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You'll not be surprised to learn that one of my favourite haunts is the Tate Modern on Bankside in London. With so many incredible galleries in London as well as further afield from where I live in Hertfordshire, I am spoilt for choice. The Tate Modern however, is a particular magnet for me. There, I soak up energy from a host of artists, of genres both similar to and divergent from my own. Twombly, Ben Nicholson, Malevich, Picasso, and so many more. Last week, I found myself wandering into the Blavatnik Wing at the Tate Modern, a part of the gallery into which I tend to venture more rarely than that adjoining the main Turbine Hall. I'm very glad that I broke my habit – not least because I found they'd stashed away there a favourite painting of mine by Shozo Shimamoto of the Gutai group, 'HOLES' (1954). I'd wondered where it had gone! While I was in the Blavatnik Wing I discovered the work of a magnificent German artist, Silke Otto-Knapp, in the form of a multi-panel painting, 'EINE AUFEINANDER FOLGENDE REIHE VON BILDERN' ('A SERIES OF IMAGES FOLLOWING ONE FROM THE OTHER'), painted in 2018. 'EINE AUFEINANDER FOLGENDE REIHE VON BILDERN' - Silke Otto-Knapp (2018) This piece took my breath away. Firstly the figures, in motion but also strangely static as if part of an animation project, reminded me strongly of another magnificent though little-known German artist, Elisabeth Schettler (1913-2003). Schettler was active for many years as part of the famous artistic community in Ahrenshoop on the Baltic Sea coast. Otto-Knapp hails from Osnabrueck, a city with a similar artistic heritage. I am proud to say that I have a family connection to Elisabeth Schettler. The painting of hers that you see below hung in my home, to my great delight, for many years. It now resides in Southern France. Elisabeth Schettler was known for her characterful depictions of workers – she lived and worked in Karl-Marx-Stadt (now Chemnitz), Germany, in the beautiful area of Schoenau. Her sister was a dancer, a disciple of the notable expressionist dancer Mary Wigman. I have always felt that Elisabeth's work embodies a sense of the dance; perhaps in the way that, in modern dance, gravity is embraced whereas in ballet it seems to be defied! The image below is an example of Elisabeth Schettler's Batik work. I was struck by a similarity in Silke Otto-Knapp's simple, flowing figures, to Schettler's more rustic evocations. I feel a particular connection to Schettler in that my favourite painting tool, that I use in almost all of my oil paintings, belonged to her. It is small, delicate and, like many other German items of the years between the two World Wars, has been made to last. I guard it with my life. It is my talisman! To return to Silke Otto-Knapp: Apart from the beauty of the imagery, I was struck by what I read of the techniques this artist employs. The multi-panel painting pictured at the start of this article has been made using, exclusively, lampblack watercolour. Otto-Knapp's method is to apply layers of watercolour to the canvas, then to wash them away. The separated pigment, floating on the surface, is then moved by the artist to settle in other areas of the canvas. The process is repeated, building up layers and, thereby, a dark background. The outlines of the erased images gradually emerge and brushes, sponges or the artist's fingers are used to control the gradations between light and dark. In my own work, I often 'scratch back' surface paint, releasing layers of colour below. Seen through, and surrounded by, the brush and knife strokes on the surface, they develop new significance and energy. Again, reading about Silke Otto-Knapp's creative process, I was reminded of much earlier experiments of my own. In oil painting nearly twenty years ago, I used the paint excessively thinned-down with turpentine, allowing drips to sculpt and simultaneously erode forms. Like Otto-Knapp, I would rub away areas of paint to create highlights. In the act of painting or drawing, any mark produced must necessarily overlay something else, whether earlier marks, or just that famous 'blank canvas'. Something always gets hidden. Furthermore, we can create by removing, build up by breaking down, and reveal what is below by stripping away the surface. SOME GERMAN ART, AND ABOUT CREATING THROUGH DESTROYING - Text and images copyright Haydn Dickenson 2022.

A STRETCH OF THE IMAGINATION (2021) - Artist HAYDN Hi! I am HAYDN, the artist with the unusual 'musical moniker' - a UK-based and worldwide-selling abstract painter. If you're not familiar with me or my work, you can see it it at www.haydndickenson.com where you can also read more about me. This is my very first blog post – I launched the site only last night. Perhaps you are the very first person to read it! If so, thank you for visiting, reading and, hopefully, subscribing! In this blog, I'm going to be sharing musings about Art, thoughts and ideas that make me consider 'the greater picture' about abstraction and about art in general; and about painting in relation to other art-forms too. Hopefully this might inspire some discussion along the way! For my first 'go', I wanted to approach the core of how abstract art is created – or at least, how I create it (without giving away too many secrets!); so the title of my first post is: THE MENTAL STATE OF ABSTRACTION. I would say that most abstract artists have at some time been subjected to such belligerent statements as “My three-year old could have painted that!” - I know I have. Or, for “my three-year old”, substitute “a monkey/hamster” etc, or even “I”..... Years ago, when I used to exhibit in the open air in London, a guy once wound down his window in traffic to shout at me “I'm sorry mate, but those are really shit”! Overheard on another occasion were two passers-by conferring about my work: “Oooooh no – he's not as good as that Banksy”! Another one told me point blank that my abstracts (yes, he even used that word) would be better if I put some people in them. The great Cy Twombly described the critical reaction to his first New York show as going down “about as well as a turd in a punchbowl”. There is something of a stigma attached to Abstract Art. We, as purveyors of it, have to acquire and maintain a thick skin, but also perhaps to help people to make friends with what might seem a challenging genre of art. I have even heard the bizarre opinion (from a fellow artist, a fine figurative one), that artists who morph from representational painters into abstractionists in later life do so because of a diminution in dexterity, precision or coordination. Don't get me started! I have a page on Twitter where, in a recent tweet, someone recently opined more respectfully on one of my paintings: “ I have to declare that I struggle to appreciate abstract art in this form. It just feels too arbitrary and lacking artistry. Of course, art need not be 'artistic' as it is also a medium for communication. But I do not get any such communication. Sorry.” “ In this form” . Hmmm. I think maybe they just don't like the painting, which