You love snow. You love winter. And then comes the day when you have shoveled this set of stairs – piled to the top – already 3 times today. Drat the snow. More so, drat the wind! And you go: “Next please!” You’re so ready for the next season. And then, you know, summer will come. You want it so much, you love it, then at some point, it gets too hot. “Next please!”
And here I am with my art. Have I shoveled it out too many times as well? Oh, maybe. But it must be the colors. It must be that when I do it I can at least hold on to what I’ve done for more than a few hours.
And then, too, the work has it’s own, next please. Because I move something around: add a color, take something away, and the piece itself speaks; “Next please!” And I know I’m deep inside it. The dialogue is happening.