Don Quixote, Rome and the Burbs, Diptych, part 1 Painting

The suburbs contrast violently with my romantic vision of the world. These paintings were the first of a series painted on my clothesline, in my backyard, at a time when I felt overwhelmed with domestic chores. On such occasions, the canvas would flow freely and I would catch it with my loaded paintbrush while it shied away from me or hit me in the face depending on the direction of the wind. I felt like Don Quixote battling a windmill. My art is inspired, or, should I say, informed by mythology. If Don Quixote took a windmill for a giant, I see minotaurs dancing on my clothesline. A glob of paint fallen or thrown onto the canvas can't stay a glob of paint for long. I have to make up a story for it. I blend domestic iconography with allegorical images as a way of reclaiming the land—even if it is only the dreary suburbs. When I was in the throes of creation, I was unaware of the Minotaur like creature that was forming in my painting. It emerged from my unconscious as a clear influence of Picasso's work on my own. Some artists think analyzing their work this way might kill the mystery. Maybe, I need to kill a myth before I can create a truly original work of art. In these paintings, there is a lot of joyful rebellion, traditions and myths blown apart with all the kitchen utensils flying in all directions. But as the Phoenix will rise from its ashes, myths won't really die as long as there are painters left to reinterpret them.