November 5, 2017

To paint 

is like a ritual for me.

It is the laying bare of myself.

Standing in or opposed to a surface, a space, a ground, on which to communicate and extend my being onto.

My gesture, my mark, my emotion, my thought.

It is the soft caress or sometimes over eager

gushing of emotions, tearing out from inside of myself.

In the discourse of presence, happening right in-front of myself.

The discourse of me represented through colours, form structure, composition, and what unfolds for me to see. 

Painting, like the moment of life.

Surrenderance to the structure, the surface, sometimes already having marks on it, coming in, to treasure what inspires me, what I still want to discover to find or what I want people to find inspiration in. 

But in the end it is not about the other, it is just about you, about me, and that moment of being free.

Of allowing nothing else, but but mixing and choosing colours, tracing form and textures intuitionally. 

Nothing purer, this being my kind of meditation. 

Like life it...

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