Sometimes I wish I could paint closure. The abundance of life’s mysteries, encounters with shitty people, the loss of Pluto from the solar system…I have no idea how to overcome it all. I wish my paintbrush was enough, that breaking glass and refusing the shards could simultaneously reform the jagged portions of my spirit that remain.

I pour much of the quiet side of myself into the art I create. All the words I can’t say aloud. The joy, the anguish, the fury, the passion…it’s all there…hidden in the brush strokes. Who knew? It’s there. When I’m up to my ass in paint…I let my guard down. Clients often never know that the new addition to their living room wall is coursed with the blood shed of my soul.

It is an on-going therapy. Sixteen years of creating and the issues never seem to be resolved. Yet I wonder, if the problems are ever overcome, will I have a reason to paint? So far it seems, I’ll be painting forever.


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