The land, the sea and the changing sky. Birds in flight. The qualities of sunlight coming through approaching fog. Shadows casting over quiet city streets, or dappling the light through tree branches. Huge skylines are looming . . or birds are calling near a hillside trail.

     All of these will affect me differently, on a physical level. An overgrown footpath through a deep thicket of trees could give a sense of claustrophobia, or closeness with the forest. I react cerebrally, too, of course. But in my experience, what engages me to choose a place to paint–is the emotional, aesthetic and spiritual way I respond to a site. With some places I feel exhilaration, quiet awe or a desire to look more closely. Perhaps there’s a heightening of my senses, a subtle shift in awareness or mood - then I know I’ve found a good spot.

     I try to stay tuned into these kinds of sensations, and be able to bring them into focus when I need to. Taking note of a place, I’ll return, if the sensations are interesting enough. As a native of San Francisco, I use my lifelong familiarity with California and especially the Bay Area, to try to express the beauty and character of its amazing variety of environments and vantage points.

     One of the experiences I covet most, when walking and exploring outdoors–is becoming so immersed in a place that it allows me to dissolve any feeling of duality: the cultural idea many of us carry inside about separation of “self” from “the world”. When this happens I feel the unity of life more fully. Often, there’s also a letting go of the sense of: ‘time is passing’. It’s very interesting to me that similar changes in my awareness occur when I am working on a painting and things are flowing in the best way. The making of art, and immersion in nature, have this capacity to transform consciousness. Ideally, the resulting artwork itself will retain some of this capacity, in its own way.

     So the places that spark an intense feeling in me, I return to. And when I do, it feels as if these places have ‘chosen’ me, in a way. Something in their presence reaches into me and connects. I’d love to be able to completely put into words, the indicative magic which is encompassed in a special place. I feel it both viscerally, and metaphysically. But actually, for me, it’s like a rich, unspoken dialogue that takes place both below and above the level of language. Painted color, form and light seem to suggest it in a more immediate way, more akin to the experience of being there.

     In certain paintings I may attempt to evoke various visits and impressions of a particular site I know very well. Others are more spontaneous and of the moment. The unspoken connections of a soul to a setting, where the puzzle pieces of time, place, and changing elements can fit together as something whole - to capture some of its presence. This is what I’m after.

Paul Scofield