It appears as I look around my studio and home, that I am a hoarder of notes. This habit started years ago, not as if each tear sheet, scribble or painting detail would ever become anything more than a pile of things I am drawn to. And yet, these heaping piles of notes are random, fascinating and important to me now. I spend time reconsidering them and reorganizing them and using them directly – a stamp collection without the specificity.
And yet now sometimes I can vaguely see them as strange hanzel and gretel trail markings to my painting thoughts and interests. Stepping back they are stepping stones as well as islands of calm, in an otherwise sea of hurly burly. The point is that these notes (and I am talking about sketches in colored pencil or oils, letters from painters, quotations from books old and new, dog eared books and catalogues possible titles ideas) are invigorating and important to the paintings, as a seed, spark or even foil.
It is that same sense of roving through, when I am in the actual landscape and nature, that I draw the energy that can then move a picture forward. An upward gazing perspective in a young forest in the dead of winter, appears to be cathedrals of spirit and strength. That direct image can be the start but rarely is the end of the painting. The rest is the madness of art – the getting it right, the emotional essence that oil paint delivers.
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