Last Sunday, on a rainy night in my apartment, I sat listening to the raindrops sliding down the windowsill and dripping onto the pavement below. I was beginning a new body of work, turning a page, starting anew. The moon sparkled above in my skylight, soft clouds passing by, switching it on and off like a light bulb. It is an odd sensation hearing these small drops and being so close to one of the largest bodies of water on Earth...the Atlantic Ocean. A force that is powerful enough to engulf me completely. When I put things into perspective like this and analyze the little things that are often overlooked, my mind begins to wander off the grid.
Concealed and obstructed from view, my thoughts permeate into the air and I stop thinking about my endless to-do list, and things that need to be accomplished ASAP. Because the truth is; this will be a never-ending cycle.
I spot my roll of canvas above in my loft and reach to grab it. Suddenly, I begin to rip off slices of canvas, some rougher than others, and meticulously attach them onto my wooden board. The process in itself is freeing, yet mindful.
The texture becomes unique and I'm drawn to its newness. I've realized that I've never truly "painted" like this before. I've never allowed myself to take a deep breath and feel the exact moment that I'm living in. The present day. The nostalgic feeling of growing up and missing home and friends and family. Growing and living altogether. Allowing my hands to cut and paste and glue and paint all in the same fluid motion --- I've done this before. I've molded small, mud clay pots in my backyard when I was 10 and naturally practiced these movements with my hands. I've cut construction paper in elementary school and folded it into shapes that my artist child knew would set my mind free. It's all been a continuation of subtle creative movements that have been practiced subconsciously since I was small. It's combining these and connecting the dots. Understanding how the thick texture of the paint relates to the surface of tree bark in my backyard clubhouse that my hands would run over and feel on hot, summer mornings. The way the dirt on the ground naturally formed bumps and divots.
Allowing it to be there...to exist as it is.
It's fluidity.
Freedom.
Living life & going with the flow.
Allowing the layers of yourself to interlock and interweave into the universe.
