Time Is A Language No One Speaks Print

Ask anyone who knows me, I rarely use words to communicate. Kinda like when I paint, I don’t use paint brushes very often. I’ll use my fingers, knuckles, knives, matchsticks, q-tips, sandpaper, and greasy napkins. Anything that happens to be within arms reach. For me it tends to be a compulsive act, maybe an act of desperation. I add layers just as often as I scrape them off, which is why I like to have a thick substrate. It sounds violent but it is not. It brings me a taste of the peace I crave, but in no way do I find it “relaxing”. My techniques developed this way over decades. I’ve had no more control over how they have evolved than I have over the way I sneeze or the way I laugh. Yes, I do laugh when I paint. I’ll start with a thick layer of plaster on a wood panel, usually 24” x 24” or something close. Sometimes I will introduce a glaze of universal tint and wipe or scrape away forms. Other times I will sketch out forms with pastels, and use water and/or other mediums to interact with what is there. The painting can proceed a hundred different ways from there, sometimes sealing each subsequent layer with a shellac or other clear sealer. I consider a painting successful only if it makes me laugh. It seems so much of what we are remains veiled, hidden from even ourselves. But there are things deep down which are trying to kill us. Where did they even come from? Our parents had no way to protect us, they were filled with monsters themselves. I am trying to find my way back to where those monsters were born. They hate laughter.