I always think about George Biddle, a local artist whose phenomenal work brought him to the brink of art fame back in the 50s, but then he died suddenly and almost all of his terrific pieces spent the next 50 years in his widow's closet, unseen by the world.
Not to compare myself to him, but today I have the opportunity, here in this forum on the internet, to make sure somebody other than myself has seen this stuff… and in my lifetime. None of it is of great consequence, but it all had a depth of meaning to me when I created it and so there is a likelihood that the work might resonate with someone else as well.
Painting has always been the way I can own the resolutions of my soul, so in many ways what anyone else thinks of it doesn't really speak much to its validity, but we are all of us finding our way through to some comprehension, and what makes the deepest sense is always wordless, and sometimes imaginal, symbolic, pictorial. These paintings, while maybe decorative, and often intended as illustrations for books or films, are all illustrations, in the largest sense, of some state of soul, and some process of seeking.