It’s four in the morning and I am drawing. The studio is a little cold and I’m too lazy to go fetch a sweater. I reflect about the this past year and all the wonderful things I’ve been able to be a part of. My children are growing and my life partner continues to be a bold and beautiful light. How grateful am I? I think to myself. For a moment I look away from my paper to stare at a scratch off lottery ticket that some
one gave me over the holidays. I didn’t win but I’ve kept it for some reason. Perhaps I read it wrong and I did win after all. It doesn’t matter. Holding onto what matters most is more valuable than any winning ticket will ever be. Having air in my lungs is more valuable. I know this as a certainty. We all have a wind behind us that pushes us along through this life. Some feel that they are in control of this wind, others let fate lay out their path. As I use my hands to create art I know that in some way these images will outlast me. They will echo my celebration of being alive. They keep me up at night and bring me to work in the morning. I can’t fight it. I have to let it be because in a way it is my own truth. I think back to when my wife and I were wed just over ten years ago. She gave me a present in a box. Inside this box was a guitar. The guitar sat in a closet for a year before I took it out of the box and decided to learn how to play. From the moment I strummed it all I wanted to do was sing love songs. I don’t know why I wanted to sing and write love songs but I did. I began to write poetry to musical progressions that I composed myself. I began to tell the story of my heart one note at a time. This was real. I was fooling with my own heart and although I don’t consider myself to be a musician I enjoyed the process and, more importantly, the reward. I realize that with painting the sentiment is the same. Painting is a love song. All I want to do is paint the joys, paint the pains, paint the moments of laughter and keep smiling throughout the ride. Embedded in the imagery is this coded language that says “this is who I
really am” Sometimes it feels like waking out of bed and bumping my head as I hit the floor. Other times it’s running as fast as I can through a field with arms outstretched yelling as loud as I can. Painting is a love song. I’m giving my love away and I am watching it come back. It’s feeling so far from home that you could cry and there’s no more hope inside. It’s holding onto what matters most and not caring about a piece of paper with lottery numbers on it. It’s ok to throw it because it has no value…but what about before? What about when it was first handed to me. The magic is in not knowing. That is the wind behind us all. As I get propelled forward from one moment to the next you can count on me to keep singing those love songs. OK time to fetch that sweater.