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Stories and Paintings and back to stories again


I’m currently writing a story about this painting.

A story? What the hell is that about? Did he say ‘a story’?

Well, yes. The painting is a story. There seems to be a story there lurking somewhere. Okay the truth behind the painting might be somewhat more boring than the fictional account that I’m planning to write, but hey – that the joy of art – you create reality.

But is it really reality or just your imagination working overtime again?

What’s the difference? We see the world as we choose to see it. That implies a lot of responsibility and personal ownership. Maybe that’s too real.

Too much reality?

Heavy stuff, but hey it Thursday…if you can’t be heavy on Thursday then when can you be.

Mondays just don’t cut it in that regard.

Back to the painting. It just screams narrative.

But how I mumble, – why?

Maybe, simply because, you can. Fun. Remember that concept, when things could actually be F_U_N.

I remember working on that painting, I just wanted to go cubist, semi abstract, break my own self-imposed rules, granted a hundred years after Picasso decided to break then for everyone else. Art making paradoxically is a personal yet public journey. It implies an audience who will look at your work.

We will write and paint and then write about the painting and possibly paint about the writing and then combine the two. I guess that could be lazily labeled mixed media.

We’ll park the labels for now.

More of my work to be seen here.

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