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Sat on the warmed holy gunmetal coloured bench, the sun casts a heavy calming warmth from ahead of you. When you close your eyes your eyelids glow a warm honey yellow. The same colour as the cautionary line which you know from childhood that stands above the softened tarmac base, the sun exposing its scent. The hot breeze blows to your left where the tracks run and hide around a corner of trees. You’re expecting to see motion at any moment as if somethings telling you there will be. More passengers are approaching the wait, ascending the slight ramp just behind your right shoulder which is flanked by a traditional tall fence, varnished in a dark walnut brown, with gaps between the boards that blink at you as you pass. Sat there, you are aware that what you are waiting for will approach from your right. But why is that ever approaching motion from the left so consuming? That is not for you? If it was, you would be sat waiting on the other side, with the sun hitting your back. The corner wouldn’t be visible and the tracks would appear much shorter. A replica of the bench you’re sat on sits empty almost directly opposite you, just a tad to the right...that bench is probably just as warm.
Sat on the warmed holy gunmetal coloured bench, the sun casts a heavy calming warmth from ahead of you. When you close your eyes your eyelids glow a warm honey yellow. The same colour as the cautionary line which you know from childhood that stands above the softened tarmac base, the sun exposing its scent. The hot breeze blows to your left where the tracks run and hide around a corner of trees. You’re expecting to see motion at any moment as if somethings telling you there will be. More passengers are approaching the wait, ascending the slight ramp just behind your right shoulder which is flanked by a traditional tall fence, varnished in a dark walnut brown, with gaps between the boards that blink at you as you pass. Sat there, you are aware that what you are waiting for will approach from your right. But why is that ever approaching motion from the left so consuming? That is not for you? If it was, you would be sat waiting on the other side, with the sun hitting your back. The corner wouldn’t be visible and the tracks would appear much shorter. A replica of the bench you’re sat on sits empty almost directly opposite you, just a tad to the right...that bench is probably just as warm.
Sat on the warmed holy gunmetal coloured bench, the sun casts a heavy calming warmth from ahead of you. When you close your eyes your eyelids glow a warm honey yellow. The same colour as the cautionary line which you know from childhood that stands above the softened tarmac base, the sun exposing its scent. The hot breeze blows to your left where the tracks run and hide around a corner of trees. You’re expecting to see motion at any moment as if somethings telling you there will be. More passengers are approaching the wait, ascending the slight ramp just behind your right shoulder which is flanked by a traditional tall fence, varnished in a dark walnut brown, with gaps between the boards that blink at you as you pass. Sat there, you are aware that what you are waiting for will approach from your right. But why is that ever approaching motion from the left so consuming? That is not for you? If it was, you would be sat waiting on the other side, with the sun hitting your back. The corner wouldn’t be visible and the tracks would appear much shorter. A replica of the bench you’re sat on sits empty almost directly opposite you, just a tad to the right...that bench is probably just as warm.
Sat on the warmed holy gunmetal coloured bench, the sun casts a heavy calming warmth from ahead of you. When you close your eyes your eyelids glow a warm honey yellow. The same colour as the cautionary line which you know from childhood that stands above the softened tarmac base, the sun exposing its scent. The hot breeze blows to your left where the tracks run and hide around a corner of trees. You’re expecting to see motion at any moment as if somethings telling you there will be. More passengers are approaching the wait, ascending the slight ramp just behind your right shoulder which is flanked by a traditional tall fence, varnished in a dark walnut brown, with gaps between the boards that blink at you as you pass. Sat there, you are aware that what you are waiting for will approach from your right. But why is that ever approaching motion from the left so consuming? That is not for you? If it was, you would be sat waiting on the other side, with the sun hitting your back. The corner wouldn’t be visible and the tracks would appear much shorter. A replica of the bench you’re sat on sits empty almost directly opposite you, just a tad to the right...that bench is probably just as warm.
Sat on the warmed holy gunmetal coloured bench, the sun casts a heavy calming warmth from ahead of you. When you close your eyes your eyelids glow a warm honey yellow. The same colour as the cautionary line which you know from childhood that stands above the softened tarmac base, the sun exposing its scent. The hot breeze blows to your left where the tracks run and hide around a corner of trees. You’re expecting to see motion at any moment as if somethings telling you there will be. More passengers are approaching the wait, ascending the slight ramp just behind your right shoulder which is flanked by a traditional tall fence, varnished in a dark walnut brown, with gaps between the boards that blink at you as you pass. Sat there, you are aware that what you are waiting for will approach from your right. But why is that ever approaching motion from the left so consuming? That is not for you? If it was, you would be sat waiting on the other side, with the sun hitting your back. The corner wouldn’t be visible and the tracks would appear much shorter. A replica of the bench you’re sat on sits empty almost directly opposite you, just a tad to the right...that bench is probably just as warm.
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Jackson Swaby

United Kingdom

Painting, Acrylic on Canvas

Size: 62.2 W x 31.5 H x 1.5 D in

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About The Artwork

Sat on the warmed holy gunmetal coloured bench, the sun casts a heavy calming warmth from ahead of you. When you close your eyes your eyelids glow a warm honey yellow. The same colour as the cautionary line which you know from childhood that stands above the softened tarmac base, the sun exposing its scent. The hot breeze blows to your left where the tracks run and hide around a corner of trees. You’re expecting to see motion at any moment as if somethings telling you there will be. More passengers are approaching the wait, ascending the slight ramp just behind your right shoulder which is flanked by a traditional tall fence, varnished in a dark walnut brown, with gaps between the boards that blink at you as you pass. Sat there, you are aware that what you are waiting for will approach from your right. But why is that ever approaching motion from the left so consuming? That is not for you? If it was, you would be sat waiting on the other side, with the sun hitting your back. The corner wouldn’t be visible and the tracks would appear much shorter. A replica of the bench you’re sat on sits empty almost directly opposite you, just a tad to the right...that bench is probably just as warm.

Details & Dimensions

Painting:Acrylic on Canvas

Original:One-of-a-kind Artwork

Size:62.2 W x 31.5 H x 1.5 D in

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Delivery Time:Typically 5-7 business days for domestic shipments, 10-14 business days for international shipments.

Contemporary Fine Artist, Music Producer, Designer. I see myself and my creation as the same. Germinated from interactions, happenings, collisions, visions, and dreams; the spectrum of existence, both physical and non-physical. A seeker & explorer of possibilities & truths with the explicit understanding that things can be unknown, and may forever be unknown. Is this the best way for this/me to exist? A question that always leads to new tools, new insights, and new human mechanics and the boundaries of these things are non-existent and influence all. The human element is important in all my works and I value tangible sensory creations. There's a human mechanical directness that comes from making marks. Emotion leaves as motion. I have a willingness to get dirty, an impulse to play and the confidence to say if I’m not good at it today, I will be tomorrow. After my Fine Art studies, I spent many years cocooned in music. It was where I found expression with my eyes closed. In a painting sense, they were figureless, only concerned with how it felt when she walked down those tiled stairs. Since then the figures have been reintroduced to my work. And it came with a visceral, impactful use of my voice, playing instruments, hitting things. I currently believe it's the nuance between these points where the beauty resides. The duality of creation and existence.

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