Completed Painting: '[dc]Underfall 01'

 

'[dc]Underfall 01', Acrylics, Paper Collage & Mixed Media on Panel,
300 mm x 300 mm, 2026

Having indulged in a relatively rapid painterly critique of the ongoing Iran war debacle, I felt inclined to do something a little less despairing of human psychosis. Hence, the little painting shown here - entitled ‘[dc]Underfall 01’. It clearly fits into the ‘Deleuzian Cartography’ oeuvre, being heavily map-derived, as well as fluid in its attitude to spatial or temporal structure, There’s even a fairly route-one deteritorialising smear placed front and centre. This time, however, I abandoned reference to specific texts or current events, and just made ‘place’ the overriding theme.

In terms of locational reference, the painting overlays map references to my immediate surroundings in Leicester, and Bristol’s equally familiar (to me) harbour entrance/Cumberland Basin/Underfall Yard/River Avon New Cut complex. This zone has featured regularly here in recent years, due to it being the focus of my ongoing ‘The Basin’ project, and ground-zero for my regular trips to that city. What is new, however, is a reference to that region in an actual painting. To date, all ‘Basin’-related material has been photographic, video-based or literary. Without any conscious plan, I suppose this spontaneous little panel (produced after my most recent Bristol trip, a couple of months back) may therefore suggest some move to unify the ‘Deleuzian Cartography’ and ‘The Basin’ work. Of course, I appreciate that such compartmentalising probably feels more significant to me than anyone else, and this piece certainly emerged with little or no prior strategising, either way. All this stuff is really just arepeated attempt to construct narratives in response to the places I find myself in, whatever medium I employ, or label I apply.

The title here relates to Underfall Yard, specifically - a feature of Bristol’s floating harbour that sits adjacent to Cumberland Basin. If the Harbour entrance and associated locks represent the mouth of the old docks, then the Basin itself might represent a gullet through which the water and shipping must pass in a controlled manner, to reach the city docks beyond. In this analogy, Underfall Yard could be seen as the first stage of digestion, given its primary function as a mechanism for processing at least some of the clogging sediment that has always been the curse of Bristol’s maritime traffic. Initially conceived as an ‘overfall’ feature, by which silt-bearing water might flow over a sluice, its operation was subsequently inverted for greater efficiency. This being Bristol, I.K Brunel generally gets all the credit here, although, the truth is that many other eminent engineers were involved in the developing the Yard’s infrastructure, as is true in many other cases routinely attributed to the man in the big hat. And Underfall itself makes up part of a larger mechanised picture in this part of the Victorian harbour with various complex pumping and hydraulic-control systems being operated from here, and from the Pumphouse, opposite. Nowadays, the Underfall Yard houses various maritime businesses (with associated moorings) alongside a cafe/heritage centre, and forms a larger complex with the adjoining  Harbour Master’s headquarters. It also forms an entry point to the southern dockside walk. 

The name is straightforward enough as a descriptor, but potentially freighted with ambiguity at the same time (I’ll let you decide for yourself what ‘underfall’ might mean when separated from engineering terminology). My own relationship with the site is inevitably layered and romanticised accordingly. Whilst I'm unable to ascribe a precise meaning myself, I know there’s strange poetry there for sure. Superficially, the site represents my habitual first refreshment/reflection stop on any visit to the city. Following a few hours of motorway driving, I will normally head straight to Cumberland Basin, park-up and stroll through to Underfall in search of toilets and the first coffee/lunch of the trip. The canopied outdoor seating area provides a perfect vantage point from which to study the adjacent buildings and boats, or the wider vistas of the Floating Harbour as it curves away into the city centre beyond. My meditations may shift from the industrial heritage of the site itself, to observations of the passing customers, dockland explorers and boat restorers, or my own personal history and ‘temps perdu’ in this part of the city (and back again) all in the duration of one cup of coffee. Such pause for thought will often also pressage the first photo-grabs of the trip, or provoke my first stroll along to the ‘Spike Island art complex, or two-wheeled circuit of the entire harbour.

