Monkey and the Typewriter

Every time I go down in to St Ives I think of the monkey and the typewriter – if enough typing monkeys are given an infinite amount time then they will at some point, in that great eon, produce a masterpiece. It is the same with art there.

Is it just that I intend to be the biggest monkey typewriting thing? A ponderous King Kong with fists on the old Underwood.

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What I abhor – what I might be
What I admire – what I am not
What I am unaware of – what I am.
Bhikku Nanamoli (Osbert Moore)

Framing stuff in the studio today it became apparent the continuity between the small paintings and large works on dress pattern paper. Having a conversation with Alice (Mahoney) about splitting identities and I sort of had that intimation of the core of stuff, the fact that trying to manage different faces is just entering back into the core of fear, it feeds back into the neurosis that the act of making art is against, cuts through.