is fine. “ Arbitrary” - perhaps they mean something like 'arising out of chance'. For me, there is no chance in painting. When I paint, I am the channel. A painting has a life of its own. It is like a river, whose course I follow. That course can lead to me deep and muddy waters or to clarity, but I don't find anything arbitrary about either direction. “ I do not get any such communication.” Understood. I do not 'get' the communication of much of the music written by say, Karlheinz Stockhausen, in that it doesn't particularly speak to me, but I nevertheless consider it to be extraordinary musical utterance. I don't mean to digress, or to draw attention to negativity - rather, to present a context in which I feel that abstract art is at times misconstrued. So the title, again, is: THE MENTAL STATE OF ABSTRACTION For me, the mental state kicks off as something like this: 'Starting from nothing which is also something'...beginning from that mythical blank canvas which holds so many possibilities simply because it is blank; of course it is not really blank because the painting is already in there, awaiting release, a bit like invisible ink. The first marks are, preferably, highly gestural. The Mental State must be free, unfettered. Peter Feuchtwanger's revelatory approach to classical piano technique is founded on movements that arise out of a state of muscular repose and are thus instantaneous, unpremeditated and supremely liberated. My first marks on canvas often emerge in a similar way. The Zen paradox is that those first gestures eschew premeditation yet are born out of a state of high tension, like an arrow waiting to be loosed from the bow. So is abstract art, after all, 'arbitrary' because it arises, supposedly, out of nothing? I believe not; although, tantalisingly and provocatively, perhaps an ultimate purity could be attained through something that emerges from nothing – demonstrating an enlightened and enlightening absence of self-limiting ego. Picasso was of the opinion that true abstraction does not exist - “you have to start with something”. I prefer to think of opening a door, and seeing what one is faced with. A line is a line, until another mark joins it, touches it, stays away from it, balances it, aggresses it. Only then is tension created. That's when the fun starts! If you've read anything about me or, even more, if you know me, you'll be aware that I love nature. I live in a rural area and have done so for most of my life. The energy, the light and the colours of nature constantly infuse my work, especially those of the Languedoc in Southern France where I used to spend a lot of time. This does not mean, however, that I use them as starting points – they are more like references, visual appendices which add personal accents to the purer abstraction that is at the core of each painting. Needless to say, neither do I place these things in the painting – they emerge, like motivic connections in a Beethoven Sonata. I don't want to imitate nature. “Not for a million dollars would I paint a tree”, said Willem de Kooning – though he also said that “even abstract shapes must have a likeness”! And how about the viewer's 'Mental State'? Someone once said to me that it is easier to cheat with abstract than with figurative art. That may be true. Or is it that the sceptical viewer is too intent on looking for a cheat or a charlatan? Are some people intimidated by abstract art, because they think they don't 'understand' it? Do we need to engage more with the psyche of the artist in order to align more with abstraction? Understanding should not really come into it. What matters is whether we like a painting or not. Too often I have encountered people (in the worlds of music and literature as well as the visual arts) who confuse taste with perception of quality; in short “I don't like it, so that must mean it is bad art”. I am always touched when – and it happens often – a client speaks of how tones, shapes, colours and mood in my paintings remind me of a place or an event; or when they explain how a painting affects their mood when they look at it, how they feel its presence in a room even when it is out of sight. It is then that I feel the 'Mental State of Abstraction' in the viewer has somehow aligned with my own. THE MENTAL STATE OF ABSTRACTION Copyright Haydn Dickenson 2022.

The great pianist Shura Cherkassky, when confronted by that well-meaning but sigh-inducing post-concert green room question “Who is your favourite composer?” would reply “whomever I am playing at that moment”. We all get that question – in my concert-playing days I, too, was often on the receiving end, but I seemed never to be ready with anything approaching Cherkassky's disarming candour and wit. One of the comparable triggers for an abstract visual artist is “What does it mean?” - or at least it is for this particular visual artist. We've visited this ground before though, in https://www.artfullyabstractedblog.com/post/meaning-what and https://www.artfullyabstractedblog.com/post/agnes-martin-and-the-non-meaning-of-art so we don't need to again today – though by all means have a read of those two articles! There is nothing new – in this column or elsewhere - in discussing the nature of what makes art, or what makes poetry; or in massaging the Aristotelian notion of a table to encompass one in which we recognise, in a human creation, an art or poetry 'essence'. https://www.artfullyabstractedblog.com/post/making-it-up-as-you-go-along Again, we've been there, done that. WORK IN PROGRESS (detail) - Artist HAYDN I have been thinking, though, about the nature of what we do as artists and why, and I started pondering, not so much on what 'Art' is, but what the word itself means. Could a close examination of the actual word bring us nearer to an understanding of what we are doing? “ Words, words, words”  exclaims Shakespeare's Hamlet when Polonius asks him what he is reading, seemingly dismissing their meaning and importance, but - damn you, Hamlet - I find words to be hugely potent; I love to ponder on their derivation, and am easily sidetracked into doing so. We need to go back to the early thirteenth century to find the word 'Art' being perceived as “a skill deriving from learning or practice” originating, via Old French from the Latin roots, Artem , meaning 'according to the style' or Ars, a noun denoting a skill or practice – possibly technical and not necessarily one related to self-expression. What is most unfortunate is that the popular perception of Art has become adulterated by taste and subjectivity. I have encountered too many people content to adopt the lazy stance that is “I don't like it, so it's crap (and by implication, not Art)” or another - “it doesn't look 'like' anything, so it's not Art” or another - “I could have done that”, though in the latter case I'm never sure whether they concede that the object of their derision is Art, or is not. For centuries, the term 'Art' has been employed to encompass a vast gamut of creative output made to be appreciated for its beauty and emotional power, and those last ten words can open