Why I Paint

More about Why I Paint

I grew up around art, but it was banned from my life—I wasn't allowed to be an artist. So I’m not trying to be one now. Just taking what remnants of spare change and dignity I have left and buying the lowest quality supplies I can find. I snap the brushes on purpose. I’m not playing a game that’s already rigged; I’m just using these materials to create an original base.
Some days are bad. On the worst ones, I paint in near-darkness by the light of a single candle, just to know what that felt like in the old days. It’s difficult to see the colors, but it forces me to trust myself. I mix, scrub, and blend until the brush is literally sanded away against paper that was meant for something else.
I’m just layering grade-school acrylics onto a surface. I'm not trying to make sense of things; I'm trying to see if things make sense after the lights come on—in the flash that grabs at the wet paint before it dries into a lifeless slab. What you’re looking at is one part frustration with society, and one part a human being understanding—and re-understanding—how paint moves.


Don't look for a masterpiece here. Look for the base. This is the spare change of a life, sanded into paper. It’s the sound of someone re-learning a language they were told they weren't allowed to speak."