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July 4, 2016

JournalFor months and perhaps years I have been an artist.  Favouring printmaking, but generally a maker of shapes and coloured marks. Without much formal artist instruction; whatever that is, and academic resources from whoever or wherever  this comes; I know not.  

However, there is much I do know, for me there are things not to be tampered with or manipulated and that is the air we breath and the fundamental that comes from that; nature is divorced from my pallet. She rages and brings delight in equal measure, she is fickle, changeable and absolute.  Also, I will not attach myself to humans or adopt them as my own, they will not find their way into my sketchbook, unless without name, compass or purpose.  I will not fetter a live or breathing image to my page; I am not able.

Nonetheless, I am human and as such we have all; made, created, devoured, sculpted, built, cut down from nature in an attempt to preserve, tame, maintain, hold it and to conquer it.  We want the truth to be tangible see its value and hide the depravity.    

So for me as an artist and a very humble attempt to unravel, undo, hold, celebrate and destroy the stuff previously described and that marks my evolution.  Containers, I am a collector, hoarder, of tea, clothes, bags within bags, the written word; I no less that anyone want proof of my autonomy my place on the world.  So I while I undo them,  look at the shape they make, listen to the words they might say, understand flavour or the feelings that seeps from their souls, see the colour, light and shade,  rest eyes and allow them the breath we denied them so cruelly in our bid to hold back time and bring culture.

I am not sure what I am saying here; suffice to say I will not reproduce a landscape, or a portrait or a still life;  I will not attempt to hold something that is not mine. I will point out that we cannot do the above not even the greatest artist we wish to extol; we can only be aware that there is only a tiny widow of clarity and unless we keeping trying to focus on that and the brevity if life then we will never be an artist rich, poor or otherwise.  

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