As it slips into the cracks of time and finds my conscious mind, my art becomes the professor of the subconscious. The processing blends with the process and mixes with yellows and greens on a canvas before me. Why not allow it to be… the lead, create something my conscious mind likes to call “abstract.” The thing that has no purpose in specificity of shape yet reminds the viewer of “something”. Something they have felt before or a memory, perhaps dreamt. The viewer may wonder what the artist thought or felt upon creating “something” that has the potential to mean nothing. I wonder if it’s ever possible to mean nothing at all. Does a splatter in itself convey an intention? Does the moment and intensity of the hand that flicks the brush give the velocity a story? If I was upset rather than peaceful while creating would my splatter look different? Because I feel that energy is everything I might have to answer yes…if an answer were requested. But luckily so, it is not.
I see clearly the patterns that lay upon this Sub-Abstraction are patterns of my mind. Patterns in my tendencies to want to make order out of madness, to make sense out of the non. I wonder what it will be and if I should avoid making it ‘something’. I see duality in the masculine and feminine, in the colors and concept. It sings to me the songs of the Shapibo tapestry designs, the vine longs for my lips again. I look into my reflection, an ever changing twisted and knotted version of myself, balanced by color and the fung shui of composition that cannot be disrupted by the turning of the canvas. I flip the canvas as I paint, I process my shifting perspectives. I debate why and I don’t wait for an answer. I am reminded that I am Art as the subconscious runs the show and I reach out for bits of pieces of benevolent epiphanies. Still abstract to me, I am glad to have learned more about myself in the process.