 

Whilst undeniably picturesque as all this is, this portion of the docks also retains a few vestiges of an older industrial grunge. It remains, at least in part, a working environment - with many of the associated textures, odours and sounds one might expect. On my last visit, I was entertained by the tortuous manoeuvring of a large boat, even as neighbouring diners discussed a complex asylum case they were engaged in. I strolled on a few metres to photograph two skips full to the brim with mud-encrusted bikes, trolleys and other  dredged debris, accompanied by a soundtrack of construction work - relating to the restoration of one of the Victorian buildings that fell victim to an arson attack, some years ago. This particular rebuild is encouraging, even if the charred timbers held their own tradgi-textural resonance for several years. As has often been demonstrated on here, where there’s building work - there’s scaffolding and hi-vis to photograph, whilst thoughts of transformation, becoming, and the future unfolding into history can never be far behind. As ever (and wherever), past, present and future, and the familiar and unknown, all nest within each other.

That’s quite a lot for one little painting to carry, so let’s return to more technical matters. It’s worth mentioning the relatively ‘pretty’ palette of colours - a welcome departure from the dour schemes of the ‘Machine’ pieces, but also possibly reflecting some of the confected architecture of Bristol’s hyper-inflated heritage property market. Photogenic rainbows of terraced villas famously gaze down from various Bristol hill tops - a reminder that even were I to attempt to re-relocate there, the cost would no doubt be prohibitive. Accents of fluro yellow allude to both the aforementioned builders, and to the reflected sails of a nearby yacht-training session, whilst an underpinning ground of black might relate to some of the more industrial aspects mentioned above. Oh, and it’s possible that the encrusted central cancellation suggests some aspiration towards greater painterliness in future works.

Completed Suite of Paintings: '[dc]circuit_'

 

This & Following Three Images: '[dc]circuit Suite, Mock-Up A'.
1:10 Scale Model, MDF, Card & Paper, 2026

This marks the culmination of my ‘[dc]circuit’ suite of paintings, as featured in a series of recent posts. As I have already mentioned several times, it was always my intention to produce these five closely-related panels as a composite whole, to be hung together, should the situation ever arise. Although they were all completed some months ago, the problem of exactly what that configuration should be remained, not least because the varying formats and dimensions suggested something other than a simple straight-line arrangement. Without a convenient wall of sufficient scale to physically experiment (even were one to commit to the process of repeatedly fixing/making good), a scale model was the obvious tool to employ - the results of which you can see here.

 

As is so often the case (for me, at least), this turned into a slightly over-engineered mini-project in its own right. However, the process proved fruitful, providing more than one possible configuration for potential use in the future. Mocking it all up at 1:10 scale gave just enough space for a camera to effectively share the potential viewer’s point of view, and to give the impression of occupying the same physical space as the paintings themselves. This often feels like the hardest thing to envisage when approaching any display or exhibition situation (physical ‘presence’ feels increasingly fundamental, in my view), and anything one can do to answer the attendant spatial conundrums feels like time and effort well spent. That’s not to say that further fine-tuning would never occur on any given hang, but starting out with a reasonably confident plan to work out from will usually save a lot of floundering around, particularly where practicalities deviate from the ideal (as is usual).

At the moment, I feel like my second attempt ('Mock-Up B') is my favoured solution here, although any of these configurations would probably work pretty well. I’m sure I could play around a lot more (and I probably will, in idle moments), but for now, it’s pleasing to know that the five panels should work well enough together with some degree of flexibility, and that all the hours that went into their production weren’t totally wasted. Let’s face it, getting one painting to function is hard enough - juggling multiples is something else again. Do I think everything is 100% successful? - well, nothing really ever is, obviously. Do I feel sufficiently content to stand by them, both as individual elements, and as a composite group? - yes, I think I do.

