Hot pink, underneath (For every Alex)
by Christos Polydorou
I did a foundation course in fine art for a year with a miraculous lady called Thalia whom I think of everyday, when I make art. She really did show me how to see, but also she showed me how to take the moment to capture what one feels compelled to capture, with thoroughness that borders on asceticism, because you can’t take yourself too seriously, can you?
For me, writing, and making pictures, come from the same wrist; the one act is as blessed as the next, but that they come from the same source make both mediums triply blessed, especially if all the lines fall after orchestrated by your angels or your muses or whatever it is that you believe in that is helping you make your art. And no, Ernest Hemingway, it is not a whiskey bottle.
I find the roses in England utterly remarkable, captivating, and more than mesmerising. To take a moment to actually smell one is a dangerous thing indeed; yesterday when I did so, I almost fainted. It was such a rich, intoxicating, and natural smell, in that it felt real, and true, and beautiful, and created, in fragrance, the point where these three things meet.
I took a photograph of this particular rose which I will call Alex for personal reasons because underneath the whole baby pink ensemble was disrupted by the presence of a hot pink petal, whose edges are vividly evident at the bottom right.
Images are powerful, although I would not say they are more powerful than words. They are different aliens. Images are powerful, in that they can transform you, sway you, and in the worst cases, misguide you. Those who appreciate images know this, or should. And those who make them, must know this.
For every Alex.