told me this, and I can't remember if I read it or you told me - that your life began to pivot away from architecture - because for those who don't know, Abe was a very accomplished architect - to painting when you were in Brazil. And I wondered if we could just begin going back to that moment as to why it began in Brazil. Was it an epiphany or was it something gradual?
AO: Well, when we started going to Brazil, I suppose what really struck me, particularly in Salvador, actually all over Brazil, was the quality of the artistic veneration of the of the gods - the Yoruba gods. Not only was it ubiquitous [...] it was so natural. Now, of course, this happens everywhere, but there was a particular quality of that in Brazil that I suppose affected us all. I was with Sarah, my wife [...] and our daughters, and we suddenly realized this space was very important to us. We didn't go with a plan. In fact, we went for a party, and it turned out that it was the start of something. I realized that I had been slightly recalibrated. Of course, you're not conscious of these things when they're happening, you just realize that you you are wanting to do slightly different things. As you said, I was a happy architect but I became an even happier painter. It started slowly, and we found ourselves going back, and I suppose I just started painting. Eventually, painting took most of the oxygen and I didn't resist. There were fewer meetings and buildings that I had to be responsible for, but it was very natural process. But the other thing, of course, is that it wasn't such a huge change. I found a lot of the way the things that were important to me, making buildings, are still important in making paintings. So, that felt like it was very natural progression.
LP: And actually, I really wanted to ask you a bit about your process, because your paintings appear to feel that there are stories embedded in them, or stories that perhaps the viewer might kind of impose onto them of themselves in the way that you place objects, people, figures, and landscapes together. And I found myself again - perhaps this is the writer in me - thinking: 'does he sit down in front of a blank canvas, or a board in your case - because Abe does not paint on canvas - and do you sort of sit and stare into the blankness and start to paint?' Or do you come to the work with thinking: 'this morning, I 've got to paint this', and you appear in the studio and off you go?
AO: The first thing is just to turn up, which is easy because I paint in a studio. But let's call a spade a spade - It's a shed [...] I paint in a shed in the back of the garden, and with big bits of work. I hope the ideas are big, [...] I think any studio is a bit of a portal where you can think about ideas beyond yourself, which is important for me, because, as I've said several times, I'm not that concerned with my biography; oddly enough, I seem to carry it around with me. I want to look out to the window, rather the mirror. That's what inspires me to paint. But I don't ever go into the studio and look at a board with any particular idea. I had to turn up and I started doing something. I primed the board. You know, there's a catalogue of images running around my head, their body parts borrowed from humans, from images I might have seen, somebody holding themselves in a particular way which seems suggestive of something. I'm never entirely sure what that is, but I just had to make a start. I started making a mark. And for paintings that look fairly concrete, there is no particular sketch, I start to work on a figure.
LP: And you start with paint? You don't start with a pencil?
AO: I prime it, I may divine something about the board depending on what size it is to think. Am I looking for a big figure, or do I want something that involves smaller figures within within the board? So, there's a process of divination, which I suppose is quite useful for being an architect. I can attack the board fairly confidently. Even if it gets destroyed, I will do something, and the next mark makes something. At some point I have an idea of something, even if it's just 'I'm not going to do what I did the last painting'. I suppose you'll carry a number of thoughts about what's important to us, what we might be finding fascinating in the studio - and listening to the radio, I get rather waylaid by music.
LP: I'm glad you brought that up because when I visited your studio/shed I was struck by several things. One was how many books you had in it. The other thing was how many paintings you had managed to fit into it, but also that you were, I don't know why, to my kind of shock, listening to (BBC) Radio 4. And thought: 'my God, if you looked at this man's paintings, I would never imagine you'd be listening to Radio 4'.
AO: I like to be in the world and listen to the news. Uou need something to shout out first. I wonder if that's where the title of the show (came from), For crying out loud, because that's my response to radio - it's definitely an exclamation - not necessarily one of despair. There's often an element of that, but you get annoyed with what's happening in the world. But I think what I want to do is not documentary. I am not going to make a painting of a burning building because I've heard about a fire. I don't think that's what the world needs. There has to be some sort of process. There's [...] an alchemy. You react to what you hear, and then you make something. I've often said: "life hits me and then I make a painting”. But you hope there's a process of distillation where the reaction is - in spite of how concrete they are. It is an emotional reaction, but I don't want to paint emotions because I carry them with me.
