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After painting for over 30 years, I am still mystified and beguiled by the process of making art. I begin with an inkling of something: a few shapes that catch my eye, or a combination of colors that pull me in for reasons I can’t articulate. Life seems to be waiting to be expressed in paint; I sense this as a yearning or aching in my body.


 Colors particularly resonate with me. When I lay paint on canvas—one color next to the next to the next—magic happens, as by grace; the colors began to hum, and I experience a moment of wonder and relief, like a birth. The painting knows what it wants to be.  I also experience frustration.


 The image can never quite live up to...the image of the infinite in the mind. No matter how quickly and spontaneously I paint or how many times I revisit an image, it never quite does justice to the uniqueness of life itself. That remains the quest.



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