Eugene Brodsky

Walking in a strange city, taking snapshots surreptitiously at a screening of an old movie. Thumbing through endless books of architecture architects and plans on the wall of a construction shed in a garden.  Going around the block because I’m early for an appointment. Browsing at a bookstall in Paris (with weirdly but inevitably the prototypical grey Parisian vendor chasing me down the street because somehow I have stolen what is his- though only the image itself).  Finding a shred of a poster left hanging on a wall.  Cracks and drips.  Building paper from the remains of a previous piece.  Old newspapers that I’ve saved for no reason at all.  Sitting on the passengers side on an interminable drive from a to b. Walking in the snow. Doodling when I should be concentrating.

I ramble and look for what nobody else cares about and having collected my images I take them to my studio and rework, refine, reverse and repeat them so that they are hopefully born again with new dignity and magic.  I try to use whatever techniques and materials I can lay my hands on that don’t dominate what I want to see.

Having grown up in a generation that had Rauschenberg and John’s to refer to, I have the advantage (and disadvantage) of knowing everything is possible, anything can become art.  I have used transfer, stencils and silkscreens to take my hand out of the work while at the same time keeping the element of chance and human fallibility.  I try to stay alert to all that is going on and at the same time to follow my own two feet.  I commented to my friend the other day that some people make work that looks brutally labor intensive and I seem to make work, which is very labor intensive but looks like it’s just there.