This Moment
As I press keys on my keyboard, words appear, spelling out my insecurities like a Polaroid from years gone by. I painted a picture the other day, it’s facing me now, as if it had it’s own thoughts and preoccupations. I stare blankly back, looking past the layers of oil to the bareness of canvas which holds the image together. The more I look, the more I feel myself falling into the captivating emptiness that peers so painfully out into my soul. This subtle yet immensely powerful communication offers me understanding, a fragment of comprehension about the nature of my life. To me being an artist isn’t about art, it’s about being. This moment, this feeling, this is my art.
(April 2004)