I get frustrated with the title artist. I dont even want to make paintings…at least the objects. (I really hate selling myself) I imagine shaking all of my work and making it disappear like an etch-a-sketch.
But I love painting. Like singing and making love, its expressive, transcendant and life making. Like exploring, its an adventure and search to find the gems of the journey. Like truth, it informs the present and reminds us to stay humble, or try again, or simply to encourage our continued learning, growing, and transforming. I love the process of becoming. of participating.
I love sharing. My life is a disasterous gift. To myself and to anyone who would receive it. I want to witlessly give it all away. I really love people. For all of the messes we make relationally, ecologically, morally and otherwise…. our story is still a diverse and unfolding mystery. I long to be more human. to see through many eyes. walk in many shoes. taste, feel, and know beyond my own limitations. I love exploring our mysteries.
I love playing. Letting go of fear is life giving. I am not a calculator, yet taking risks still must be tempered by wisdom. There is a place where the blank canvas is not a daunting task but the muse herself. She beckons us out of our heads to create with our hearts & establish, in the long run, a new kind of being.
I love the draw of love and hope for the marks I make( and the ones we make together) to find a way into and through this mystery.