My paintings don’t really speak to me. They never did. I wonder if they speak to you. I wonder what they are saying. Can you tell where they start or finish? Even if you can, I wouldn’t know if you’re right or wrong, because I can’t remember. But does it really matter?
I feel pretty
The missing piece
All I know is that from time to time I feel the need to pick up the brush and play with colors. I don’t feel or think when I paint. I forget where I am, what my name is. Everything becomes silent and peaceful. It’s like I step out of my body.
I sometimes stare at my paintings when I finish and I think that they have nothing to do with me. It’s not that I don’t like them. They are like my children. It’s just that I don’t feel that they really belong to me. It’s hard to believe that I made them. They are kind of strange. But that’ all right, I guess.
The big blue