Ask anyone who knows me, I rarely use words to communicate. Kinda like when I paint, I don’t use paint brushes very often. I’ll use my fingers, knuckles, knives, matchsticks, q-tips, sandpaper, and greasy napkins. Anything that happens to be within arms reach. For me it tends to be a compulsive act, maybe an act of desperation. I add layers just as often as I scrape them off, which is why I like to have a thick substrate. It sounds violent but it is not. It brings me a taste of the peace I crave, but in no way do I find it “relaxing”.
My techniques developed this way over decades. I’ve had no more control over how they have evolved than I have over the way I sneeze or the way I laugh. Yes, I do laugh when I paint. I start with a two dimensional composition, basic shapes to keep things grounded, then divine, define, and refine until I am obsessing over every realistic detail. The themes emerge from the subconscious, so like you, I can only guess. Some current fixations involve shrouds and flags which seem to point to death. Or baby pictures, & blankets, which seem to point to birth. Probably it’s somewhere in between.
I consider a painting successful only if it makes me laugh. It seems so much of what we are, remains veiled, hidden from even ourselves. But there are things deep down which are trying to kill us. Where did they even come from? Our parents had no way to protect us, they were filled with monsters themselves. I am trying to find my way back to where those monsters were born. They hate laughter.
