I had an imaginary conversation with someone who asked me why I paint.
Here are some of my answers:
Answer #1: For the same reason that I breath. It is life giving, and feels awful not to. Also, while I can choose to do it, if I forget to, or choose not to, automatic processes take over and sooner or later, I’m back at it.
Answer #2: God knows it’s not for the money.
Answer #3: I had a dream once that I had been chosen to see the ten paintings that only the dead were allowed to see. One really can’t ignore that kind of message. I awoke after viewing the first piece. I can still see a glimpse of it in dream memory. It was perfect. I can, and also can’t wait to see the nine others.
Answer #4: if I could have stopped, I would have. I learned to paint without much instruction. There were moments in the early days of that process that were extremely frustrating. Failure upon failure. Turns out that like many things in life, if you keep at something, you might get better. Nowadays, I tend to, more or less achieve what I set out to do on canvas. And when I don’t, I tend to see the so called failures as equally as important as the so called successes. Success can’t happen without failure. (I still prefer the successes.)
Answer #5: Nothing compares with the moments when painting becomes zen.
