the thought-stream of an artist and writer

Tracey Physioc Brockett

the thought-stream of an artist and writer

Saturday, April 28, 2012

The Naming of Parts

I have hit on the nomenclature, pinned myself on map, diagram and blueprint because I need somewhere to land and stake a claim to the great unknown to which I have  embarked. Upon. Or  to. Destination is shaky if at all existent. Where I am wither? And how, and with what means?
Paint and canvas is the vessel of my journey. My voyage. My passage to the unknown. There be dragons here, at the end of the known world. So I would begin the naming of parts to save myself.
Diagram E; Star Chart, oil stick on paper, 31x30

My ticket is paid by attention, precision, accuracy in cartography; round surface bound to the flat plane; time spinning like a top on a moving surface; shifting weights tensing and flexing some invisible net and inching lines over fraction by fraction, whirling, repelling and fusing in strange alchemy.


Some times as I work and rework a painting  matter becomes more and more immaterial and I think  it will vanish in a puff of air and me with it, if I push out too far. Am I on land or sea, or floating, some thin gas, dissipating?  The problem is quite simple, really;  if I don't know where I am going, how will I know when I am there?
 I have named it travel. 

There are other metaphors; archaeological, mythic and earth based. I could have settled on the words of human stories, of thwarting and waiting and bursting through barriers for a prize. Lost and found, the games Time has played with civilizations 'til we give up count and know only whispers, snippets , from the stories of our ancestors, waiting to be uncovered again, or reordered and reused. I thought that this would be where my art resided,here among the humanity, as my love for history was kindled in college and I have kept reading and studying. Perhaps it is, only I do not know it yet.
more blog on travel, destinations and journeys

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

On Becoming

"There was no way of knowing with what one was dealing until it existed; so that in order to see one had to paint and through that activity found what could be seen." Bridget Riley.

previous blog on work from this series:

Sunday, April 8, 2012


I am finding my ground again, after a week in New York at the art fairs, and 3 weeks with bronchitis, when I brooded about what I had seen and where I am going with my own work. I am at a crossroads, without a job, and I am sniffing out what I have not explored in my life. My work is not autobiographical, except that things I think about  because they are coming up in my world are bound to show up visually, whether I will them or not. I have been thinking about shifts and changes... large ones like the end of an era that our society seems to be facing, of job safety and government that respects the constitution, and even larger ones of climate change and geology. Yesterday, driving to New Haven, CT. we passed Rocky Hill, where the ice age glaciers ended and dumped their loads of gravel and rock. Once upon a time, where I live was a new territory, lakes of melted ice water and delicate new greenery on a scoured and reshaped landscape.