"Of all lies, art is the least untrue." -Gustave Flaubert
For me, art is about escaping from the world; diving deep into my right brain and forgetting the time, the stress, the chores – everything except the color I’m mixing and how to apply it. My focus becomes narrow and deep.
But the world intrudes. I might be painting a self-portrait (I am often painting a self-portrait) when I decide to reference mental illness. Or I pose some green toy soldiers to make a piece about play and end up with a painting about war. I might think I leave my left brain behind, but it doesn’t leave me.
I love bright colors and have a sneaking suspicion that polka dots are the basic building blocks of the world. But while I often create happy-looking, I rarely create happy.
I find life to be a layered, nuanced experience. And I often find myself creating layers in my work. I have placed crumpled mylar over a large still life and written all over it. I have created fabrics and wallpapers and then painted them. I love to draw on silkscreened prints. (More self-portraits.) Rarely anymore am I satisfied with the straightforward. My mind and eye crave complexity and mystery.
Until I’m done making. Then the quotidian will do until next time.