Something to be said about fear and fearlessness. They both motivate but in very different ways.
The soul of my brush is fearless but the hands are human. They question the motions. All I can do is giv einto the brush. So many paintings painted up inside me, waiting for a canvas to scream into.
You kind of have to fuck the fear off the hand with paint. I know that sounds insane a little or a lot. Nothing ever gained in my life was because it was given. I walked with wieghts in the water to get here. I fucked up my hands to get here. It just meant more to me than sleep or even madness.
The road to fearless painting is marked on caves inside of scared memories. The passion was and is alwasy there. That why I say “always making”. I make in my sleep , in conversations and even while I eat.
a million dots. I want to get a tattoo gun so I can make one million dots on a face in every painting. I want universes around eyes. To work huge is the occupation of the galaxy of details. No one hand makes without deep lacunas of agony in your bones. The silly bits are that the pain is a trophy of all the beauty you give to the art. To be a doner of such bloom is an honor and a gift of pure love.
I always find my words in these podcasts. I’m so quiet in a lot of life. I love to paint in my head rather than slow down and be a part of everything. I must look crazy to most people but it makes me happy. I figure the idea is to find what makes you so happy.
I hope this finds you well and the photos are from this week in my studio. I loved this week’s end.
There is this place in my mind where all these art history facts live and as I get older the facts are more about my art history and that excites me. It’s simple and beautiful and fun and hungry in a few ways.
I do wish I had done more with my brushes in my twenties.