I have been rather unwell over the past few days, stricken by an upset stomach. The principal consequence of this has been an acute lack of energy. Life has been a matter of getting by. Even the suggestion, from a friend, of a possible exhibition opportunity was met with a sense of horror at the effort that would be involved in pursuing it, which is a good measure of how lethargic I have been. During this time I have fallen into a bout of reminiscence. More particularly, I have been asking myself that unanswerable question, “How might it have been if ….?”
Of course, this type of question is totally unproductive. How is it possible to say what might have happened had one taken a decision leading off along a different path? The consequences might easily have been less happy than the course one’s life has actually taken. Nevertheless, I have been reminded of those occasions on which memory has been a productive source of inspiration in my art.
My early series of reflections on T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets was driven very largely by images from my earlier life. Past experience (in a rather different way) is the connecting link through my Set Apart series. Painting has often taken the form of a reliving of experience in the imagination, rather than of direct observation, and I would say that some of my best work has emerged in this way.
Even so, I cannot imagine a situation in which my work were to become preoccupied with questions of the kind, “How might it have been if ….?” Putting it another way: I find it difficult to imagine a situation in which regret could ever serve as a stimulus to creativity.