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Carib Boy Discovers Where His Parents Came From

Ink dyes, acrylic and graphite on wood panel

92 x 92 cm

Even though the young boy was born in this land he always felt he was a foreigner.  He recognised this separation not so much from the land itself but more from the culture he now lived within.  He had been a creative person for as long as he could remember and this fact allowed him to sit slightly outside his own community as well.  From his earliest memories he valued a particular assortment of memorable experiences that marked the moment when he started to construct his own sense of identity; memories that set him on his road, destined to become an artist

His West Indian parents were a little unusual as they allowed their son to follow his inborn talent and gave him the space to daydream his days away as he would often do.  It was a place they were aware their son withdrew to, and from which he secured his sanity in a world they knew he did not belong.  They knew what made him happy but were also concerned about the long periods he spent isolated.  


He had a vivid memory of those first visits to Museum institutions that opened up a world beyond this time, a world to which he knew he had an instant connection. But these findings brought contradictions as well as insight as to where his parents really came from and the secrets to some of the strange cultural habits and customs that were more akin to those customs of a Continent from which so many were taken.   

Carib Boy 1.jpg

His first encounters with those noble faces of individuals who held positions of significance in their time lingered in his storehouse of thoughts, always sitting there at the back of his mind, just hidden, just out of the limelight of his every day thoughts but lingered in a place where they would not be forgotten.  These faces would turn up, often not invited, and place themselves in a painting. This happened so often but he learned not to question their presence and figured they knew more than him so allowed them to place themselves wherever they pleased.  “After all,” he thought, “I’m just the artist.”   


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