After seeing pictures of my work a few months ago, a curator from
(an acquaintance of John Cleese), asked,
“Do you paint in acrylics or oil?” I told him that I paint in self-defense. He
raised a dismissive eyebrow recalling Dalí´s moustache in reverse and remained
quiet, his silence suing for more, so I took him for a swim… Barcelona
“Yes, self-defense as in to stop my self from being drowned in the general churn…” But with few exceptions, the act of jumping into a new painting for me is far from being a sanctuary or refuge and more like volunteering for frontline duty in a war—reincarnating again and again in the middle of a battle of your own devise where you’re both general and foot soldier with nowhere to hide. As the inimitable Ray Bradbury once put it,” You have to jump off the cliff all the time and build you wings on the way down”
It is no breakthrough noting that artistically nothing happens in a safe zone except spiritual ossification and aesthetic obesity …. Sometimes I end up vandalizing my own work, thereby attacking by any means the possibility of becoming, in Picasso’s words “your own connoisseur”. That is where the real sinking or swimming starts and always treading between Scylla and Charybdis who entreat mockingly “Jump in, the water’s fine... “
Representational or abstract?
Although many would argue otherwise, my paintings are quite “representational” and “figurative”, except that they may not represent many viewers’ expectations of those terms. Entropynk for instance could easily be the face of God much more than the white bearded Titan that appears in most ecclesiastical and traditionally popular iconography which like the word “God” itself, reduces the irreducible for the sake communication, but inevitably limits truth in the process. My paintings are no less representative than if you took a section of a Turner thunderstorm or blizzard or sunset and blew it up into a close up—minus Turner’s people, ships or animals which do not appear in my “landscapes” as standard “life-like” anatomical entities. But the paintings do represent --along with celebrating the sheer eros of just paint and texture-- the blood, bone and soul of existential conundrama.
* Conundrama, after Jim Harrison