After two homage-images this week, here's an anti-homage, a satirical homage (in other words, still homage) to Edward Weston. Though obviously I didn't take the time to mimic the pose, the lighting, the sensuous semi-sexualization of his famous peppers: I'm now regretting this, because these Bowery bums of the refrigerator drawer merited a little more care. But I can't extricate them from the trashcan now: they will be squashed ... all I can do is turn them into black and white.
I'm a great believer in artistic (and verbal) mimicry: I think one does actually learn through imitation - something that I was taught a long time ago in art classes at school, where Winfred Pasmore - the sister of Victor Pasmore, but I can't find anything on line about what her own training might have been - made me paint skies in imitation of the Impressionists. It was an instant tactic to make me think differently about how I used media, about how to make eye and hand co-ordination work differently (and then I went back to imitating Samuel Palmer, right down to painting with glue).
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