Good evening of work.
Painting is a dealing with the finite, frustrations of matter, possibilities and shocking human banality. The paint only can represent my current development and that pisses me off. It shows me how far behind I am by being matter, finite, human.
I keep trying, keep going back only to prove further that I am incomplete and that over time I might come to terms with this. Reapplication, raking, dealing with the faliures until something starts to surface. Nurturing that which appears until it needs no further thought.
I will only become if I keep painting. Time is the enemy and the projected reality of this coming together.
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