APOKALUPSIS

If you're going anywhere in life, always get a return ticket - just in case. Know this, however, coming back isn't easy, and in doing so, understand you'll never be the same person again - you're fundamentally and irrevocably changed. I write this a few weeks after turning another corner in this affair, knowing that now is the time to put the whole incident behind me and fully move on with the rest of my life; a couple of friends have even said I'm obsessed with the murder - no, I'm obsessed with my recovery.

The week after the murder was where my mind made itself up - indeed, the very evening when I stood staring at my friend's lifeless & blood-drenched corpse in his flat, I started to deal with my recovery there and then; I got to thinking that this was a painting by Carravagio, or some 15th - 16th Century Italian Renaissance artist, 'Death of a Hero' from a European saga. It was as though someone had robbed a mortician and stolen a body, arranged it accordingly within the confines of carefully laid-out studio furnishings, thrown a bucket of pig's blood over it and given it a title. This thought later came back to myself upon returning from the police station after giving a statement, lying on my bed and drinking tea, staring into the wall. I do recall telling the police, friends & neighbours in the following week, that I wanted something more life-affirming for myself than what I had been witness to, which was possibly a prayer - more like a declaration of intent, which did start to stimulate something within myself into wanting it removed from my life; equally as important, myself from it.

The murder completely destroyed - utterly annihilated - vaporised - Hiroshima'd my life; I knew at the time that I was in the middle of something, yet didn't know exactly what it was - it was all very very strange. I felt detached from everything and everyone - it was bleak, completely & compellingly devastating; for six months, it felt like a blow torch on my soul.

I turned a corner several weeks after the incident - the first of many, big and small; I was off work on a Monday for some reason in early December, and had got up later than usual, feeling a bit 'off'. Within an hour of having something to eat, as well as the first important brew of the day, I realised that 'it' had slammed into me again, with the force and velocity of a freight train heading much steadier towards it's destination than away from it - I felt lower than whale shit. I pottered around my flat, revisiting the nightmare once more, the devastation like another coat of emulsion, changing the shade of my life.

I went out in the early afternoon, heading to the barber's to get my hair cut, and having no other customer's in his shop, I quickly removed my blue sheepskin lined parka and sat in Ade's chair; he asked how I was, to which I replied by telling him that it had hit me again today, and I wasn't in top form.

During our conversation - which predominately revolved around the incident - and whilst cutting her own customer's hair, Claire asked if I was painting, to which I replied 'no', but added that I had been painting up until the time of the murder, describing the paintings completed beforehand, explaining that I couldn't make any sense of them at the time, and that all became apparent only in the week afterwards, as to each separate meaning; I described "Altitude" as having  what looked like a sarcophagus in it, yet the meaning perplexed me at the time of completion, realised only in the week after the event.

Both Adrian & Claire's curiosities were definitely aroused about the story interweaved in the paintings, so I asked what time they were shutting shop later, promising to return with several paintings prior to their 5pm deadline - I wanted them to see what I'd painted.

I went back and unwrapped my paintings in the shop, brown wrapping paper & bubble-wrap covering the chairs as each work was revealed, a bewildered customer sat in the big chair, watching in the mirror; Ade & Claire listened to my explanation of how each painting came about, describing the situation as I'd seen it at that time. I talked in detail as to how the situation with my neighbour had got out of hand, and that each painting was my way of trying to make sense of something I truly didn't understand. Seemingly accepting of what I'd told them, I wrapped the paintings back up and left the shop, my mood completely transformed from one of utter despair only a few hours previous, to now one of galvanised hope, determination and direction - I felt on top for the first time.

I turned out of the shop to go back home, and as I crossed the road, it came to me that I could talk about the incident(without compromising evidence), that I could paint it, and what was more selfishly important - realised I might even get a show out of it! Ruthless as it sounds, it was nothing more than good-old-fashioned brutal, primordial survival instinct - I'm alive and I want to be alive.

Everything remains the same, but has been altered - I've been altered. Whatever has been removed from my life was no longer needed for the future life to come; what I am left with is more of who I truly am - refined, defined, clarified, purified - more complete. Whole.

There are many stories within this story - I've told you two here.

The word 'apocalypse' was chosen for it's aptness - derived from the Greek, it means 'uncover, reveal', and it describes perfectly my post-traumatic activities as an artist and a human being; these paintings reveal and uncover my retrieval and reclamation of my life, detailing the death of Colin Jellicoe, events leading up to the 'QUIETUS' show and beyond, showing new life upon mature foliage, determined to live as fully as I possibly can - and will.

Determined.

SEPTEMBER 2019.