doors to entire realms of magnificence. Antiquity, unfortunately, has tended to muddy the waters. The ancient cave paintings of Lascaux in France are revered and celebrated as Art while they were in fact created to express religious, ritualistic or symbolic meaning. It is unlikely that they were brought into being with any lofty intent. Prehistoric Cave Painting, Lascaux, France Contemporary graffiti, undeniably at variance in original purpose from the Lascaux drawings but made with sociological intent nonetheless, tends to raise eyebrows at least, and provoke vilification at most; unless it is by Banksy of course – because, well, he's an Artist, right? OK. In the German language, the word 'Art' goes the Latin way, referring to the style or manner in which something is made while, confusingly, the ancient Greek word 'Technê' (the root of our own 'Technology') refers to art or craft. Honestly, it is hard to know where we stand linguistically here, especially as the German word for Art is 'Kunst' which has engendered no similarly employed word in modern English. The roots of 'Kunst' are of Middle High and Middle Low German and Dutch origin, giving seed to the modern German Kennen (to know) and Können (to be able), and thence to 'Cunnan' (Old English) and 'Cunning'. 'Cunning' originally bore no pejorative connotations, and its derivation from 'Cunnan' leads us into reflection on a particularly traduced and abhorred English word which acquired its profanity entirely via the misogyny that, relatively recently, defiled its worthy origins. Plato has a lot to answer for, defining Art as he did, by the term 'Mimesis', referring to representation, copying or imitation. Willem de Kooning defied the Platonic stance, stating something along the lines that “There can be nothing more ridiculous than attempting to paint, say, a nose” . René Magritte more loftily opined that “Art evokes the mystery without which the world would not exist”. De Kooning probably veered towards the wrong side of inclusivity – I prefer to go with Magritte's catch-all poetry; but really, when we attempt to define, through semantics, what Art actually is, maybe we are just talking a load of Ars. MERDE D'ARTISTE - Piero Manzoni (1961) BUT WHAT DOES IT MEAN? Copyright Haydn Dickenson 2025

If you are a regular reader of this column, you will know a few things about me and my relationship with art. You will know that, as well as predominantly being a painter, I am an avid photographer in 35 mm and 120 format film (often using expired stock), employing a plethora of ancient cameras and developing my rolls in coffee; yes, coffee! You will be aware that I had a former career as a classical concert pianist and, related to this, you will know that I strongly believe all art forms and their outpourings are indivisible, that they are all borne of the same wellspring of creativity. You may also know that I regularly flee to my happy-place of Brighton, where I 'moving-meditate' – in the form of walking many, many kilometres per day – where I reflect, watch and listen to the sea, indulge my passion for street photography, and write poetry. No, I never paint there. Why would an abstract painter attempt to imitate the inimitable? I do write poetry in Brighton, though; very often I do this with a glass of wine in front of me at a favourite music venue close to the beach. I toy with words amid the white noise of quotidien hubbub and listen to the live music. In the genesis and content of today's article - by the second of 2025's guest writers - photography, poetry, music and painting will all combine! One evening last summer I settled myself down to watch a particularly fine singer whose punchy vocals and vibrant stage presence made me reach for my camera. I timidly approached and asked whether I might be permitted to take some action shots. The singer was Neve Sarti. After retrieving the scans of my negatives I posted some of the results on Instagram, and Neve and I started corresponding. I learned that, apart from being a fabulous singer, she is is also a highly individual and thought-provoking artist. Additionally, Neve writes extremely well despite what she states below; and is very quotable on top of all that! So, a guest spot on this blog had to be agreed! So, thank you Neve, and over to you! MAKING THE MOST OF THE MEDIUM I’ll preface this article with an apology - I’m not very good at writing. I can say exactly what I mean only if I’m not actually saying it. It seems I can only express myself in roundabout ways; I’m like one of those bridge-guarding trolls that speak in riddles. I love writing song lyrics because I can get away with saying pretentious stuff like ‘don’t know where I’ll go / if I die with the sun tonight / new roads will glow / deep down above the starless sky’  and somehow it’s about embracing the uncertainty of life. I love making collages because I get to pick pretty pictures that other people have conveniently photographed or drawn for me. All I have to do is intuitively put them together until they create something new - and for a chronic over-thinker, that’s a nice break. But words on paper? Oh God. That’s terrifying. You mean I can actually conjure up any image or concept through language, no limitations, no rhyme schemes, no knowledge of proportions needed, no limited options of images to choose from? That feels like a scam (If you are a writer and you are reading this, I’m sorry. I’m just jealous. Teach me your secrets!). To me, art sprouts in the borders of limitation. It’s a mutated creature growing in a wasteland, its features warped to make the most of the polluted air and lack of nutrients: used to living in the shapeless non-euclidean void of the imagination, when a creative idea is being brought into reality, it needs to adapt to its new environment and to the limits of its creator. It needs some direction to channel its shape into; because of this, having too much of a blank canvas can be daunting. I was trying to find pictures of my art to attach to this article, which has led me to a procrastination-driven deep dive into my old sketchbooks, and I’ve noticed that a lot of my older art is more interesting than the projects I’ve been working on recently. I think that, back then, not having yet unlocked a set of skills had forced me to come up with creative solutions to concretise my ideas into art. I couldn’t draw, so I did collages. I didn’t know how to make objects stand out against the background, so I left the background as a sketch while I drew the objects in front of it with greater detail. I also experience this with songwriting: I am a singer, but I can’t play any instrument well. Something about wanting to be great at things instantly has always discouraged me from learning. But having to write melodies on a simple bass line, or on the few chords I can play on the guitar, makes me come up with more interesting melodies and forces me to focus more on lyrics (and thankfully, I am friends with talented musicians who are willing to put my incoherent ideas into music - this way my songs can reach their final form despite my lack of