When I was young I would stare at the Christmas tree for what seemed to be hours, imagining I was about 2 inches tall and living amongst the branches, dazzled by the sparkle of the lights and the details of each colorful ornament.
Like meditating with paint, I found I could go anywhere I wanted. It could be summer when the snow was falling or cool crisp winter when the days were too hot.
To be lost in an image distracted by nothing but it’s life as it grows before me, encouraged by my own hand; the depth of black in a blob of ink or never-ending colors of paint, spreading across a surface, pushed and prodded, poked or stretched; coming alive as it grows. Being able to direct and watch it grow into something that can, even for a moment, transport the viewer to another place, is a tremendously fulfilling adventure.
If that is the definition of an artist, then I plead guilty. Being an artist is not a goal I have strived for, it’s who I am. Its journey is one on which I will forever be drawn. Please let me know if I can help transport you somewhere soon
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