| We live in a society devoid of meaning. Relativism and the persistent barrage of media neutralizes our natures into apathy. Yet man requires meaning. Thus, I seek to create reality where I feel none, to solidify the haze of my slumbering existence. My only means of encountering the meager truth that I am left - is to compose the fabric of time.
Now is the moment, and I breath. When the wind blows in my painting It is no longer merely the wind in the branches. It is the fury of man's passion. It is his hopes, his dreams, his angers and fears. It is the hurricane bloom of man's ideals in all their creative and destructive force. That is what I mean when a tree bends.
And when a bird takes flight it is the soul's struggle against gravity. The force which binds us to the corporeal. It is the plurality of man and his blind desire for something greater, above, which he fails to apprehend. I re-construct what I touch, what I see, what I dream, in an effort to prove to myself that I am in fact real. |