skills). Now, I’m not saying that once an artist gets good at their craft they stop making good art. The beautiful thing about the human experience is that perfection is something we always strive for, but never achieve. No matter how good you are at your craft, the way creative ideas exist in your head is never going to be perfectly transposed in your creations. And this is truly a blessing in disguise! Another beautiful thing about making art is that you don’t need to know what you want to say. You can just say it and figure it out afterwards - or sometimes not figure it out at all. Images come to me before their meaning. For most of the songs I’ve written, I have come up with the title first, and then figured out what to write about. I think collage is a powerful tool to practice this. Finding an interesting picture or text or pattern and thinking, ‘I want to do something with this’, and then gradually compiling other pictures or text or patterns that fit, not knowing where you are going, but ultimately trusting that you will end up somewhere (oh, now I get what my song is about!). A similar exercise I do involves going to the art store and buying something that looks like it would be fun to use. Connecting to the sensory feeling that captivates me in that moment, whether it’s the smooth strokes of a brush pen, the softness of watercolour pencils or the way bleach expands on fabric (I am yet to try this one). Going home with my bounty, sitting at my desk and letting myself enjoy that feeling, trusting that it will lead to the creation of something. I’ve been rambling for too long; if you want to take anything away from this article, let it be that limitations aren’t your enemy - whether they lie in your current skill level or in the specific medium that you are using. I have recently re-watched the show Arcane  (I am an animation enthusiast), and the thing that really stuck with me isn’t the technically perfect and visually stunning design, but the way the animation style changes when showing flashbacks from different characters, going from watercolours to charcoal drawings to collage, and the way it reflects the tone and personality of the scenes. When used the right way, simpler styles of drawing convey more emotion than the usual hyper-detailed style. That’s making the most of the medium, and it wouldn’t be possible without the limitations that it poses. https://www.instagram.com/nevesart.msp/ MAKING THE MOST OF THE MEDIUM Copyright Neve Sarti 2025 and Haydn Dickenson* 2025 *First eight paragraphs only

When I was at school in the 1960s and 70s, there were those who could spell, and those who could not. Those whose lack of ability was pronounced faced major challenges, for they did not receive the support and understanding due to them. Things are different now. For many years, dyslexia has received the recognition it deserves, and the roll-call of high-achieving dyslexics includes Einstein, Thomas Edison and Picasso. I have dyscalculia – something that is not uncommon among artists and musicians, apparently. School life was hard though as, again, the problem was not recognised. The condition means that numbers put my brain into a spin. If I encounter them in a written text, my brain skims over and ignores them. I can't long-divide or long-multiply, I remain unable to understand the rules of games – board, card, field or otherwise, and I can't learn dance steps; but I share my 'dysfunction' with Cher, Robbie Williams and Henry Winkler – 'The Fonz'. Coincidentally (or not?!) 'The Fonz' was a nickname that became attached to me - in a wholly ironic way, I might add, at school. I was a bit of a misfit, not cool like Fonzie! I even had to have it explained to me who The Fonz was, as I was not allowed to watch 'Happy Days' on TV. So, allow me to introduce my latest oil painting, FUNCTIONAL DYSFUNCTION. FUNCTIONAL DYSFUNCTION - Artist HAYDN (2025) Perish the thought that my paintings deliberately or overtly 'mean something'. We've been over that many times in this column. Through an emptiness of allusion comes a plenitude of pure truth; or so I hope. I would like to think though, that the tumbling layers and punch-bright hues of this new canvas hint at an affirmation of it being ok to be 'dys' , in what ever way we, or our lives may be. Of course, just as Claude Debussy presented the titles of his Preludes for piano at the end of each piece rather than at the beginning – as a suggestion rather than a statement – please feel free just to like it as a (hopefully) nice picture. A bit of extra reading for you: Today, a lovely article has been published about me on the AATONAU art blog website. Aatonau ranks number 8 on the list of '50 Best Art Blogs' of 2025 (updated in January) so I feel very honoured to be featured. https://aatonau.com/haydn-breaking-free-through-art-and-music/ Enjoy! And do share, if you feel so inclined! FUNCTIONAL DYSFUNCTION copyright Haydn Dickenson 2025

For the last article of January, I am delighted to welcome the first of 2025's guest writers, multi-disciplinary artist Will Lockyear. Like me, Will is a musician as well as a visual artist, so I was especially pleased when he agreed to contribute a piece – one which I find very absorbing indeed. So, over to Will!... When Haydn asked me to write a piece about my journey as an artist, it struck me how little effort I’ve made over the years to weave my chaotic exploration into something resembling a coherent narrative. And so I write this for myself as much as for the person who finds themselves reading it. If you’re curious about the journey that led me to embracing the title of “multi-disciplinary artist”, and some of the insights into the threads that tie all mediums of expression together, I encourage you to grab a mug of something warm and read on. WILL LOCKYEAR in the studio I suppose it begins with a Nokia 3210. My dad’s, actually, in the tardis of a cottage he moved to after the divorce. A higgledy-piggledy thing with sloping roofs and a flock of bats that bobbed above the surrounding woodland canopy at sunset. The phone contained a rudimentary music-writing app, with monophonic tones assigned to alphanumeric codes denoting pitch and duration. It was a laborious process, to say the least, but one I found deeply enjoyable. For endless hours I’d weave sonic masterpieces (to my nine-year-old ears, at least), painstakingly coding the exact length of each note and pause. Within such tight parameters, I saw endless potential. Over the years, I’ve discovered many of these creative outlets. Some, like stop-motion animation and architecture (which I studied at University Of Manchester), exist for me as a distant memory, while others, like cooking and writing, have ebbed and flowed through the years. Photography provided me with a stable income, though perhaps at the cost of my artistic relationship to the medium. It was electronic music, though, that really grabbed me by the horns and led me down the artist’s path. WILL LOCKYEAR - music promo shot My twenties were spent, alongside a fair bit of partying, attempting the practically impossible task of becoming