Art by any Means Necessary

The brushes drift the way they want.

At least that’s what it feels like, when they’ve been dipped in the paint. Slipping from one corner to the other. Making magic as they go. It’s interesting that at times it feels as though the paint tells me what to do and not the other way around.

I imagine that it’s that which is boiling underneath that moves the colors and the lines. The subconscious on canvas. There’s no planning to this magic. I am the audience for the trick. The canvas is the record keeper. The painting is the record and the beauty is that no one really knows what it means but you can try to figure it out forever. There’s always a new way too look at the abstract.

Sometimes art is like magic. Sometimes it is like engineering. The 2x6 cut into their rough dimensions. Put through the jointer and the planer, dried to house humidity by resting in the spare bed room next to mine. Then it get’s cut precisely, mitered corners, splines friction fits, sanding, polishing, revealing the knots and swirls that were there all along and just mine to display and admire like everyone else.

Art can be done in many ways. But let it out let it free. Let them see.