Rose Arbuthnott
25th November - 1st December 2021
Rose Arbuthnott was born in Cheltenham. She was always going to be an artist as she was surrounded by craft making as a child, and the knack was there too. She always used a variety of mediums and drew and drew. This show is one of these incarnations.
She went on to study Art and Art History at Edinburgh University before receiving a scholarship to attend the Prince’s Drawing School in London where she was awarded second prize. Having completed her studies, Rose co-founded ‘The Owl Barn’ Artist Residency in Gloucestershire – a community to develop their creative practice and engage with local community groups. She has since undertaken an artist residency at The First Food in Mexico, travelled around Scotland painting, and went to Uganda to share art with refugees from the Congo.
She has exhibited with different galleries in London, had several solo shows including Tangled Roads and ‘he she or they’, and was long listed for the John Moore Prize, Tate, Liverpool.
This work is of an unusual place to settle for her; on the still life, originally as a catalyst for working colour and soon satisfying unto itself. She came to feel this body of work as poignant in its finished state and is pleased to share them with you in this show.
Find out more about Rose on her website, Facebook and Instagram.
Poem by Still Lives curator, Charlie Caldecott
Sitting in her kitchen bright
A shaft of light
A raft of colour
Making all around seem duller
The light hits the vase to the left of the stove
Making it easier for eyes to rove
Suddenly spirits lift
In our consciousness there is a shift
We have been stuck here for months and months and months
Things we never noticed before
The old scuff marks by the kitchen door
The scratches of movements on the parquet floor
The skids and slides on the bathroom lino
A splash of red by a favourite wino
An artist observes as a matter of course
Her eyes were always her best resource
Everything round her is lit up, her synapses fire
Nothing is missed
It all is recorded in a state of bliss
The genre lifted up by necessity
To record the domestic in all its serenity.
