To admit or not to admit - that is the question...

No, nothing about my secret vices; I'm too old for most of them now anyway. But about things like open doors or gates in paintings, not putting barriers in front of the viewer - there's a rather lovely painting in acrylic on George Cutter's gallery; it's a rural scene, with hedgerow and a fastened gate.  Some have suggested the gate might perhaps be open - and we know the thinking there: painted barriers can act like physical barriers and give the viewer the impression that the scene is closed to them and might put them off.  There is something in this - indeed, there's quite a lot in it; but if we all do it, does it not become a cliché?  Like the statutory addition of three birds - not two, not four, but three; because - well, that does tend to work better than an equal number.  But let's stick with gates etc for the moment. I think George's painting, which appeared in a thumbnail in the More By section, when I was looking at one of his ink drawings, works perfectly well with the gate shut, and that it better represents reality; living in a rural area as I have in the past and now do again, you realize that gates aren't just there for rustic charm - they keep the cows from invading your back garden and taking your washing line for a walk; they keep cattle and sheep off the roads; they're more often closed than open. Now, OK - the picture is the thing; what benefits the composition is what matters.  But, just to be argumentative, I'm not sure that the ever-open gate might not be a compositional trick that's been rumbled - one of those compostional clichés we all employ, like the birds, the spot of red in the distance, the little man and his dog.... all features that I've used and that most of us have used; they're only undesirable if they're intrusive, out of place, added because we were aware of a bit of a hole that needed filling (mind you, if there is a hole that needs filling, well - fill it!).   Two things at work here - a reaction to comments made on the painting, plus another comment on a work recently published in Paul's past inspirations posts: one of us wondered about the inclusion of a man and his dog in a watercolour - take a look and you'll see it.  We'll all carry on doing what we're doing, I'm sure - my only point here is that just because a practice we normally employ hasn't been employed in a given case, it's not necessarily true that it should have been. There are more than enough double negatives in that paragraph and in this argument to keep us going all day, but confused though it be, I did feel there was a point worth making in there somewhere: even if you have to dig with earth-moving equipment to uncover it.

And there you are, and there you have it - impenetrable barriers would be a mistake - but if you know what you're doing, a closed gate isn't really that impenetrable - there are examples of all kinds in the work of Seago, Wesson, and Beningfield, to name but a few.  George Cutter addressed the issue himself, in replies to comments; a variant is the stout gate resolutely guarding a path - with the wreckage of a fence lying next to it; it's not exactly a big deal, however you do it - but my view of "rules" is: they're fine so long as they aren't invariable.  George pointed out that the line of the gate formed an inobtrusive continuity with the hedgerow (go and take a look to see what was actually said) - it helped that it was painted in a warm Light Red, or Burnt Sienna: a lump of Payne's Grey glowering at you certainly wouldn't have worked; but that's not what he did.  And those who made the point - had a point.   I doubt that Alan Bickley REALLY avoids risks in his work, but even so - I take his point too, of course: it's very easy indeed to shut the viewer out of our paintings without ever meaning to - the more ways in, the better; but - I stick to my own point as well; if we always do the same thing because we think we're supposed to, whether it's that trio of birds, the man and his dog (it nearly always IS a man, too, had you noticed?  And usually a small dog, not a whopping great Rottweiler!), the other features we make a point of always incorporating can turn into the worst of all things, a habit. There are usually excellent reasons for rules - I deliberately broke one (daring little thing!) recently, by placing an object dead centre in a painting, (which of course Alan noticed!) offsetting it by another object nearer to or on the golden section; a centred object, in a more or less square canvas, is something we'd be warned against, and I'd warn against it too, usually.  But on this occasion, the little devil on my shoulder whispered "go on; you know you want to!" - so I did.  I'm not claiming this as a piece of wild artistic innovation - one is not, I thank you, a Fauve!  Still - it gave me a little frisson at the time - and as the years roll on, these are fewer than they used to be.....