Fiona has her own website!

It's taken me 2 weeks to set up, but finally my website is up and running! It can be seen on the right hand side of this post, under 'Fiona's Paintings website.' It still needs a little updating, but showcases all the themes I like to paint.

Currently I'm painting outdoors. I'm totally obsessed with the colours of Spring. As I travel in the taxi every morning accompanying my niece to school, the vibrant passages of fiery greens, pinks, ochres and infinite variations of lemon-greens, and lilacs, have been an immense inspiration for painting. Though the new oils started out in a fairly literal way, I now find I want to spread shapes of colour across the canvases in an abstract way, just letting the colour dictate how the paintings should proceed.

Other than that, I'm about to get some paintings scanned digitally for a company that wants to put them onto prints for 4 and 5 star hotels and restaurants around the world. Considering that a year ago, my London gallery politely dumped me, I feel that things are looking up! (Read post from 12th May 2009, called 'Striped Coffee Cups.')

The Far Edge of Winter

This painting says everything about the potential of the approach of Spring, and the rising waves of energy I feel as a painter. Though it's still like the arctic here, I have struggled to go outside with frozen fingers and feet, to start some new landscapes. In comparison with last year, when the colours of Spring excited my eyes and brush much earlier in the year, there isn't much sign of impending change yet. But I can feel it, especially in the changing quality of light.

My painting embodies my preoccupation with the impending surge of light and colour. Though made from a drawing of Nicosia, my delight that day was in the luminous sunlight, the washing blowing in the breezes, a bird circling the rooftops, some men replacing some roof tiles, and plant pots on rooftops. There was also a Digger, which was demolishing some old buildings, to make way for the new. I chose this painting to mark the far edge of winter, and brighter, more optimistic times to come.

Last Exhibition of 2009

This was one of the most exciting shows I've taken part in. The gallery was the 3, Bedfordbury Gallery in Covent Garden, and was one of the most perfect galleries I've seen, from the perspective of lighting, space, and location. My 3 paintings were at the top of the stairs, on the first floor, a great way for your work to be encountered, and the lighting came from both ceiling lights and a window, and was very favourable to my colours. I liked the layout of the gallery, which was over 3 floors, and when I arrived in the evening for the Private View (10th December), the spire of nearby St. Martins' church was magically illuminated by the street lamps. The narrow streets around the gallery were overflowing with small shops and Pubs, and the atmosphere was quintessential London. Being near to Covent Garden, the streets were a stream of shoppers, and the exhibition was well received.

I showed 2 landscapes and a 'Women in the Turkish Baths' canvas.

Missing Nicosia

On yet another deeply dreary, wet, and dark winter's day, I'm missing the vibrancy, sparkle and sunshine of Nicosia. At this moment I'd love to be reclining on this rooftop, listening to intermittent church bells from four Greek Orthodox churches tucked between golden slabs of concrete, and closing my eyes to follow the eerie but melodic prayers from the large mosque in the Turkish side. The blue mountains change colour like a kaleidoscope as the sun moves across the sky, while shadows flicker across the city like the uncertain brush of a painter. If I imagine really hard, I'm there, drinking my coffee on that roof and simply enjoying the fragrant, colour-infused atmosphere. A glance across the city takes in thousands of unknown lives, shielded behind curtains, shouting on the narrow streets, or watering plants on rooftops and watching me.

(Painting: 'Fiona Leaving Nicosia,' Oil on canvas)

Location Sketches, Nicosia

I have always loved drawing Nicosia from rooftops, and when I lived there I spent many exciting hours seeking out rooftops which would give me a panoramic view of this beautiful city, with its minarets, assorted church spires, and tiled rooves. Many flats there have flat rooves, and I wandered the streets seeking out buildings that might have the potential for a great view. I often entered unfamiliar buildings, climbed the narrow stairs to the top, and checked out the view. Then I would sit on the roof, amongst washing and pots of plants, and make my drawings or watercolours. All around I could hear the traffic, and voices below on the streets, and I loved being a silent observer. I always liked to find new viewpoints, and this quest was not without hazards. The closer you ventured towards the Green Line dividing the city, the more suspicious you might look if you were seen drawing from a rooftop. One time I asked to draw from the Delphi Hotel, which was not particularly near the Green Line, and the Manager was waiting to see my drawing as soon I came down from the roof. I never knew exactly what he thought I could see and draw from there, but he was extremely relieved when he saw the vagueness of my drawing, saying 'It's modern art, isn't it?'