LP: You hope that filters through the painting rather than being the subject of the painting?
AO: Yes, I want to paint. It's a process of discovery. I find out what I think. And I'm sometimes surprised when you then finally decide on a figure, and it leads you to the end of the painting in little stages. So, I'm always discovering what I'm painting. And just oddly enough [...] I think we'd all agree that there's a sense in which we're moving into an uncertain world - we're constantly being told. But I'm acutely aware that the future seems slightly less certain than it's been for a while. There are so many balls in the air. There are so many incompetent [...] leaders. So, no one's in charge - or no one sensible seems to be entirely in charge anywhere. And this idea of a transition - this painting (Crossing the rubicon) probably typifies that, she's at the threshold of something. It's (the painting) called Crossing the rubicon. She's moving into an an uncertain world. She's a very sensible woman; she's got her umbrella because she might need shelter - you don't know what’s going to happen. She's got her handbag, which is a very important thing [...] but it's just that point of moving into somewhere. So that would be a response to so much that we're all increasingly aware of.
LP: That painting, I think, like a lot of your work, is deceptively simple because your work from a distance can look quite clear. I mean, as you said yourself, your history as an architect... you're not afraid to go to the board. And there's a very real sense of confidence in your paintings, in the line. But then when I look at that (Crossing the rubicon), there's such a sense of pensiveness in the woman and I find myself thinking: 'how has he managed to get that into the into the world?'
AO: Well, I hope so. It's probably because I don't know what the hell I'm doing most of the time. What I am trying to do is to make ambiguity concrete. I don't want to paint a dreamy dream, because while we're having a dream, it feels fairly believable and solid until it evaporates as we try to bore somebody in the morning with the content, it just melts away. And it's that sense that it has a logic which then disappears. So, what I'm after is that ambiguity. But I also want it to be concrete. I want it to be firm and yet suggestive of all sorts of meanings.
LP: The painting - [...] the man holding the big fish (Free standing). Yes, I love that painting.
AO: Free standing
LP: I mean, it's wonderful having the paintings here, but in real life they're so impressive, you need to see them in flesh. But you said to me: “I don't want the sea to be full of plastic bottles”. There is a very strong sense of man and nature and the environment in this painting.
AO: That's what the paintings about. I didn't think I needed to have a lot of floating detritus in there because we know about that. Firstly, it's important to me that we realise that we are part of nature and not observers. So, I didn't want a man in his swimming trunks playing in the ocean, because that's fine, but that's not what I'm particularly interested in. I didn't particularly want him to be fishing but I wanted to paint an encounter with one of the most obvious fruits of the sea, and (he) somehow holds a sense of trepidation - the sense of things not being entirely right in his body, in his expression, to make the weight of the fish palpable. We've all watched films where somebody's going running, and [...] you know, the suitcase is empty. [...] I wanted the fish to feel like it was something consequential, because they are. [...]I wanted a note of concern, and also tenderness, and something that suggests a relationship - an equal relationship - which I hope is palpable...something about the way he's holding the fish, his expression and his shoulders, just a kind of awareness. And I call him Free standing. Initial thought was free reign, but I thought that would just remind me of chickens. But it's the same - it's a conscious existence. He's coming to an awareness that 'I'm part of this'. And I wanted him in his suit to show that it's an encounter almost on an equal basis. I don't render the scene watery. I want to make it a phenomenon in itself, which is more tangible just around his legs, you realise that he is standing in something.
LP: Another thing about this painting, and all your paintings and again, which I noticed when I was in your studio with you, is that you use the paint directly from the tube. You don't mix paint, is that right?
AO: I don't [...] I think some of that is just essential pleasure. There's something so lovely about the quality of good quality acrylic, which is what I use. I think with acrylics on board there's something quite enjoyable about moving that thick, viscous material around, and it sort of gives me time. And I also feel I'm dealing directly with the colour.