an electronic artist with a unique sonic fingerprint. The real genius of the greats (Call Super, Theo Parrish, Objekt, Octo-Octa, Floating Points, to name a few) lies in the combination of incredible artistry, however we define that, with the technical engineering skills to bring their visions to life. Most people can only pull off one of those, but I’ve always been fixated on both. I’m proud of the music I’ve made so far and that journey is far from over for me but I bring it up because of the lessons it taught me along the way. I consider electronic music the first art form I “mastered,” though I use the term very loosely. Meditation became a big part of my life in my early twenties and was a cornerstone of the insights that led me to mastering the elusive art of electronic production. I realised the most beautiful music came when I relinquished any sense of control. Inner stillness became the doorway to the next correct move when carrying out audio engineering tasks. I discovered a well of nothingness that one can clamber deep inside of, and the ideas that spring from that place are infused with a kind of brilliance normally just out of reach. Over time, I began to see parallels between the mediums I worked in. Whether I was finding the perfect balance of flavour in cooking, throwing porcelain at my mum’s studio, or even attempting to tear up a dancefloor, the same principles that helped me master music applied across the board. Everything boiled down to inner stillness, reliable access to flow-state and an ability to let go of control – to surrender to chaos whilst observing from a seat of awareness. There was something else, too. I’d developed a finer sense of some kind of divine balance, a resonance that either felt “right” or didn’t. I try to let this innate feeling be the driving force behind my actions when making art. I also found a bloom of unlimited, saturating ecstasy hidden in the deepest, most quiet corner of the mind. I’m still not sure quite how that influences my art, but knowing it exists certainly changes one’s relationship with the world. I began to see beauty wrapped up inside of the most mundane things. The way light would catch the edge of my dinner plate, the tapestry of texture in a pile of rubbish. Beauty is everywhere, if only we can learn how to look for it. A strong desire to express these discoveries grew in me, which led to a thought – where else might this be applicable? What do I really want to do with art?  On our first wedding anniversary, I brought my wife a blank canvas (paper) and told her I’d paint her anything. She asked for oranges. I studied art to A level and painting had been a source of joy in my school years but my first work as an adult, Oranges for Kat , was completed in 2020 at the age of 29 after over a decade hiatus. ORANGES FOR KAT - Will Lockyear (2020) When applying these broad insights to a new art form, they don't replace the need for technical education. Though I believe certain threads run through the mastery of any medium, each presents its own unique blend of technical knowledge, physical skill, and muscle memory. It took a full year of experimentation before I felt ready to fully embark on this painting. I had a clear vision in my mind – a piece both impressionistic and dominated by expressive brushstrokes, yet hyper-real. I wanted every inch of the painting to be something the viewer could get lost inside of, just as I had learned to do with my own reality. I worked on Oranges for Kat over several months. Along the way, I became fascinated with the brushstroke itself. I realised that everything I was trying to express with my polymathic approach to the arts was contained within each moment the brush touched the canvas. A brushstroke is a moment frozen in time. A dance, captured. I discovered that the beauty of a brushstroke correlated directly with the depth of stillness present during the act – how fully I could surrender attachment to the action itself. From this moment on, my work would be defined by unblended brushstrokes. The subject became a framework on which to layer a thousand moments of transcendence. To open the door to chaos is a scary thing, particularly when there is no undo button. Every brushstroke guides the work toward completion but also carries the power to ruin everything if the reins are let go completely. I play on the easel, mixing colours brings me pure joy, but the act of painting itself is an intensely spiritual act. One I find quite exhausting. EAT THE FRUIT - Will Lockyear (2021) My second painting, Eat the Fruit , was a painting of a memory. I’d been eating fruit by the window of my kitchen when the moment struck me – vivid and profound in its quiet beauty. Months later, when I finally decided to paint the scene, I could no longer remember what fruit I’d been eating, only the impact the moment had left on me. So I chose to paint something out of the ordinary. The mysterious fruit became a symbol, deeply woven into a story germinating in my mind at the time (I’m still writing the novel). I love this painting very much and used it as the cover art for my debut album, Aom – Eat the Fruit . FRACTAL BEAUTY OF THE MUNDANE - Will Lockyear (2023) It would be two full years before I returned to oils. Fractal Beauty of the Mundane , completed in 2023, was another painting of a memory. I became obsessed with the particular moment represented in this painting, one I’d experienced a thousand times before. It seemed to represent a shared doorway into the kind of hidden beauty I’d been trying to communicate for years. I’ll refrain from spelling out the subject matter because I’ve found this piece lends itself to multiple interpretations. It felt like I had finally said everything I was trying to say with that painting. I may return to the style one day, but upon completing it, I vowed that my next work would explore new ground. IMAGINED SUNSET 001 2024 - Will Lockyear (2024) On Friday, October 13th, 2023, I broke my neck diving into the sea in Peru. I narrowly escaped neck-down paralysis, an experience that shook me to my core. After surgery, I spent a slow winter recovering at my mum’s home in the Berkshire countryside. It was during this time of quiet reflection that I doubled down on my commitment to my journey as an artist. I also reconnected with nature in a way I hadn’t since my youth. The long, drawn-out December sunsets left a profound impression on me, and I decided my next painting would respond to those skies I had witnessed during my recovery. It was around this time that I solidified my theory regarding brushstrokes. I became fascinated by the idea of developing the perfect framework on which to explore colour theory and brushwork. It was this thought experiment that led me to a deconstruction of the technical principles of painting landscapes, particularly the way colours bleach towards the horizon. This painting is not of any particular sky, it is an abstract exploration of colour within clearly defined parameters. I intend to continue the series in the future.  BLOOM - Will Lockyear (2024 Whilst this painting appears to be moving in the direction of pure abstraction, the exploration of colour and mark making was still built upon a loose idea of form. There is a painting underneath, midnight blue upon a vivid orange backdrop, loosely resembling the very center of a flower in full bloom. There is another sort of bloom, one that unfurls at the very back of the mind and overwhelms you. My current project, a series of 6 paintings, explores the realms of pure abstraction. Without subject or form to guide the brushwork, I have found myself led more fully by intuition. Each painting begins as a series of marks and every subsequent layer responds to the last, always in search of something I cannot express with language. I ride the knife edge of control and chaos. Just as with electronic music, the wisdom is in knowing when they are finished.  Instagram https://www.instagram.com/will.lockyear/ THE ARTISTIC JOURNEY OF WILL LOCKYEAR (Paragraph 3 onwards) Copyright Will Lockyear 2025 Paragraphs 1 and 2 Copyright Haydn Dickenson 2025

