One should never impede artists from accomplishing what they have set their minds on. That was what I was thinking the day I watched John Goudie Lynch cut open the stuffed stomach lining of a lamb – the haggis. Hanging on the wall behind him, a naked man glided over a landscape. One of John’s paintings, unbelievably precise in its brush-work and evocative in its expression – I could hear the wind whistling in the ears of the flying man. With one slash of the knife, he had sliced through the taut, pale skin and the bag opened to show its golden steaming contents. We were seated around the table, motionless in that familiar wait –“food!” – and a little jokingly – “what’s in that thing?” I verified that there was a fork to the left of my plate and not a tooth-brush. The quality of a haggis relies on the one who made the stuffing and on the mood of the guests. In short, on what lies within the one who’s eating and within that being eaten. The process is similar with regard to the paintings of John Goudie Lynch, if he’ll excuse the comparison. His characters have often strange vacant expressions, they are our masks and our mirror. They’re frozen in some absurd act, yet somehow familiar. We get the impression that what they’re experiencing we have been through ourselves whether awake or in a dream. John opens up his world, the one in his imagination. His talent is in making it our own. The haggis, by the way, was excellent, thank you.


Marie-Laure Colson