LP: I wondered if it was also sort of a discipline, a kind of restriction that if you don't mix the paintings, those boundaries and those restrictions squeeze out more creativity.
AO: Yes, you're so right. It is. I didn't want to be fiddling around with the turquoise and seeing it. I just choose the color. I can see it in the box, and I then want to apply it because it brings a little talklessness to the party. That works for me. Also, I suppose when I have food on a plate, I don't necessarily like my food to mix. I mean, I just like to see that thing, that slab of whatever it is - it brings its own beauty. Then I do the mixing in my head or in my mouth.
LP: There's another thing about this painting which, and also, I think of the woman before (Crossing the rubicon), is the sea or the horizon. Very often in your work there's a sense of space or being on the edge.
AO: You're right - the sea is put there to place these figures in a liminal space. Whenever I'm on a beach I don't swim because I swim really badly. When we we turn up at the beach, Sarah goes in for a swim, I dip my toes in in just a pair of specs and goggles, and I go back and sit down, and I'm consumed with this idea that I'm on the edge of the world.
LP: In Bahia?
AO: Wherever. Whenever you're at the edge of the sea, you are at the edge of the world in some way. [...] So I find it a very powerful space. I'm happy to be there for hours. Just having thoughts about liminal spaces. So, the sea is there to make the figures more phenomenal and placing them in the world, and saying they are important figures that are existing in the world.
LP: And you also very often have the sun or the moon.
AO: Yes, you need a celestial.
LP: Somewhere there are certain objects...Okay, here's the grand painting (Madame Lasirenn) - the Staffy I really like.
AO: Well, Madame Lasirenn, as you know, the queen of the seas. Quite a phenomenal character, she gets her name from Greek mythology. Her voice - a wonderful singing but devastating voice. She gets her spiritual acumen from West African Water goddesses like Mami Wata, Yemoja, Oshun...these are powerful, powerful, powerful women of the sea and of its riches. She is just a phenomenon. I'm always pleased when I paint the goddesses because a lot of my work - we talked about results - started off with creative veneration of the goddesses. The only discipline I impose on this is that I don't have them stacking up, out of respect, in the studio. So now Madame Lasirenn is going to new home there’s a vacancy to paint another goddess. But it's trying to somehow not have them lost in the depths of mythology, because that can be a very static place. I think it's important to co opt them into contemporary concerns - that's important to me. First of all, the idea of these hybrid creatures appeals to my sense of identity, where I think identity is fluid - that's my position on this - constantly changing. I think that particular half-fish, half-woman, I mean, this is not your Little Mermaid, she's not a Disney princess because she is something you do not want to encounter. It's just trying to see how they can be represented in a way that's relevant. The Staffy: we know dogs in European art represent loyalty, but you will not get more loyal a dog than a Staffy. [...] it's to show the quality of devotion that she demands. And, of course, with the anchor it suggests some of the areas of jurisdiction. She's in her palace at the bottom the sea, drinking some sweet wine. She is concerned with matters of matters the heart. [...] The arrow: [...] this is about things that cannot be recalled and reclaimed. Because once the arrow goes, it's gone. You can't endlessly change things. So that's a very severe warning - it's possible to blow it.
LP: And the other paintings you've got...I don't know if you've got there the Ladder of dreams. I find this painting very - I can't look at it. I'm sorry to say that it makes me think of lynching, and I find it a very disturbing painting, and more disturbing because you have this quite merry ladder. So, you sort of think of maybe Jacob's Ladder. There are clouds, the lovely blue sky, but then there are these feet hanging.
AO: The ladder of dreams is also the ladder of nightmares. It's the same night, it's the same vehicle. So, you have angels who can descend - that's Jacob's Ladder/the ladder of dreams. You have angels descending, and wonderful things happening. But I imagine that, if it suggests access, you can also have demons ascending. So, is our character there escaping into some wonderful space or hanging out of some dreadful thing happening? Well, I believe that we live in a life where wonders will never cease, and disasters often follow soon after. This is the nature of things. But you said something earlier which I'm delighted about: I like to leave in space in the painting for the observer because, for me, a painting can only be understood as something between my expression and your interpretation. I think that's important. Also, it's a static thing on the wall and somehow with the concreteness and the diagrammatic nature of the painting, it's important for me to allow the viewer to inhabit the painting themselves. I think it really makes the work bigger, in my opinion. If a work can be equally charming and disturbing, I'm thrilled.