I was recently sent a family photo that unfortunately brought flooding back some memories of a traumatic period in my life. The era was in the early-mid 1980's when I was struggling with paternal repression at the same time as secretly forging a part of my personal and artistic identity without which you would not be reading these words today. In the family photo, I look frozen, terrified, desperate – as if my soul is not present. Roughly concurrent with the occasion on which that moment was immortalised, I was making a discovery. A friend of mine from university had recently begun a postgraduate course at the University of East Anglia in Norwich, UK and, as an escape from the prison of my quotidian life I used to visit her there. On one such occasion, my friend introduced me to the Sainsbury Centre For The Visual Arts on the UEA campus there https://www.sainsburycentre.ac.uk/ , which I featured in an article in this column last Autumn https://www.artfullyabstractedblog.com/post/where-it-all-began I do not mind repeating what I stated in that article, that my initiation into the riches that the Sainsbury had to offer (and still does) played a seminal role in shaping my identity. I made a pilgrimage back to the Sainsbury last October and, enthralled, discovered there a painting that was not present in the centre's collection when I first encountered it. The painting is Keith Vaughan's ASSEMBLY OF FIGURES 1 (1952) ASSEMBLY OF FIGURES 1 (1952) - Keith Vaughan I find this painting mesmerically beautiful, yielding increasingly subtle nuances the more one studies it. The composition intrigues the viewer, with the rear figure all but hidden by the one who bends forward, head bowed, his body given a peculiarly conflicting light-and-shade treatment. Then there is the man on the right whose raised leg echoes the similar gesture of his arm; and there is the curious object on the ground in front, which seems to fall out of the frame. The sole figure to confront the viewer is also the only one to cover himself with a pouch. The central guy does not cover his penis but looks away, perhaps artificially, with a three-quarter glance - “Check me out - I dare you!” All this results in a compelling and delightfully natural erotic braggadocio  in the two right hand figures, mixed with a not insignificant bashfulness exhibited by the two left hand ones. And what of artistic genre? The raised elbow, strongly modelled limbs and quasi-tribal, mask-like faces put me peripherally in mind of Picasso's LES DEMOISELLES D'AVIGNON. While Picasso's demoiselles are all pointed elbows and proto-cubist angles however, Vaughan presents an altogether more sensual moment; but the confrontational aspect seems to bear a similarity. LES DEMOISELLE D'AVIGNON - Pablo Picasso (1907) Keith Vaughan (1912-1977) who was homosexual, and artistically active mainly at a time when it was illegal to be so, described himself as as 'a member of the criminal classes'. His paintings as well as his earlier erotic male nude photography convey the male body with admirable freedom and candour, celebrating his subjects' beauty and potency. All that work is unambiguously figurative. As we shall see in a moment however, Vaughan was not averse to making more than a nod towards abstraction. Though I am an abstract artist, I derive strong inspiration and artistic enrichment from drawing the nude human body, and from photographing it – though I do all this for myself alone and not for sale. There is plenty about the human body that leads one towards abstraction if one concentrates on lines, planes and curves; something that has often been remarked upon in my own nude 'bodyscape' photography. One friend has described my semi-abstract nude photography thus: “it is as if you present their bodies as something mysterious, even alien yet, at the same time, you obviously adore them”. It is not unexpected to discover that Keith Vaughan held a strong abstractionist streak within him. BATHERS - Keith Vaughan (1961) Vaughan painted this marvellous piece twenty-four days before I was born, in August 1961. It is full of August air, the scent of ozone, fresh summer bodies and sparkling water, and is exquisite. The artist considered it his best painting, because it combined the abstract and the figurative, whereas his work had otherwise tended to bounce between those two apparently disparate poles. Contemplating this stylistic dichotomy in Vaughan's work set me reflecting on someone whom a colleague once described to me as a 'pure abstractionist', but about whom I never thought anything of the sort! That artist is Richard Diebenkorn (1922-1993) URBANA (BEACHTOWN) - Richard Diebenkorn (1953) Diebenkorn's abstract landscapes bring to us the breezy sun and palms of California, all open space and sandy winds. Keith Vaughan offers us dark conifers, a church steeple and the prevailing westerly winds of his artistic palette blow us an altogether more temperate climate, but I can't help but see the kinship. LANDSCAPE IN BUCKINGHAMSHIRE - Keith Vaughan (1958) MALE ESSENCE - ONE ARTIST'S VIEW Copyright Haydn Dickenson 2025

