Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to get to the easel as soon as I can.
Chris, borrowing liberally from Melville
I love the feel of paint on canvas or paper, and the way your fingers can sense that tactile feel and weight of paint on the brush, whether is it buttery or rough, dry or soggy. What a great way to spend my days.
Often I think painting keeps me sane. When I go to the studio, even if all hell is flaming around me, I get into my paint zone. Not sure if it is meditation or just the act of making something enveloping me. I find peace with paint. And indeed, creating helped me survive as a […]
I love telling stories in paint. And when I paint people, the canvas is my stage and the people my players.
You have to put your passions where your brushes are. Or why would you care, or anyone else for that matter?