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From my studio
notes about #3 May 2009...
May
22, 2009.
Montreal, morning.
The nameless drive, the tension buried inside that one
hopes the act of painting will cure—like the cry of the song rising
cures the singer? No, it’s only for the hearers, the song salves their
souls by knowing another soul feels too—but it’s not the singer's
cured, it’s only the song.
Late night.
“Play it again, Sam…”
And for #3 May, add the stroke of life. Now it’s “Life
then death in the sands of time.” And, that sure will expand and open
and complexify and whatever the meaning of the painting—the red stroke
of life, and the dead sands of eternity. |
And as the painting
developed, its formal needs said, “Even, cum in the dust, it is the
way of life to live again.” That tiny drop is the only star you have.
So, develop the
painting—
1. The arc of life (lower)
2. It needed cutting in with the knife.
3. The flesh torn by the cut had to go somewhere: to connect the words
to the stroke.
4. And the leftover substance of that, where else to put but up into
the sands of time?
5. And what was there in eternity but the cum drop?
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