During the 1990's I was in the happy position of being able to attend many classical concerts in London in the company of my great piano teacher, Peter Feuchtwanger. Prof. Feuchtwanger knew all the London concert agents, who regularly gave him blocks of free seats at prestigious recitals at Wigmore Hall and the South Bank. “Tickets for Shura Cherkassky (or whoever) in my name – as many as you want", he would announce. One would need to arrive early, and there Peter would be, genially holding court before the concert, surrounded by his students (or his children, as he called us) and often by luminaries from the London artistic set too. In his company I met many famous musicians, artists and actors including Steven Berkoff and a delightfully effervescent, bird-like lady who was introduced to me as Milein Cosman. I remember she was amused by my 'musician's name'! Milein Cosman is best known as an artist who produced hundreds of rapid line drawings of musicians, usually 'in action'. IDA HAENDEL, by Milein Cosman When I discovered who she was and looked up her drawings, I was immediately taken with the immediacy, energy and authenticity of her line drawings. Usually executed in pen, and superbly urgent and concentrated in style, they often looked as if the implement had never left the page from the beginning to the end of the drawing's creation. They also reminded me of drawings that my mother, an artist in her youth, made of musicians performing in Scarborough while in her teens and early twenties. ORCHESTRAL MUSICIANS - drawing by Joan Bailey (early 1950's) CONDUCTOR - page from the sketchbook of Joan Bailey (early 1950's) Milein (Emilie) Cosman (1921-2017) was born in Gotha, Germany, later moving to Düsseldorf. She studied in Switzerland, arriving in England in 1939 at which time she began to study at the Slade School of Art. Milein Cosman later married the Austrian-born musician and musicologist Hans Keller, whose writing she often illustrated. She also provided illustrations for Radio Times, as my mother told me when I excitedly reported to her one day that I had met Cosman in London! THE AMADEUS QUARTET - Milein Cosman LEONARD BERNSTEIN - Milein Cosman VLADIMIR ASHKENAZY - Milein Cosman RALPH VAUGHAN WILLIAMS - Milein Cosman OTTO KLEMPERER (detail) - one of my own favourite conductors, rendered by Milein Cosman with astonishing accuracy Cosman produced most of her sketches while observing from the wings at concerts, or sitting in on rehearsals. They are a collective reminder of how inspiring music can be to visual artists and how the expressive gestures and vast range of postures and mannerisms of musicians lend themselves to an artist's scurrying, fleeting pen. Milein Cosman captured moments in music with mastery and magic This ability to produce 'snapshots' with such breathtaking veracity is something to which I shall return in a subsequent article, linking Rembrandt with film – so watch this 'virtual space'! MUSIC IN LINE - Copyright Haydn Dickenson 2025

Happy New Year everyone! I was told recently though, that one mustn't wish that to others after January 8th, I think; so I hope I'm not sowing bad luck! Let's just say, Happy Year. Happy above all – 'prosperous' always sounds a bit 'David Copperfield', and prosperity is not so important after all. Happiness is everything. For the first post of 2025, I offer my last painting of 2024, CAUGHT IN THE ACT, the title noted by one observer as being particularly apposite in view of recent political, constitutional and social occurrences; nothing new there, though. CAUGHT IN THE ACT - Artist HAYDN, 2024 Lined up for this early spring season (I refuse to accept that we are still in Winter) I have an article by at least one, and hopefully two very different guest writers. I also plan a piece about a towering giant of Abstract Expressionism, one about self-permission in Art (the only permission needed!), one which will discuss a scene and a quotation from a favourite film of mine, and another that will explore parallels between painting and photography. Oh, and on 8th February, an article about me will appear on a leading online Art Space, ranked within the top ten of its type. Nicely written it is, too. Onwards and upwards! NEW YEAR INTERNAL BRAINSTORM copyright Haydn Dickenson 2025

Firstly, you are reading the 100th article to flutter down from the windows of 'Artfully Abstracted Towers' – any bottles of Champagne gratefully received! Now, on to business. One of the loveliest things about art is that we creators can give away as much or as little about what's 'in it' as we wish to. When I give a painting a cryptic title, I do so because I want to stimulate the viewer's imagination. I want them to start thinking, and feeling, as a result of standing in front of my picture. Why would I want to tell them what it is about if, indeed, it is 'about' anything at all. The following article https://www.artfullyabstractedblog.com/post/agnes-martin-and-the-non-meaning-of-art may offer some insights into 'non-meaning'. I don't particularly want people to know more about me as a result of gazing at my art, though they can guess all they like. The best scenario would be if their imagination takes them, in a stream of consciousness, far away from my title. That sounds aggressive – I don't mean it to be. I just like to retain the Austin Powers factor – International Man of Mystery! THIN-SKINNED SPHERES THAT CREEP AND SHIFT - Artist HAYDN, 2024 What is really beautiful is when the viewer learns, from the painting, something about themselves, or about the moment, and I mean their moment, the moment in which they find themselves, in their current relationship with my painting. Many collectors tell me that their reaction to my paintings changes from day to day. The viewer might feel a sudden, new sensation, or perhaps experience a resonance, deep inside, of something that occurred years before, possibly even in a past life. I hold a candle for that simple mission. And what of the titles themselves? To stimulate the process of art-appreciation to the max, I would prefer to name all my paintings UNTITLED, but I'm told this just won't do. Punters don't like it, and perhaps this is good, for an imagination-piquing title may at least serve to catapult the viewer in an entirely opposite direction from the art's overt content, out of sheer caprice. Titles can be loose, and they can be precise. They can chuck a whole net of red herrings at us, or they can say a painting is something simply because the artist says that is what it is; though the latter is not an approach I usually adopt. I just deflect. December 13th saw the 158th anniversary of the birth of Wassily Kandinsky. On that day, I came across an article online which was illustrated by his 1909 painting, STUDY FOR IMPROVISATION 3. STUDY FOR IMPROVISATION 3 - Wassily Kandinsky, 1909 I started off wanting to write about the meaning of Improvisation, to try to delve into why Kandinsky would make a 'study' for something that is meant to be spontaneous. I wanted to talk about how, in classical music, Schubert's two sets of IMPROMPTUS for piano are named as such when, in reality, they are tightly constructed architectural masterpieces, at least two of them having a strong affinity with Sonata Form. I wanted to look at Chopin in a similar light. I wanted to cite Francis Bacon's many 'STUDIES FOR...' which are, in fact, final paintings. I wanted to attempt to find a rationale for creators doing this, naming things that actually they seem not to be; and then I realised that if Erik Satie could compose and publish THREE PIECES IN THE FORM OF A PEAR, piano pieces that bear no reference – musical or otherwise - to a pear and of which there are seven and not three, we just do not need to ask how or why. I tried to invent 'reasons' for all the above, and found that to be both futile and a dullard's quest. I remember a discussion in a University friend's room, circa 1983, about the Aristotelian notion of 'essence' – that what makes a table, a table, is not that it has four legs and a top, but its 'table essence'. This discussion came about, I believe, after a reading of Antony Flew's excellent book THINKING ABOUT THINKING (Harper Collins, 1975). I have always loved the 'table' notion. Aristotle tends to be laughed at in some circles for it, but I celebrate a world in which we can something whatever we want, if we feel it has that essence. Any art that we make, we have a right to name according to our fancy, and we really do 'make it up as we go' in all we do; that is the fact of time allied to the fact of action. Perhaps all paintings are 'studies' really, because they all prepare the creator for the next stage, the next stop on the cruise, the next drink of the painterly pub-crawl; and perhaps they are all improvisations, because any work of art bears the germ of a moment's inspiration, constantly developed and augmented. Happy Christmas, everyone! MAKING IT UP AS WE GO copyright Haydn Dickenson 2024

