Introduction by Michael Organ
Guy Denning’s art originates from the heart, each a true illustration of the soul. Portraying magnificently in light what is dark the artist breathes through each pouring emotion to a canvas dripping with beauty. Looking into closed eyes we are offered the opportunity to feel, reality’s futility fighting the pain of meaning, our social fears found and realised, the distortion of control ever creeping. Denning’s surface is scratched with purpose allowing each to bleed, a biting expression of everyday being.
The other side of another life draws darkening eyes to a world blinkered, seeing only what a heart tells the head to. The chiselled hollow of despair marks the mood of survival as caught in reflection, thought sways from one to the same, the next its every last, each eating a precious second to death’s dying thirst. Motionless to a heart felt the world around blurs from meaning, eyes closing to a future, open to light blinded by mistrust. Hostile to being, a struggle against the self desirous only of death, Denning paints a world fading as grey darkens an ever dimming light of existence clawing through decay. Tempered to distortion ever backward in looking forward, we are allowed a glimpse of what lies ahead; a past forever caught in the pain a future breathes.
There once stood a man who believed in another, only for another to take it all away. Worlds crumble when truth is lost to greed, decisions blank in concern on a global chess board of destruction. Politics play religion in a game neither can win, a stalemate of deception; god to others’ pain. Behind eyes lies a broken man, the blood of tears flooding freely as sorrow breathes each breath. Truths are heard only as lies, beliefs broken, ravaged by a war not his own, the artist portraying with respectful beauty the pained cry of betrayal, a world darkened by the loss of another.
Gold drips and burns to an imaginary stake, society’s riches solid only to a touch unfeeling. Chains to a public’s eye remain hidden in an ignominious sea drowning, invented by humanity as hell; the true exploitation of being. Eyes are painted to the world closed, ever open to the self depicting truly the fight of a heart beating. Aflame with fury the creation of Above pours guilt upon that untouched. To a daily torment a body naked yet alive in soul breathes defiantly, a martyr to being standing tall against fall.
Stark to the heart and alarming to the eye, Denning perfectly paints the human invention of failure, a construct in the destruction of a destructive other. All hope is lost when all else fails, a last resort from thought in a bleak existence falling backwards. Dull in its shine, blood stains a past and future of controlled endurance incarcerating those watching and wishing, the flick of a switch pushing buttons of vengeful hate lost in answers questioned. Blood of the controllers and controlled drips from an imaginary ceiling seeping through a screen of consciences dry, man’s failure shining through the stillness of a life less breath knowing only a darkness gasping in death. To a side a light weeps, the ghost of a future crying.
Eyes when open reveal the soul, a future defined by a past preventing. Hope only knows trying, scarred from history to a whole denying, the artist’s heart beating to each inward blink. We spy the eye seeing all, in and through what it tells itself to, an indifference to difference from that instilled. Perfectly formed the face forges forward in a directionless stutter, a crumbling inner identifying being. As another looks on, look to and at yourself; a true portrait of within.
Exhibited in London and New York, in addition to being treasured in public collections, Guy Denning’s art continues to evolve, excite and move, its profound importance burning through the thickening fabric of a blind society controlling.