P.K. (Page) Irwin - Statement

I began drawing in Brazil in the late 50's. Immersed in a language I could not understand and surrounded by a baroque world of great and tropical beauty, I was wordless. My writing, except for a journal which I didn't count, stopped. Then the pen that had written, miraculously began to draw. It drew everything around me-each blade of grass, each tree, each chair and table.

It was not long before the 'gear and tackle and trim' of art began to intrigue me: the tooth of the paper I worked on, the colour of the ink, the thickness of the nib, the sound of the nib on the paper-one might even say, 'its song' -and then the different ways of applying colour: oil pastel, gouache, oil, egg tempera. Each required something new of me.

I went to a teacher who told me to throw away the pen. But it would be an amputation! I moaned. Use colour, he advised. What kind of colour? I wailed. What colour do you like? On what surface? I asked, in despair. What surface do you like? Finally the penny dropped. He was telling me there was no formula for art. I had to find out for myself.

And so I have been finding out ever since-in bouts, between bouts of writing. It has been a kind of journey from the material to the immaterial and it has given me great joy.

P.K. Page Irwin