When something is a part of you, you don't know what to call it because it is simply there. You only know the words and terms accepted by a majority to refer to something as. Painting is no different. That is how you know that something is truly yours; when you don't need a word to define it. I often wonder why it is called ''painting''. Maybe pain begets creation. The world does not stop for your pain, so in dark times you must gather things to make your own light. You learn to survive and pick up the pieces. Art was my glue and now it's my wood. I have always been artistic and, like writing, it has always been a natural thing. Beyond that, to truly comprehend why I paint and furthermore, why I paint what I paint, you would have to know me. You can never really know a person or understand what they do, without first penetrating their history, all of it. It's the dark corners, private thoughts and buried memories that tell the most. To see that is to see them. Painting is a part of me and so, with gratitude, I never had a choice of doing it or not. I grew up in a one stoplight town of distant houses and spacious fields, peppered with barns and enfolded by endless masses of dense trees. It is the kind of a place that is easily forgotten, if you notice it, as you pass it on the interstate, headed towards more populated and brighter areas. It's not perfect here but it's where I'm from. ''Perfection'' is a distraction from truth and truth lies in the little things. The countryside grows on you and though the intense quietude is not for everyone, it has a way of reminding me of what matters. Material things are immaterial and I'd take a day of being grateful for what I do have over complaining about what I don't. In some ways I feel like painting is a way for me to show how grateful I am. Often, I am asked why I paint. Wouldn't it be lovely to always have the right words to explain everything in such a way and to such a degree that everyone completely understands but I'm imperfect and accept that it's ok to not have the words sometimes. Things change. I change. It's unpredictable, like the weather here in Kentucky. Depending on the mood and day, my reasons for painting vary. I'm human; complicated by life's experiences and ever-changing because time opens the eyes. I've always had an artistic nature— one that over time has flourished through years of emotional plagues, experimentation with medium and gusto. I paint for myself and because of that, my paintings hold meaning — without meaning there is nothing, only the cosmetic shell of something shallow and vapid — so I embrace that. I have control through painting; it is a beautifully intimate experience to take a blank canvas and fill it with soul and significance. Over the years I have watched people connect with my artwork; It's emotional for me, exciting and humbling. That any of my paintings are powerful enough to reach others is very much warming to me. My paintings are the fruits of my own complexities, recollections, sensitivity, tastes and preferences. I dislike the exactness of things, so many of my paintings — through use of texture, movement and depth — have an edge to them, something that makes them distinct and special. I get lost in distance and color. In a sense, I do feel that my paintings invite the viewer to escape into them. Most works of art have their mysteries and It is always stimulating to feel as though you are a part of them - to interact with them. At the end of the day, you see what you see (as in, you find your own meaning) and that keeps things interesting.
The following are links to my only accounts, profiles, sites, blogs and pages:
Fine Art America