This & Following Five Images, '[dc]circuit Suite, Mock-Up B', 1:10 Scale Model,
MDF, Foamboard, Card & Paper, 2026

So, it just remains to give a final overview of the supposedly alchemical chromatic scheme that functions across the five panels. As discussed before, the idea of a clumsy search for auto-didactical enlightenment is signalled by both the references to specific authors/philosophers and the depiction of lighting circuits included in each of the panels. This led, tangentially, via some coincidental reading [1.], to an association with the whole idea of alchemical tradition, being both a (misguided) experimental attempt to transfer base metals into more precious alternatives, and a parallel (possibly equally misguided?) search for knowledge, wisdom, or even spiritual elevation, through a corresponding series of defined stages. Depending on which sources/traditions one refers to, the number and exact significance of such stages may vary widely. However, it is generally the case that any particular stage in a move towards ‘enlightenment’ can be mapped onto a possible chemical reaction/process, and by extension - an identifying colour (be it symbolic or physical). This felt like an appropriate serendipitous scheme to hang my suite of paintings on - a handy, ready-made solution, if you like. The rational for it is as follows…

This & Following Four Images: '[dc]circuit Suite: Mock-Up C', 1:10 scale Model,
MDF, Foamboard, Card & Paper, 2026

‘[dc]circuit 01/Sartre’:

Black [‘Nigrido’]: Black seems a fitting enough identifier for Jean-Paul Sartre, the most famous of the Twentieth Century Existential philosophers - and one which might signify both the despair often attributed to his world view, and the void that he and others of an existential bent are assumed to be routinely staring into. In alchemical terms, black (carbonisation) represents both the breaking down of source materials through combustion, and the dissolution of the self/ego complex through psychosis, prior to a more enlightened process of reconstruction. In ‘Nausea’ [2.], Sartre describes his protagonist’s traumatised acceptance of the meaningless of existence, and subsequent embrace of a creative path of self-actualisation (as a fiction-writer) as the only possible way forward. 

‘[dc]circuit 02/Borges’:

White-Grey [‘Abledo’]/Blue-Green [‘Prismatic’]: The dedicatee here is Jorge Luis Borges -  surely a prime figure in Twentieth Century philosophical fiction writing. I now wonder if I missed an opportunity to include a little silver here, given Borge’s Argentinian heritage, although this one really comes too early in the alchemical process to actually produce any precious metals. Alchemically, the white phase can be seen as signifying purification or absolution, as the physical/spiritual residue of the primary stage are washed away. My panel turned out more grey than white, but this feels acceptable enough, as accents of white gradually emerge - as if from a mess of ashes. For many alchemists, a fleeting but ultimately deceptive prismatic blue-green phase - often called ‘The Peacock’s Tail’, may also manifest at this stage (as in my circuit). This signifies a seductive, false impression of success, with ‘chasing the peacock’s tail’ meaning essentially to mistake the map for the terrain. The labyrinths in which one might thus become lost are a prime Borgesian motif, and the direct overlaying of an actual-sized map onto the actual landscape forms one of his most astounding images in ‘On Exactitude in Science’ [3.].

‘[dc]circuit 03/Proust’: 

Yellow [‘Citrinitas’]: For a spiritual/philosophical alchemist, the yellow (sulphurous) phase may represent a movement, from a lunar/silver/reflective consciousness, towards a solar/golden/affective mode. It can be seen as a first step preceding true self-actualisation. Accordingly, we can see Marcel Proust’s multi-volume opus, ‘A la Recherche du Temps Perdu’ [4.], as one man’s attempt to reclaim too many early years wasted in vain pursuit of society’s superficialities, via an extensive creative act of memory-based psychic reprocessing. As with Sartre, fiction-writing is the chosen method employed. Certainly, he claimed to have succeeded in reframing his life to his own satisfaction as a result. When I close my eyes, I often see Proust’s sensuously remembered world as bathed in yellow light. It’s probably just a fond imagining of all those lost, shimmering French summers, or perhaps an impression of the beach at Balbec. 

