It's me just me
Today, it was Thursday or was it Friday? I’m not quite sure. You see, I’m retired and confined to our home for the most part : except to go to the grocery store, the pharmacy and places like that where we are inside. Oh how exiting life has become with the virus!
All and all it’s ok with me because I have my art. It saves me in many ways. I have a place to go, to get away. I travel on canvas. I meet myself there. I greet good friends of mine there. I have meetings with colors and forms. Thank God I have movement in the art. My life would be otherwise so bland and uniformed. It would go nowhere in my view.
When people ask me to define myself as an artist, my answers is « I’m me! » That does not suffice, people want more. So, what defines the artist in me or me in the artist or both? I have a need to create things is part of the answer. I think about colors combinations and superposition of textures often during the day. I daydream of movement.
I like to qualify my work as being intuitive but I often ask myself « is it really? » because I do have some day and night dreams about it. I sometimes drift away from conversations to see in my mind something I could execute on a canvas. Does this mean the work is premeditated ? I suppose that all these thoughts are coming to give direction to ‘that’ moment when I will put down on the canvas and actually spread paint. But when I take the brush or the paint tube I dont necessarily recall any or all those day or night dreams or fragments of isolated inspiration. Often I simply « do ».