24/7 365. That’s how I love him. Simple as that. As ordinary as that.
Your partner, your mother, your child, your vocation, your homeland. Whoever or whatever it is that you love, it’s all day every day forever. It’s the nature of loving: It makes marks on your heart, and deep.
Love is often thought of as transitory. An I-loved-her-and-now-I-don’t kinda thing. But I don’t subscribe to that. I had a marriage once. I was with him for 13 years. I loved him deeply, with all my young heart. We’re not together anymore and haven’t been for over a decade. Jesus christ there’s some troubled water under that bridge! But that love, that history, I carry with me. The marks [beautiful and not] that relationship made on me are right down deep in my body, for always. 24/7 365.
And BTW, I don’t mean at all to suggest loving is easy. The 24/7 365 I’m talking about ain’t some sugarcoated fantasy. Quite the contrary. Love is often difficult. Returning again and again to that love when the going gets tough the hardest thing of all. That’s where the rough raw edges of the artwork come in - to symbolise the rough raw edges of loving. The big bold numbers are how I love - big and bold and boots and all.
I painted this on dress linen. Layer after layer of blackboard-green paint until it the fabric became a canvas. Then painted the numbers simple as a child would. Drew around with them pencil and darker green, to make the numbers pop like I tried to when I was at school.
At intermediate I had a marvellous teacher, Mrs Nicholson. I adored her. She was the first person in my life outside of my family to make me feel seen. Make me feel like I was worth something in the world. I clearly remember trying to draw 3D letters in her class, trying to impress her. I remember her throwing the chalk across the room to hit the head of someone not listening. She was a good aim. This artwork is for you, Mrs Nicholson. Thank you for seeing me. Making this artwork made me feel like I was in your classroom again. I always did love the green of your blackboard.