Pink Burnout

Across any rural area you will find traces of burnouts. left in the dead of night on lonely roads, they are as much part of the fabric of the local community as the church on the rise, the rolls of hay in the paddocks. They are ubiquitous and anonymous. Aside from the disturbance of a burnout being executed, they are almost an invisible gesture, an annoyance, the activity of persons who have nothing better to do, nothing better to contribute to the local culture. Naturally I’m thinking different about these marks. They are in essence beautiful lines. Sweeping from side to side, great arcs and circles. The compulsion to mark making expressed in grand strokes. I knew it was important to work with these lines. On Lyman st, actually a country lane lined by black berries, I found some lovely marks. They swept around the bend and wove up the hill for a hundred meters. I followed the lines with my spray pump and instantly they were no longer without identity. They were the same but renewed. They brought something new to the area. Like two giants worms meandering down the road.