Hugo Klemmons: Portrait in the mind's sky.

"I think with my paintbrush. The canvas is where I dream. In this way, I free up my mind in order to absorb the clouds above. This process naturally re-orders my thoughts: my canvas as my mind naturally causes my mind to become the canvas. I paint. I think. They are the same."

"There is nothing more divine than painting the clouds as they encompass all reality and unreality at once. Clouds often seem to morph into shapes we recognise as they are eternally changing through all possible shapes. This means they pass through the reality of everything at some point. When we look at the clouds, we see things that are, but also, without comprehending it, we see what is not yet. When I paint the clouds, I paint your most intimate and private desires, I paint my beginning and my end, I paint the most unimaginable events and objects of our own future."

"Art is not necessarily about seeing clearly. A clear sky is a flat sea of blue. yet when we add the obstruction of clouds, we begin to see the beauty that is the detail. The unclarity of the ever-changing cloudscapes sets the empty space in context as a distant canvas."

"This altitude thought process has transcended my traditional brushwork onto a parallel plane. The human form morphs and changes as we grow so a singular instance of who we are is only one tiny molecule of our actual existance, just as a photogrph of a cloud is only one snapshot in a swirling canvas of perfection."

"By bringing the unclarity of altitude thinking into portrait painting, I can encompass the persons entire life rather than just the instance where they sit in my studio. By placing a misted aquarium over my head, I can blot out the distractions of the today and see the beauty of the years of life. The last thing I ask my subjects to do is to sit still. They often do as they think they should and it's then that I tell them to morph their life on my stool. It is very liberating for both artist and muse. For the same reason, I do not always face them. Often I spin on my chair, like the swirling cosmos, and paint sub-conscious brushstokes as I pass the canvas, or sometimes the wall... and why not?

Should art only belong on the canvas?"