‘[dc]circuit 04/Deleuze’:

Red-Purple [‘Rubredo’]: As it is dedicated to Gilles Deleuze - the philosophical figure presiding most powerfully over all of this work, it seems only fitting that the fourth panel should reflect the colours of the alchemists' fabled ‘Philosopher’s Stone’. For the more financially-driven practitioner, this fugitive, magical substance is the catalyst necessary for the final production of material gold. For those dedicated to a less worldly path, it may actually be the more valuable substance - being magically able to unlock whole new dimensions of philosophical understanding or spiritual enlightenment, beyond mere riches. Key to this is the idea of a cyclical process of ever-becoming, with enlightenment being essentially ineffable - even as it is perpetually unfolding. Clearly, that all sounds pretty ‘woo-woo’, until one remembers that Deleuze, and his collaborator, Félix Guattari, regarded the philosophical framework they laid-out in ‘Anti-Oedipus’ [5.] and ‘A Thousand Plateaus’ [6.] as being, above all, rooted in practical action in the material world. For them, a state of perpetual becoming was key to the potential avoidance of ossified or destructive influences in the world, and a state of being to be most fervently wished for (not least for anyone engaged in self-identifying creative endeavour, or in opposition to any perceived descent towards the Fascist imperative).

‘[dc]circuit 05/Kafka’:

Gold: In alchemical terms, gold is, of course, the impossible goal [7.], and as such - the single most potent signifier of venality, hubris and pre-scientific misunderstanding - all rolled into one lump of shiny shit (now, who does that make us think of on the present-day world stage, I wonder?) As mentioned in my previous post, it also suggests my own personal literary ‘gold-standard’ - namely, Franz Kafka. Kafka is, of course, the pre-eminent author of absurd futility, repeatedly outlining a terrifying world seemingly dedicated to the frustration of any attempt at human happiness or coherent understanding. Does this ultimately refute the whole idea of an over-arching yearning for enlightenment? Well, yes - I guess, until one remembers Sartre’s insistence that all we can do is construct our own personal narratives of ‘meaning’ - not in order to ultimately explain or understand existence, but simply so that we might endure its fundamental indifference. Perhaps that’s where the only true wisdom lies: it certainly feels like what most artists are attempting.

[1.]:  Peter Demetz, ‘Prague in Black and Gold’, London/NYC, Penguin, 1997

[2.]:  Jean-Paul Sartre, 'Nausea', (Trans. Robert Baldick), London/NYC, Penguin, 1963 (1938).

[3.]:  Jorge Luis Borges, 'On Exactitude in Science', in 'The Aleph' (Trans. Andrew Hurley, London/NYC, Penguin, 2000

[4.]:  Marcel Proust, 'In Search of Lost Time' (In Seven Volumes), London/NYC, Penguin, 1913-27/2003

[5.]:  Gilles Deleuze & Felix Guattari, 'Anti-Oedipus, Capitalism and Schizophrenia' (Trans. Robert Hurley, Mark Seem & Helen R. Lane), London, Bloomsbury, 1972/2021.

[6.]:  Gilles Deleuze & Felix Guattari, 'A Thousand Plateaus', Capitalism and Schizophrenia', (Trans. Brian Massumi), London, Bloomsbury, 1987/2001.

[7.]:  Amazingly, even as I was working on the ‘[dc]circuit’ suite, reports emerged from the Large Hadron Collider facility at CERN of the apparent, creation of infinitesimally small and fleeting traces of various elemental metal particals, including gold - as a by-product of certain particle-colliding experiments. Could it be that the old alchemists intuited something 'real' after all - and that they were simply waiting for the science and technological infrastructure to catch up?

[Composed using only organic intelligence.]

