Neverending Dog Pile

Here are a bunch of super blobby little paintings I made recently. Just some thoughtless things for the sake of moving. I think for me part of practising (although I wouldn't even call it practising now, it's like the art equivalent of humming maybe) is really just moving. Just physically painting for the sake of routine and memory. But I always like it a lot. It's comforting in its aimlessness. Like watching leaves move around in the wind, and you just have a moment to be there.

I've been thinking about whether I should try to experiment more with different forms - paint some things I don't usually paint. I remember at high school we did a lot of stuff focusing on still life (we looked at Cézanne paintings and painted some oranges) and I'm kinda fond of those memories. Painting oranges over and over. Actually, we probably didn't even paint them that much, but everything seemed like more work then.

I do wonder a lot what it would've been like to have a higher arts education that had anything to do with form and technique, and maybe art history. That's stuff I'd always like to know more about. It'd be great if I could stop time in every art gallery and get to be there on my own in this still, stuck piece of time, walking around lines of people frozen in place for hours. I feel like art galleries would be boring without people there, though. Dark figures huddled round the thick, bright colour and stretching shapes.

But anyway, I painted a dog again. One more dog to add to the dog pile. The pile in my garden that keeps getting bigger. Dog after dog standing obediently on the top of the dog mound.

And there will be more and more of them forever, as long as I keep moving just for the sake of it.