This Is How we Paint.

This is how we paint.



Appearance, in the end is everything.

We give a work of tens of hours

one glance at most.



If it happens to be shiny, it may

catch our eye, may

capture our attention.



And yet, don’t you feel that

art originates from much more

visceral, much more satisfying self?



I wonder how wordless thoughts

will make their meaning clear.

Technique tapers in expression.



Emotion should be captured:

Not in the eyes of our viewer,

But hidden in the piece itself.



Art is not cryptic enigma--

lacking pretense. Not melodrama,

or painted propaganda.



Canvas caked with waxy paint,

a scrap of ‘art’ will be expected to

lay out, universally, the nuances of life.



How then can art be practiced without

the honesty, the sloppy indignation that

seamlessly will weave the fullest lives?



An awful waste, to spend a moment not

fully embalmed in this experience, the

strangeness of this artist life.