I'm painting and looking at my drawing as a reference. The expression isn't quite right, so I take the photo I used as a reference for the drawing, and continue painting. The glass plate which I'm using as a palette, it's pretty much unbreakable, I mean, that plate has been through A LOT, it falls to the ground and shatters into a hundred pieces. Glass shards mixed with acrylic paint, all over the floor. An interesting visual in itself, I observe it for a moment, knowing the paint dries rather quickly, I get on with the clean up.
I've been thinking about painting people, or painting in general, I wish to increase the distance between the reference and the artwork, I wish to distance myself from explicit form. Perhaps the palette breaking at this moment, as I returned to the photographic reference, isn't sheer coincidence, perhaps I wanted a break, a pause, to not go down that road again, the road of following form.
And so, this one will be different.
The above text was posted on Sabina's Facebook profile. The incident inspired Dale Larner, a writer, to a poem, which he posted in the comments section of the same post:
Shards of painted glass shattered loud on the floor;
The tinkling of the last bits echoed through an open door.
All was quiet . . . but not Sabina's soul.
Why do such things happen at the times that they do?
Is it just one of those things, or is it some kind of clue?
Multiple Sabina's reflected back at her eye;
Changing her reality, like unveiling a lie.
Sabina was the pallet!
The red paint was her blood,
And into her mind, Did rush a wondrous flood.
Form and function were under attack,
Perspective and symmetry began to crack,
Solid stone turned suddenly to clay,
And Sabina's outer shell did crumble away.
And so . . . this one will be different.
Dale Larner September 2016