Camelias

John Gimblett

Spark

for Max

I am immersed in the

atom of that moment; or

rather, the actual instance

of the firing of neurons. A

zazen moment, unlike any

other and the culmination

of a lifetime. On a galaxy a

universe and eternity of

completion the circle: an

embodiment of everything

that is and was and will be

made real; visual and perceptive.

I am reminded of circles seen on

white pages of space by sufi

poets; I am held in the moment of

the creation the spark that release

of the brush and making the mark, in

black, on the paper. The car crash in

London my life projected in a moment,

in real time. I know that spark and that

instance: it is the firing of words and of

pictures, of shutter release and of genius.

Latest paintings - 'Tuscan Suns'

A Sun Worn

A Sun Worn.


To Cath.





In a piebald room with electric
starlight he wore the yellow
shirt, still attached to the wall,
on his head seeming for all the

world like a boy pharoah
framed and adorned by a shy
sun, egg yolk or mustard in
colour. He wore this yolk like

a high sun or a nun's cap – a
psychedelic wimple – and the
spots of light were like pimples
on the skin of the room. Another

child tried to make him take it
off: he did so, then replaced the
sun-hat like a space in a warm
room will rediscover a restless

cat. The shadows wore him
like they inhabit a small space
devoid of substance – but the
small boy filled the place with

the spread of his cloak and the
joke that the act became in the
loveliness of his action. A laugh,
beautiful and simple, told me it.