THE SECRET GARDEN OF THE NIGHT II : THE SECOND COMING

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THE SECRET GARDEN OF THE NIGHT II : THE SECOND COMING

pen and watercolour on paper
2014 - 654 x 404 mm

DETAILS :

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WORK IN PROGRESS :

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This is one of the most frustrating drawings I have ever created. Never in my life I had to force myself to stick to it like during the creation of this work. Never did I have to fight against a storm that tried to get me change my course like this one. Was it because of the immense power that was released with the Mayan Sactuary, or because of the tense astrological climate? I wouldn't know. I do know though that when there's a lot of turmoil, there's a lot of energy and we can always try and make use of it. Unfortunately this time it just didn't work as the foundation got all shaken up.

I am used to not knowing how a new work will turn out. At the risk of repeating myself: I see myself as a cooperator in the creative process. With 'myself' I mean everything I can imagine or think or believe I am. I am more, but that is part of the veiled mystery of being, and I don't try to understand nor imagine what that is or means. When I begin a new work, it usually starts without me knowing what I'm doing. It happens, and I participate in the creation, playing an active role but without assuming I would be the cause. But never there is a final image before my mind's eye, nor is there a fixed theme. The farther the work 'materialises', the clearer it becomes, and the more I consciously take over.
One might compare this with a game of chess. At the very start, all options are open. As the game advances, the possible moves become gradually more and more limited, and everything starts pointing in one specific direction. This resembles the Erikian creative process.

But with this work, nothing came. I had to keep on working in a mist, realizing there were ravins and other dangers all around but not being able to see them. I had to remain concentrated and alert. This was also very tiresome, which explains why it took me so long to finish it. And the entire outside world seemed to have conspired together to wipe me off my feet. It felt like being in a tiny boat in the middle of a gigantic storm that abruptly ended when I had gotten used to it and was replaced by a deadening immobility which changed back into the hurricane the moment I had become used to that. Yet I finally managed to finish it.

When the drawing was nearly finished, I took Yeats' Collected Poems, and opened it. The poem I had before me was 'The Second Coming'. At that moment I knew the fight had been won. So this is not an illustration of Yeats' poem at all. I linked both because there's a resemblance in theme, that's all.