[nggallery id=44]

One day, several years ago, after a lifetime of constant struggle with the workings of the world, someone said to me, “The world is perfect, with all it’s flaws, no matter what is happening around you, this world is perfect. always.” As a strange and ever-unfolding consequence of hearing that statement, my previous “battle” with painting as life’s work took on an entirely new set of rules, a new game plan, a new process which is less clear in the act of production than at any other time.

Trusting in the idea that “knowing more” (insofar as “how art works”) only increases our limitations– believing in the greatest primordial symbol of all time, the circle, the center from which we came, and back to which we’ll go– painting becomes the way to express any perfectly organized thought or thoughts, or it can bring them full circle. The value system, the impulse system, the thought system of one’s own life– one’s own little cosmos– trying to connect that to the universe’s cosmos, or center, or circle, however briefly, becomes a painter’s only true way of communicating that emotional situation to the viewer.