I never ceased to be enthralled by the endless shades of gold and yellow walls, red tiled rooftops, the ever-changing blue of the distant Kyrenia mountains, and the swaying palms and Cypress trees. It's a theme that still inspires me, though now I can sit in the 6th floor cafe, in the Shacola Tower, and draw or paint from there . Now no one cares what I'm painting, except perhaps tourists.

Living on the Green Line, Nicosia

At the time I lived in Nicosia, from 1984 to 1998, the memories of the Turkish Invasion of 1974 were still fresh in people's minds. We were always aware of scuffles and tensions along the Green Line, the line that divided the Turkish-Cypriot northern third of the island from the Greek Cypriot southern two-thirds. I lived not far from the Green Line that ran through Nicosia, and I was inspired to write a novel about life in an unstable country from an artist's perspective. Here is an excerpt from my novel:

'At four in the morning we heard a man chanting a Turkish prayer from one of the mosques in the other side of Nicosia. The hauntingly beautiful melody sent a delicious shudder through my warm, naked body as I lay next to Tom. Drowsily, I thought about the Green Line, and the many people hidden from us beyond it. Hearing the same prayers, breathing the same fragrant night air.

From the Guest House you could see the flags that marked the Green Line. It was only since I moved there that I had become truly aware of its presence. The long street ended abruptly, cut by blue and white striped barricades and an unyielding check-point. I lingered nearby, squinted to try to see the derelict yellow villas and walls of broken windows trapped in the buffer zone beyond the check-point. I glanced in disbelief at the young soldiers standing there with their guns tucked casually under their arms............ Is this real? It looks like a scene from a film! Surely these angry young men were partying at some nightclub last night?

Sometimes, when I wandered along the section of old Nicosia that lined the partition, I looked at houses on the other side and imagined figures moving behind the curtains. Were they also looking at me, wondering about life on this side of the wall?

Deserted houses merged seamlessly and silently into the partition. Then it continued its determined path behind and between crumbling buildings, and meandered along the top of ancient, stone walls, mutating into barbed wire and sandbags. Its uncompromising form glared at me, taunting: 'On my other side, not very far away from where you stand, you could see...'"

Now the Greek Cypriot side of Cyprus is in the EU, and attitudes have changed along with the interest in MTV, and the internet. I often wonder what changes another 10 years will bring. In my opinion artists have a lot more freedom than they did when I lived there. I used to paint on the streets and get chided by Tom's friends!

Why bother Painting?

I read several art blogs recently that pondered the question of why anyone would want to bother painting? Why, when it doesn't help the world in any visible way? What real meaning does it add? I think that it's hard sometimes for people to understand what an artist's work is 'about', as art is not a universal language, except in certain traditional forms. It's even harder to understand why, in a materialistic world, anyone would be driven to follow a vision or ideas with no sure financial gain.

On a personal level, painting helped me to survive after the sudden death of my partner. It gave me a focus, underlined the ongoing potential of life and creative ideas, and opened up new meanings. It reiterated the eternal artistic questions as to why THIS light, this colour, and this mark might be valuable in the life of the mind, and the world of feeling. These continuing struggles are very real to most artists, and preoccupy them daily. I commented on a recent blog post by an artist called Albert Sughi, on Absolutearts, who described the inner conflicts that are the companions to most artists in their studios. This is my comment:

I find that as an artist you can never know in advance how a painting might work out, and this uncertainty is part of the creativity and wonder of it all! For me, ideas emerge through the act of painting, and some of my worst paintings have suddenly triggered off a new way of working and wider ideas. It's like casting out a net over and over. The great thing about a painting is that it's never really ruined - you can keep going back to it, or change it into something else. It was encouraging to read your article, and to know that other artists have these concerns. As to why we bother to paint at all - a question I read in a previous article - I believe that meaning evolves and is not a static quality, and painting puts you in touch with evolving meanings.

I would like to add that I believe that for artists, and many people, Art enhances their view of the world, or at the very least adds a spark of brightness.