As this column reaches its first century (the article to follow this one will be the 100th!), it's time for some shameless plugging. JaamZIN Creative is a smart, vibrant Singapore-based online art site and magazine https://www.jaamzin.com/ . I was interviewed by the lovely Zin and Zannnie who run JaamZIN back in 2021, and I was delighted when they asked me just a few days ago to send them some material about my current work, for their blog. Here it is https://www.jaamzin.com/post/haydn And here is my latest large acrylic canvas. There is a high-profile art collector on which my agent has his sights set, to pitch this one to, together with a couple of other pieces. SALAGOU VIBES - Artist HAYDN (2024) I'll try to make my Century-Post a biggie! Thanks for following, always. Do spread the word! READ ALL ABOUT IT! Copyright Haydn Dickenson 2024

There are a few paintings hanging in galleries across the world that hold a legendary, almost folkloric attraction. People make pilgrimages to see these works of art, but they also infuriate me by crowding in front of them, taking selfies. The inventory of such legendary paintings includes Van Gogh's series of Sunflower canvases, the Mona Lisa , Monet's various incarnations of Water Lilies , and the picture that I shall discuss today, Le Déjeuner sur l'Herbe , by Edouarde Manet. Inspiration for today's article came from a recent conversation with a friend who is a photographic model, in which she mentioned that her career path was sparked into life by her first sight of Manet's iconic canvas. When it was first exhibited in 1863. Le Déjeuner caused a furore of notoriety and controversy. Art lovers were accustomed to nudes, of course, but nudity (usually female) had hitherto been presented in a classical context, and it was primarily goddesses who were naked, usually in naked or semi-clad company. What was not considered acceptable was a naked 'girl-next-door' seemingly in cahoots with two fully-clothed men-about-town, about to partake of luncheon (one would assume), staring penetratingly and enigmatically at the viewer, the while. So what do we have here? We have a painting that, first of all, candidly displays influence from at least two classical masterpieces. It does that, of course, most provocatively. One painting that Manet had in mind is Raphael's The Judgement of Paris (1510-20) in which the nymph in the lower right hand corner is gazing out of the painting in a way not dissimilar to the that of the lady in Manet's picture. Raphael's pair of male river gods, however, are naked too; shock-value immediately reduced! The other is Titian's Pastoral Concert (c 1509) but, hang on, here the female figures are nude while the two male musicians are clothed. Perhaps Manet's vision is not so new after all. People love to be scandalised. So much fault was found with Le Déjeuner that it was not accepted into the Paris Salon as the artist had hoped, being relegated instead into the Salon des Refusés – the 'reject's room'. There is more to the scandal than that though, and therein lie the numerous sensual frissons , I feel. Gone is the glassy, idealised alabaster skin of classical nudes, as Manet presents his female subject in a notably flat painting style, devoid of anything more than cursory shading and tonal modelling. Brushstrokes throughout the painting are far from disguised. There is a roughness that is at odds with the picture's classical allusions. Proportions are peculiar and the painting is spatially 'off'. The head of the man on the left is larger than that of the woman, who nevertheless sits further forward. Are we witnessing a representation of patriarchy ? The woman's feet are huge, and the female figure in the background, at the water, appears larger than she should according to the distance at which she is placed in the group. Now onto the messages, and the frissons.   Manet's painting was originally entitled Le Bain – The Bath - though, undeniably, neither much bathing nor luncheon is unfolding in the scene before us. Instead, we find two fashionable young men, the one on the right wearing a hat apparently usually worn indoors, the pair seemingly engaged in learned discourse, with a fully nude young woman positioned riskily close to them. Beside them, a luncheon – either abandoned or as yet untouched – of bread (the staff of life) and fruit (forbidden fruit?) lies, spilling libidinously out of its basket, semi-strewn over the woman's hastily-discarded clothes. The man on the left, though his companion is depicted in full flood of pronouncement, seems not to be listening. He looks past us, over our shoulders. On what is his mind occupied ? His right hand is positioned close behind the woman; is he intent on leaning in, on feeling her heat, taking in her scent, and planning his amorous purpose? The man on the right gesticulates with his outstretched hand in a way that appears to echo the hand of God in Michelangelo's The Creation of Adam . Now look at the legs and the feet in Manet's painting. The naked left sole of the woman nearly touches the left foot of the right-hand man. More potently still, her right foot is directed up between the legs of the man on the right. I think that, despite her enigmatic and insouciant gaze, she is indulging in some serious body-language, and that it is very clear which of the two men she prefers. Her toe is even slightly upward-curling in suggestion of imminent pleasure. And what of the woman in the semi-distance, still partially clad? Will she soon join the trio and reveal herself, or has she already participated in the amorous play? Food being referenced as an allegory for sex is nothing new – Shakespeare is full of it. Nature too, holds strong and longstanding literary, folkloric and artistic associations with sexual desire and fertility. The lunch is being taken 'on the grass', shocking enough given the behavioural context, but perhaps Manet also had in mind the scent of grass and its associations with those of sex. It could be then, that the subliminal allusions of Le Déjeuner may have offended Paris society as much as its more overt departures from convention. Sometimes things are particularly intriguing when we don't quite know what is going on. Bon Appetit! Copyright Haydn Dickenson 2024