Untitled Drawings-02·07·2015 Nos. 1, 2, 3, pencil on paper, 14X11 inches
How did I get to this need I have to make art, or make anything? There is definitely some kind of flame within me that calls me to fabricate, fashion, build, and assemble. At one time I believed it was my need to leave behind a legacy. I believed making art was evidence that I was here. These things I made would be here when I am no longer here. They would be traces of myself, which would continue to exist after I am gone. Now it does not seem so simple. There is much happening in my daily life, emotional and physical. I need to speak of these happenings in order to digest them, understand them, live with them. The weird part of this is the feeling that I am slowly inching toward the stuff I was born to make. The imagines are becoming more me, less derivative. I am not sure who wrote it, but I once read that every important voice has one great idea that drives ALL their work. Picasso has manipulation of form, Matisse had manipulation of color, Einstein had manipulation of space/time, et cetera. The problem is finding the means to express the great idea. I have not fully found my means, my voice. I am bolstered by the feeling that I am getting closer. My daily work is paying off.
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