At the edge of dawn, when the forest breathes out into the crisp beginning of a day, Greg Wood finds his vision. He seeks the softer light, the spaces of rain and mist, the glowing fuzz of pre-dawn light, the quiet hum of winter cloud. Wood is drawn to colour, tone, and textures: air and water are silver-grey; the forest is a deep dense, emerald. Wood finds the ancient, more venerable elements of his subjects: the land is antique; hinting at a more subtle element of Wood’s imagery: time. Everything is immediate, taking place in the moment of creation: here is the now. Wood captures a moment, documenting how he felt to really be there, watching a moment transform.
Now is Now, just as much as it was then, as it will be. Wood’s time is fluid, silver, captured, yet still slipping away, as it does for us all.
Wood’s recent experiments with sculpture accentuate and expand on that solid immediacy. Their rough-hewn, solid forms suggest something emerging into being, while the blackened exteriors imply the unsubtle transformation of fire. Wood captures moments of shift and change, the slow movement of geology, the fecund dampness of forests left untouched. His muted, exquisite palette reveals few secrets, yet draws the eye ever deeper into an alchemical world where everything is still forming, where time has been and still flows, shaping the land, clad in subtle cloud.
Written by Andrew Harper
