A SENTENCE LIKE THAT deserves more than a well-rehearsed handshake, but sometimes those of us who live for the calming caresses a fine line insinuates find ourselves too infatuated to make the first move...
Concerning the veracity of paint, I presume that my art begins from a "condition of need" and is a matter of ambiguous perception with carry-on luggage both in political and metaphysical terms. Each painting I complete is the conflicted subconscious on the prowl for brutal honesty, urged to sniff out those personal heresies residing somewhere between a humble arrogance and an arrogant humility, harnessing hidden energies which instruct the flow of imagination.
Rarely do I start with a pre-conceived notion of what "I would like to imagine" but instead, I struggle against the common elements of mind and materials the status quo presents. So, when painting, I follow the paint from first splash to finished canvas, making choices of color, syntax, and narrative, limited by what I see on the canvas.
In ancient Rome, an auspice was a sign from the gods, as interpreted by an augur, who would perform a ceremony, known as taking the auspices, and would read patterns of birds in the sky. Depending upon the birds, the auspices from the gods could be favorable or unfavorable (auspicious or inauspicious). And neglecting not these historical confines, as cull poet of humble verse, I offer these literary crumbs to the contemporary birds of my own auspicious Age.
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