This began as a student throw-away canvas board that my friend Dan the professor dropped off with others. My first attempt was to capture my wife’s gentle spirit in a portrait of her. Covered. Second attempt, a wild, dark three cup-of-coffee abstract. Covered again in black. Finally, the child Ronnie’s boat anchored at sea waking up to a gentle volcano. From the top of my esophagus, across the upper chest and arms, I sometimes feel the overwhelming urge to turn the apparatus inside-out and scrape back deeply to the skin—there is that much muddy mix to unload. Ah! But to paint again clean, fresh and free. To begin again. To be born again. That is the meaning of paint!
Meanwhile, another failure to behold.