LP: And I think that [...] every time I look at the paintings, I see something I might have missed before, and I have another thought that maybe I didn't have before. And I think I'm quite a pessimistic person. You know, if I listen to (BBC) Radio 4, I just am filled with misery, with lots of reasons. I don't think I have your level of energy and optimism. What I like about your work is that you're not hiding from the darkness of the world, but you are offering ways to see light, and I find that incredibly [...] moving and inspiring, but also, I just think it's a real gift that you're able to do that.
AO: Thank you. I think, to paraphrase Desmond Tutu, "I'm a prisoner of hope". However dark it is, it's still the world we have to somehow deal with. And it is grim, yes...at times increasingly grimmer, but somehow, I don't think it's my job to tell us how brilliant it is because we know that. I think we can’t avoid that, but we perhaps should be reminded that there might be ways of living, understanding it with enough strength to address things and perhaps change/shift it a little bit. I mean, talking about that, there is a painting if I could request, if we have time...
LP: - This is one of my favorites (A large inheritance) - can I just tell you, I love it. Another ladder at the side.
AO: Yes, I always offer that, as I hope, in the spirit of generosity to the protagonist in the painting - it offers possibilities. And this is about the nature of inheritance. It can be large and material.
LP: ...and terrifying.
AO: …And terrifying, familiar, but terrifying. It might change everything. And this is an encounter between a young girl and a large bull. I'm on her side, I think she's gonna get her ball.
LP: You were gonna ask for another painting?
AO: To hell and back. Well, I once saw this delightful bit of embroidery by Louise Bourgeois, which is, "I've been to hell and back and let me tell you, it was marvelous (wonderful)" and I found that so inspiring and I wanted to respond to it. Obviously, my needle work leaves a lot to be desired, so I thought I'd do a painting - I'd do what I do. It's about resilience.
LP: I mean, he's seen a lot, that man.
AO: He has seen a lot, but he's come out looking fairly dapper and he's ready to move on. And I wish that for all of us, because disasters will happen, but somehow or other, if we can, I hope we can - we can't always - but let's see if we can pluck victory out of defeat at times. We can try.
Questions from the audience:
Speaker 1: This is about the dog - I'm a dog lover, I've got a dog. I didn't understand the dog reference.
AO: Madame Lasirenn demands a huge amount of loyalty and devotion from her followers. And I think in a lot of European art, dogs represent loyalty. And there's no greater loyalty than you'll get from a Staffordshire bull terrier,
Speaker 1: Specifically a Staffordshire bull terrier?
AO: Oh, trust me, if you have a Staffy, it's next level.
LP: Okay, another question. When I'm in the position of power of convening, I like to try to encourage women to speak up. There's a lady at the back. Thank you very much.
Speaker 2: Thank you. This is the perfect painting to talk about it - handbags. What's the relevance of the many, many, many handbags that you paint?
AO: There's a source of mystery. [...] I was the fourth of five children. At a particular point, my siblings had all gone to universities, various schools, etc, and I spent a lot of time with my mother. And (we) became pals, and I was constantly fetching her handbag for something. I had to carry this thing with reverence, always amazed by the thing that would come out of it. And I just learned to respect these receptacles of mystery. They were mysterious, and I see them as a source of power. Yes, in this case, this (painting) is called Just a perfect day...
LP: I'm so jealous of this woman, I really am.
AO: Well, she has snatched victory out of the jaws of defeat and she's having a moment.
LP: She's having a nice smoke.
AO: She's smoking the highest quality combustible available. She didn't get the memo not to smoke, but it's just a moment of triumph. And sometimes we have to snatch those moments in the day, and I think that's worth recording,
Speaker 3: I love the comment you made earlier about leaving space in each of your pieces for the buyer to see something different, other than what you saw. I own Deep cut, one of your pieces, and when I saw that for the first time at the Royal Academy I was so drawn to it because it had the Union Jack in the background, and she (the figure) was dark blue, beautiful, and she reminded me of a Curtiss Mayfield track. [...] I was so drawn by it. So, your comment earlier about leaving room in a painting for the buyer or viewer to inhabit, it is really beautiful, and that's why I've seen your work.
