Wednesday, May 13, 2015

What dreams are made of.

Providence; Surfacing III
Oil on Canvas
68' x 34"

I am not sure where my desire to paint comes from. It does not feel like something I choose to do, it feels like something I am compelled to do, like breathing. It is a quite thing that for me is accompanied by daydreaming.

I remember being a child and having pencils and crayons and sheets of onion skin typing paper. I would carefully draw my plans for a barn with plenty of paddocks and pastures. I would fill the pastures with the lush green waxes from my box of 100 Crayolas. Then I would draw the horses to fill that barn. I can still smell the pencil lead and the paper, and the scent of crayons transports me.

I drew my dreams. I drew to dream. I now paint to dream, and the dreams are still the same.

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