Painting, I know, is an attempt at immortality. We want to leave something behind stronger than the last breath we take. We tell stories and share who we are that way but art offers an intermingling of our souls.
I create a piece, some kind of art, and a million ideas run through my head in the process until finally my hands interpret what was in my heart.
I work with steel and copper when I can find it. I like their strength, the weight of the piece and with proper attendance, how they can float. I am often asked, "will it rust?" As though you are anticipating disappointment from the beginning!
When I pour concrete the only guarantees I make are that it will be hard. It will be gray. It will not burn and no one will steal it.
Art will age. Steel will rust. It is the only quote in the Bible I know. Concrete will crack.
I often wonder what is lost in the original when ancient artwork is restored? The painting could still be pretty but it seems to me, muffled a bit, a covering over the soul. Some lost artwork can only be identified by fingerprints left behind by the artist.
I wonder which is critical? Did the artist really touch that painting? Or does the painting really touch you?
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| copper/stainless steel/copper 58" x 14" |
In either way it is only around for awhile. It is a shout down a darkened alley. It could be a moon lit masterpiece but will change with the raising sun. It is like painting on ice.
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| One of eight butterflies |
Eight butterflies in flight. Oil paint over stainless steel. Copper and stainless steel panels framed in steel, powder coated clear coat. Lots of fingerprints and no doubt some DNA. I never work with gloves.
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