Lying awake during a cold, moonless night in the Mojave desert I listened to the sounds of coyotes and freight trains. Unable to sleep as thoughts about the eternity of time and of infinite space washed through me, I felt as if I were floating without the ability to control my direction in the midst of a massive vacuum. I was seven years old. That same sense of existing in a vacuum, facing down the full expanse of time never left so I've tried many different methods of facing it, the most productive of which has been art.
I utilize art to express an essence of time passing and of being all at once. I want my art to illustrate the b-theory of time: an object exists throughout all of the points of time that it has been in existence. I attempt to illustrate time both passing and of being with a method that relies on the repeated growth, destruction and growth of a painting's surface. My art does not exist as an object or illustration; this art exists as a temporal body.
I am attempting to decide whether or not I should paint with acrylics again. When I created all of my lost art I switched easily between acrylic and encaustic/oil media. I used to say that I shared my thoughts with acrylic and I shared my soul with oil and encaustic. After I lost all of my art and moved to Austin I decided to only paint with my soul.
Lately I've considered painting with acrylic again. I'm not totally sure why. There are some pretty Big Deal life changes afloat. Some of these changes scare my wallet and I worry that I only want to paint acrylic because I know that I can turn them quick.
The quickness of the media is one of the reasons I enjoyed creating acrylic art. In a sense it was as if I painted acrylics to pass the time while waiting for my oil and encaustic works to cure. I like the quickness of the media but when I was young I liked the quickness of many things that I used to do until I got smart enough to stop doing them.
What do you think?
i have no art
like dada kissed an existentialist and fell in love with light in time as the thing perhaps is to eat flowers and not to be