Like most people, I began to draw and paint in kindergarten. Unlike most, I was painting fairly realistically in oils and pastels by the time I was seven. By the time I was an adolescent, I could paint or draw almost anything I set my mind to, and my life’s goal was to strive to be the world’s next great celebrity artist . . . the next Pablo Picasso, Jackson Pollock, Andy Warhol, or or some other such naive and idiotic concept (cue the laugh track).
After a decade of college Art courses, and four more decades of personal toil since . . . the achievement of that goal never occurred. I might be tempted to ask myself “What went wrong with my brilliant plan?” if it weren’t for the fact that now, at the age of 65, I find myself well blessed and happy and have the good sense not to ask such useless questions any longer.
Somewhere along the way, I made my peace with youth’s ambitions, expectations, and sense of entitlement. I’ve learned to pursue all of my creative impulses from an unhurried place of balance (more or less). I get passionate about the doing of it, in order to get the intended vision of it right, but I no longer worry about what people who don’t know me think of it when it’s done, or whether anyone will pay me or think better of me for it.
I have a small network of creative friends who’s opinions matter to me and with whom I share my activities. As I’ve stated elsewhere, my friend Jeff Kaiser, once told me of a definition of Art as being little more than children playing on a mudbank and calling out to one another to show off their mud creations. More than anything else, that attitude of “play” very much permeates my approach to all creativity — and especially to visual Art these days. I simply offer it as another way of sharing for those who care to “tune in.”
Thanks for visiting.