AO: Thank you very much. I think a dialogue rather than a monologue. [...] I'm not frightened, actually, of the viewers opinion. In fact, I relish that because people come to a painting, or any piece of work, with their experience. It seems odd to want to give them a manifesto or a way to understand the painting or just say 'well, I'm not having that'. [...] It's important to know what the artist is thinking but I it's important for me to come to my own conclusions, because a work, a piece of work, is outward facing. These are cultural objects. They are facing the world, and we must react to them. I don't want to be told what to think, but I do want something that engages me, that allows me to think many thoughts, even changing thoughts, which is even more exciting when we change our view about a piece of work - as we change.
LP: Thank you. Somebody at the back has been very patient...
Speaker 4: ...I was just wondering if the characters or the people move between the different paintings. Are they the same people?
AO: That is a great question. I suppose, since they are figurative propositions, they are made-up people. I think they paint themselves on me in certain ways and they must migrate at times. It's not in a conscious way. I don't think that that's a particular woman. But if, as in this case of Up the ante somebody is a very serious young woman who's trying to proclaim, standing on her soapbox, and she has something to tell us then, and she merges with her expression and a particular hairstyle. Whenever I'm trying to express something like that, I may find myself subconsciously boom for her, but it's never deliberate [...]. But you're right. They probably do migrate. I only discovered this in a show when I realized that, oh, that might be her doing a thing in another context. But yes, nice question.
LP: What a great question.
Speaker 5: Hi everybody. I have a related question. Actually, I noticed your people are quiet, sort of elegant... [...] quite poised; some of the men have almost Saville Row suits on. [...] Is that intentional?
AO: You know, there's this tradition of studio photography, if you're going to record yourself or be recorded, then you do try to put your best foot forward. It's out of respect for the public.
LP: It's funny you said that, [...] I'm glad you've asked that question. Your work - I've been thinking about who does it remind me of? [...] I immediately thought Frida Kahlo. But I also thought [...] the Malian photographer (Malick Sibide) [...] - it really makes me think of that too.
AO: These are all influences, particularly Frida Kahlo. But you're right, I do like a uniform as well. Because that seems to me like an excellent idea - to have recognizable clothes, which I do - they're pretty interchangeable, and I don't have to sweat because it's all blue work jacket [...]. I just like them to be quite presentable. I don't want the clothes to take over. So, they are simple, and I hope legible. It's a legibility that I'm after.
Speaker 6: One thing that's striking me about some of your paintings is between the background and the figure. So for example, the bull one (A large inheritance). So, for second, I didn't see the girl, because I couldn't see it properly clearly. I was thinking about [the relationship between the background and the figure].
AO: I suppose I always saw the sheer might and scale of the bull as balanced by the determination (of the girl), in spite of her small scale.
LP: She doesn't look afraid.
AO: And I think the strength of her posture and her inner confidence and proposing counterbalances: the shared weight of the board. And I thought if they were in a fight, I'd be on her side. I think she'd win. It's that I'm trying to show this apparent imbalance. I'm trying to show the relationship, and we don't need to see her face because we've got her stature. But I think you're right - it's entirely possible to make a painting in a way that you then discover bits of it as you look. I hope a slow and longer gaze is rewarding.
Speaker 7: I just saw another painting with the camouflage in the background, so I wanted to ask the significance of the pattern.
AO: I rather like camouflage, but it also suggests that there is some trickery going on. There is some skullduggery. In the technology of military warfare, it is about deception. It's a throwaway thing that suggests that there might be some jeopardy around, there might be some gameplay, and it might be my gameplay, but it just means there's a game afoot.
Speaker 8: My question is around your process, so you mentioned that you just want to turn up and just start, I feel like that's beautiful. But I was wondering, I don't know why - maybe because I'm French, I was thinking of the Mona Lisa - have you ever started something that turned out to be completely different?
AO: Every single time - you have just described what happened!
