What is working now seems to hinge on the successful execution of one painting, which is then subsumed by another. The first one has to work. It has to be strong on its own, because it is all the more difficult to vandalize and smother it. The destructive action gives life, life takes destruction and transcends it and makes it life-giving. The sheer amount of paint I'm putting on these surfaces sets them apart from anything I've ever done, and that constraint was mostly due to poverty and the desire to paint even when my materials ran low.
Being able to work freely after so many years of external and internal restraint is an incredibly liberating condition; it is also one brought about more from a shift in consciousness than any real change in my finances. Nothing has really changed monetarily, I simply am committing resources on a level I have never done before.
I'm still scratching my head at these. They bring a variety of associations to my mind; comparisons, references, interpretations even. The heat helps, this partial exposure to the elements in which I work. The peculiar qualities and behaviors that paint itself takes on when exposed to high temperatures imbues these works with a singularity of surface and texture.
Every night is worth it. I'm exhausted, but I am always glad I came to work. There is never tomorrow; life makes certain of that. When we find the strength inside to define what we are living for, I think life falls into balance.
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