Alas, on the horizon space and time are aligning themselves to open up a welcome withdrawal into my beloved studio. Although it’s a humble space, it is home to countless visual incubations: births, battles, causalities, and when lucky, rebirths.
I admit the feast and famine cycle I presently occupy, and with all probability will forever occupy as a 21st century visual artist, is trying and stressful, but it’s also vibrant and engaging. Perhaps, therein lays the drive for the creative process, the dichotomy of the two circumstances – always a tension – the binding thread in my visual narrative.
I recall an art teacher from the past righteously claiming that inevitably the artist’s life becomes like the artist’s work. Damned right! 18 years ago I was baffled by the riddle. The accumulation of years, more behind less in front, and of paint has formed an intimate relationship with that claim and there’s no shaking it off now. It’s too late!