Speaker 8: So then my second question is, what was the start?
AO: It's not that there is a concrete plan at the start. But you start with something - you get wrapped up in that. And it might be another element that creates a relationship between those two. I think if you do figurative painting and there's a bit of a narrative, it's important to me that the way paintings tell stories is quite different to the way a novel would tell a story. You have to leave gaps because of the discipline of the medium. [...] That painting is immediately about the gap between her and the bull. I honestly can't remember what went on first, I think I got really wrapped up in the bull, and that was fun, [...]the more bull-ish it got. Then I inserted a context around it, and that wasn't satisfying. The bull was looking out at me, and then the girl appeared, and then some idea of a story. It has to tell a story, like poetry rather than prose, because it has to be abstracted. I think those 19th century narrative paintings can be tedious - not all of them but lots of them, because I wasn't there. There's no room for me here, it's kind of reporting something that you weren't part of. It might be important historically, and that's fine, but it's not what I do. So, things then move around and surprisingly, it gets to a point where I think I know what it's about, and then it begins to move around. Some things might get destroyed. Things might get added. So at least I'll make it fresh... it keeps me interested at work.
Speaker 9: Your painting is really moving, actually. But I wanted to ask you a question about the proportions of things and the spacings, they're just perfect. So, in terms of the perspective that it works. They're all in proportion. And then you've got the floor, you've got the tiles, you've got the surfaces, you've got the windows. Does that come subconsciously to you? Because it's like they're perfect backgrounds, in a sense, there's a floor tile. And I just think it's really interesting that you've got these layers, and that sort of seems to write through is that something that comes naturally or are you driven to make them.
AO: I suppose, as the painting evolves and develops it goes towards something that feels like perhaps it couldn't have happened any other way. But [...] I'm honest when I say there is no plan. It gets to a point, and I think it needs something. It needs this, and that thing has to further develop the story, not to explain it. It might be an additional veil, something that maybe even obscures it, and I hope makes it richer. But, and this is where I lean to my architectural training, which I'm fairly happy with, I don't let the composition determine the painting. And actually, you'll notice one thing - while you spoke about perspective, and that's interesting - do you know that there is no perspective? It's all very flat. The flatness is vital because I don't want to be burdened with biography or real space. It's important that it stays in pictorial space, which is rather magical. So, in actual fact, she is, in this, on the same plane as the bull. Actually, what we do is not real. We're making it up. So, it's about how you make it up. Then, even though I don't fling paint around, there is a lot of painting. There's lots of layers. And people who come across my work online often think they're very graphic because they're so concrete. But I hope when you come across them in real life, you see that there's more evident mark-making to show you build-up, and that's important. But composition is important. In a way, it helps to mitigate my limitations, in certain respects. I'm trying to show further separation between the bull and the girl, and yet, a closeness. The cruciform form and the filigree - the veil that comes in between, we know that's not going to stop a bull. A bull could leap over that without batting an eyelid but she's holding the bull at bay.
Speaker 10: So I was just wondering if there's anything that your paintings have revealed to you about yourself and maybe something that has been highlighted in terms of who you are, what you have to offer, or your perspective, something to celebrate, or something to work on? I suppose it's more like a personal question.
AO: It's a good question. I paint every day. I think that's [...] what I move towards. And I love painting. I feel, as I said, it's a process of discovery. It's perhaps my only real public gesture. So, I am interested to discover what I think, to discover how I do things. It's one thing to think, it is another thing to have it manifest in front of you on sheet of plywood. And I think, well, this is me, this is the kind of thing I do. I make the kind of paintings that I want to be in the world. If that says anything: what I discover is that I do like dialogue. [...] I think it's so much more interesting...I don't like to tell people what to do because I think it's futile and not even interesting. I prefer an exchange of ideas. We don't have to agree. But how lovely if we can exchange ideas, even if we don't agree, to find a way to do that and that there are spaces in which we can all get on. Also, there are ways of addressing important things without undue self regard, which can, in fact, get in the way. A certain distance, some important things, as well as being immersed, hopefully sincerely... that's what I've discovered with this.
LP: That's a really perfect place to wrap up. Thank you so much
