It seems to be a common thread among us that it is often difficult to articulate our thoughts and feelings concerning most of what life has to offer. Like many others, my most vehement and concise statements occur when no one is listening. While cooking or showering, or lying in bed without a computer or pen and paper, I can put into words precisely what I want to say about anything. Just try to recapture that later, though, and it becomes anemic sounds that don’t have any of the passion or complexity of the private sililoquey that transpired earlier.
I’m not certain about the eloquence of art as a means of conversation. It does seem to speak of the heart, though. For me, there was a time when I found that my desire to paint was confined by a single image of green hills and flowing streams. Not too much time passed before I was moving from California to Kentucky to live among those hills, perched on a bank above the Green River that flows through Mammoth Cave National Park.
That was an epiphany for me as an artist. It was the first time that I realized how my artistic expressions were mirroring my untold desires and plans for my own future. Since that time, I’ve paid a little more attention to the pictures that are framed in my mind.
If my dreams become my art, then I am hopeful that the dreaming will be expansive and colorful, full of life, fantasy and all things fantastic. This is a time for just such a view, I think. Close my eyes…