Completed Painting: [dc]circuit 05/Kafka

'[dc]circuit 05/Kafka', Acrylic, Paper Collage & Mixed Media on Panel,
400 mm x 400 mm, 2026

Finally, we reach the fifth and final panel in my suite of ‘[dc]circuit’ paintings - namely, ‘[dc]circuit 05/Kafka’. Given the alchemical sequence implied in this group (as discussed in my last post), it’s only fitting that this one should be gold(ish) in its overall palette, and a variety of metallics do catch the light when it’s viewed from certain angles. It also seems appropriate that this one should be dedicated to Franz Kafka - my own personal gold standard when it comes to influential/inspirational literature. Given all my other tastes, it’s perhaps too predictable that I should also be a Kafka fan-boy, but there it is - he’s as good as it gets for me, and it would be dishonest to pretend otherwise.

This is the smallest of the set of five - being 400 mm square. When I first began to envisage these panels I decided to break my usual habit of painting related works or series of works at the same scale and format, and to inject a little more irregularity into proceedings. Therefore, whilst the three rectangular elements share a 600 mm x 400 mm portrait format, this one and ’02’ are square, albeit radically different in scale (’02’ being 600 mm x 600 mm). It felt important that the gold panel should be the smallest, suggesting a degree of value/scarcity, or perhaps that the best things often come in small packages. As is well known, Kafka’s novelistic oeuvre is also pretty small, and regarding ‘finished’ ones - even smaller. Admittedly, he somewhat made up for that with his copious output of short stories, but it was the novels I had particularly in mind here - specifically, ‘The Castle’ [1.].

Although it is never directly referenced in the text, it seems clear to me that Franz’s castle is, to all intents and purposes, the Pražký Hrad of his own home town, Prague. Anyone familiar with that destination knows how that massive edifice presides over the rest of the city, whilst somehow managing to remain strangely aloof. Just like Kafka’s castle, it is physically difficult to access frontally, involving a trek across the wide river on a congested bridge, before climbing steep streets and a formidable flight of stone stairs. The nominally ‘easier’ far entrance still involves a tram journey to a stop that many out-of-town visitors will fail to recognise, thus requiring a significant back-tracking exercise on foot. 

Of course, Kafka’s own castle is as much of a state of mind as a physical entity, with his hapless and reluctant Land Agent, K, repeatedly failing to gain acceptance by its ruling bureaucracy, and by extension - the infuriatingly obstructive denizens of the lower settlement, just as he fails to locate the correct route to a building he can clearly see. That neither his duties or any estate under his purview are ever defined, and that all roads repeatedly deny him access, seem to speak both to the Deleuzian idea of de/territorialisation mentioned in my previous post, and to the constant processes of random cartographic atomisation that characterise my work. As the novel unfolds, it becomes evident that gaining grudging favour from above is also difficult for the characters K encounters, and very easily lost also - for reasons none can fully explain. Worse still, he appears to become increasingly complicit in the worsening condition of any with whom he might have formed a relationship. As an outsider lacking any previous knowledge of the Castle and the impenetrable social hierarchies it dictates, he really never stood a chance. Kafka abandons his novel mid-thought (just as death interrupts a life, perhaps - allegory fans), suggesting he has become just as exhausted as is his protagonist, by the impenetrable world he has depicted.

Anyone lucky enough to visit Prague’s Hrad for ‘real’ will know that it is to encounter an enclosed, self-rposessed world of interlocking courtyards, internalised worship, arcane libraries, barred towers, and even a ‘hidden’ lane set aside for its incorporated subordinates. It is built on such a scale as to constitute a separate city within a city, and one has little sense of the streets below, once one is absorbed within its walls. For all it’s status as a prime tourist spectacle, complete with occasional outbursts of picturesque pageantry, it mostly exudes an air of eerie implacability and hidden intelligences - a fitting seat perhaps for the truly incestuous Hapsburg elite for whom it became at least a partial H.Q. The aforementioned and quaintly claustrophobic ‘Golden Lane’, enclosed towards the rear of the castle complex, was originally built for the royal goldsmiths, and it transpires that one of Kafka’s sisters later rented one of the small dwellings there for a while. Franz would occasionally visit, to write in relative seclusion.

