The process of painting, for me, is joyful, intuitive, and unwieldy. Many, many layers of “resolved’ but uninteresting paintings lie beneath the finished piece. The painting is successful when it opposes refinement and tastefulness in the expression of something more meaningful. It is the human touch that interests me. The wobble and the imperfection.
sequencing
There is a tension between order and everything falling apart.
I wrote you a letter.
Please read it from left to right.
It’s a sequence of thoughts, A sequence of numbers,
A sequence of shapes.
Please read between the lines.
The words are unimportant.
As weightless as a leaf of paper.
It’s the marks that matter.
It’s the trace of hand,
The persistence of voice
In the face of peril and time.
singing underground
It’s good to see you again
I’ve been gone so long
But I’m home now
Underground
Yes, like Persephone
It’s dark here, mm-hmmm
And quiet
No one minds if you spend whole days
Lost in the overwhelming beauty of ordinary life
And there is plenty of room for failure
Regrets even
I did not want you to worry about that