I have written a lot in my blog and on my websites. I have methodology on the magazine site, and lengthy descriptions on the gallery site.
Thanks for the interest... in art. I have discovered the same in my life, experientially, and at great cost, and learned in an academic, logical sense as well; that art is life's purpose. It's true that all of us are not artists, and that there is a real dichotomy for you to envy from within. Medical science does not give us enough time for all of us to develop into artists. We all have the potential... just not enough time, unfortunately. Another interesting dilemma is that not all artists are easily found as myself, some paint, some row boats, and some shuffle papers. Thankfully, technology has made it possible for hundreds more to become artists of some kind; while we demean modern convienience in favor of some nostalgic hippie -natural dream.
I worked many different jobs I was not thankful as most to have, because my heart had another duty. I used to draw everything I saw drawn. At the time, the Sunday comics mostly. Through imitation I arrived here. I feel I am at the top, living a dream. A strange compulsion was placed before me, and, guided by the most intense shame, I copied the world and all of creation. I had to remake the world, in most thorough deception; with little colored marks. I wonder what was wrong with taking a picture?
I've discovered also that my duty to this lie is part of the most longstanding instinctive past-time. My suspicion is that it is humanity's first word past a grunt and a howl; on our way to a future home run. We as people learn, to place appropriate chemical levels in their appropriate categories. As we re-embrace primitive impulses in the modern age, we re-learn the mistakes that leave art in the past and future. Art then becomes as confusing as love and anger; and rolls with the beast in the filth, forever attempting to squash the biting flies.
We would all do well to feel as you do. Art would have prevented tinnitus, and the war that causes it. One day we will no longer run from that old beast within, but will sit quietly and breathe. Our goal, seeming boring and dull today; ridiculous and slow, will be to smell the trees and feel the sun, again and again. And maybe paint...
Bryan