My own little panel scrambles maps of the surrounding Hradčany district, along with a (partial) ground plan of the edifice itself in eroded form. The addition of a ghostly ‘K’ should be fairly obvious - it being the single most significant Kafkaesque ‘character’, if one refers to the protagonists of his three novels. My translation of ‘The Castle’ to ‘Das Schloss’ reflects the fact that, as a member of the minority Jewish population of Prague, Franz was expected to speak and write in German rather than the dominant Czech tongue. In effect, he was himself culturally marginalised twice over.

Whilst engaged in the production of these ‘[dc]circuit’ panels, I also happened to read a popular history of Prague, ‘Prague in Black and Gold’, by Peter Demetz [2.]. Of particular interest was the chapter outlining the reign of Rudolf II (the Bohemian lands being just one component of his territorial possessions as Holy Roman Emperor). Rudolf stands as a singularly picturesque but somewhat reclusive member of the Hapsburgs - a dynasty not exactly short on eccentric  characters. He ruled as HRE between 1576 and 1612, and is often seen as having partially  facilitating the catastrophic Thirty Years War that would convulse Europe, through his ineffectual  or misguided statecraft. Of more relevance to my own project is his status as one of the most voraciously acquisitive Renaissance collectors of art, jewels, weaponry, specimens of natural history, proto-scientific equipment, and exotica of all kinds. Alongside his famed ‘cabinet of curiosities’, he compiled an extensive and fantastic library to reflect his many interests and enthusiasms - not least of which was Alchemy. During Rudolph's reign, the numerous artists, scholars, philosophers, astronomers, astrologers, antiquarian dealers and cultural envoys invited to his court, were accompanied by a small army of alchemists - many of whom were patronised in their researches by the Emperor. Notable amongst these were the infamous John Dee and his distinctly shadier associate, Edward Kelley.

Thus it was that, for a period, Prague became famed as an alchemical hot-spot throughout Europe. Numerous medieval cellars throughout the ‘Golden City’, some still buried beneath the grand Baroque architecture that tourists now flock to admire, would become choked with fumes and encrusted with residues from experiments of varying degrees of toxicity and/or fatality. One might even argue that, at certain subterranean locations, the very fabric of the Prague became chemically altered - just as it was perhaps psychically transformed by the alchemists’ quest. I’ve long been fascinated by the ideas behind what became known as Psychogeography, but can’t help wondering if Psycho-chemistry isn’t also a label we might usefully employ. After all, any city is a kind of reactive crucible, whose multiple narratives might be recounted through the resulting accretions of grime, patination and chemical residues found on every surface.

Anyhow, his concludes my posts relating to each of the individual ‘[dc]circuit’ panels. However, the actual intention was always to compose an assemblage of five components that might be viewed as a whole, and I’ve yet to decide exactly how successful (or otherwise) I may have been in this. Lacking any easily accessible wall large enough to hang the group, I really need now to mock them up in miniature to assess how well they work together, and in which configuration(s) they might best be viewed. Certainly, their deliberately varying shapes and sizes dictate that a little creative experimentation is required there. Therefore, I hope to devote one more post to the group as a whole - and perhaps also to detail the overall alchemical sequence as it is finally revealed. 

Sometimes it feels like documenting all this stuff is almost more work than making the blinkin’ things in the first place!

[1.]:  Franz Kafka, ‘The Castle’ [Trans. J. A. Underwood], London/NYC, Penguin, 1926/1997

[2.]:  Peter Demetz, ‘Prague in Black and Gold’, London/NYC, Penguin, 1997

[Komponiert ohne künstliche intelligenz]