London Diary





I began painting my first oil-on-canvas early '96, after a photograph I took of Ricky when we were in France, august '93. She looks into a mirror, almost godlike, holding three tomatoes in the palm of her hand.

Parade - Jan Harsman 1998

Then the picture gradually changed, and over the months, the years it became something quite different.

By the end of '98 I thought it was over and done with.

But I was so wrong...

My painting is a process, and I can't tell beforehand whether, eventually, it will end.

Yesterday afternoon, I was lying on my bed, smoking, staring at it, when suddenly I felt this irresistible urge to cover it up with bits and pieces torn from newspapers and magazines.
I ran the two blocks to Queensway to buy me a pair of scissors and lots of glue.
Back in the basement I put my Reprazent CD on 'repeat', and then started cutting, tearing, glueing, until early this morning...
Not that I'm finished with it now ...

Can I ever ever hope to make some money out of a process without product?