Painting is something I rarely do, but find myself needing to. I don’t allow things I’ve never attempted to stop me from experiencing creativity in a new form, or from a different angle. There is no limit to what one can achieve if we just take the first step. I’ve been a musician for most of my life now and it’s really the only thing that I identify with in terms of who I am as a person. A painter is someone I deeply respect and admire.
To paint. It feels difficult, time consuming, slow, painful, frustrating, and requires me to flex another part of my creative brain. I grow from it. There is something primal that gets tapped as blurred lines and smudges begin to form the characteristics of someone or something.
I love someone who has spent a lifetime perfecting their craft. A “painter” whether using a roller on a common wall or cutting in a line on the trim of a house, lying on their backs creating a masterpiece on the rotunda of cathedrals, or the hiss of a spray can on a subway rail car; the painter – has always blown me away.
And so I step…