I've been internalizing a great many questions as of late; what is art? what is it that I do? what images and themes re-occur throughout my oeuvre? does art matter?
I've always believed in going to work. That showing up in the studio and getting your hands dirty provides the proper and fertile state of mind for inspiration, and that painters paint, sculptors sculpt, writers write, and so on. I believe we are defined by actions, not ideas or concepts; though I appreciate the visionaries in this world. True visionaries make their visions real, however; with sweat and blood and sometimes their very lives. Actions speak.
In the studio, often I'll start down a path and on my way I'll notice little trails -overgrown and thorny and mostly-hidden from the casual glance. Sometimes these lead me to amazing places, sometimes they are distractions, but always the journey is worth it. Making work makes me think about work and this drives the creative process into new directions.
My girls started 1st grade today. Bittersweet, to be sure, but mostly a happy time. They grow older (as do I) and they are slowly growing up and inspiring me and helping me grow and love and create and thrive and evolve.
Most of my time in the studio is spent prepping canvases. I paint quickly and decisively; I always have. I don't labor over paintings once I begin, but I fetishize the prepping. I love beginnings and I love possibility. I've said many times before that one day I will paint the most amazing painting that will be but a single mark on surface. Simplicity and power in one authoritative stroke. All else seems to be leading to that moment.
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