The other day I was looking at my website and checked out the About the Artist tab to see if it needed updating. It amused me as I read over it.  I remember when a friend and I wrote it a few years ago, (trying very hard to make it sound like I wasn't writing it about myself). Something occurred to me, it didn't describe my life as an artist in any truthful matter. I realize that bio's aren't intended to expose the subjects inner demons and emotions, and I also don't possess such an inflated sense of ego that I think anyone really cares about mine, but they sure make life "interesting". 

      My Mother (wonderfully) has many character "ticks" that make her an unforgettable person even after just one meeting. She has no red light or yield sign when it comes to interaction with people, her truth pours out when she meets you. Working in a retail setting, she could have a customer crying, and hugging her, feeling like their lives were changed forever having only asked her where the fitting rooms were. I'm sure there are many people that went shopping at JCPenney one day not knowing they would leave with new sheets, and a new outlook on life. Thanks to Judi! With all the things I could say about her, the one that would hold the most weight with me is that she is, without a doubt, the most creative, artistic person I will ever know. If I've inherited one tenth of her vision I will be ok as an artist. In the jumbled passing of genes, I did acquire a little of her unusual habit of sharing personal  experiences with others. Maybe the two of us use all human interaction as a chance for some pseudo psychoanalysis.

      Having explained my quirky trait of ugly honesty, my bio should read quite different. It should contain information about my truthful life as an artist. I have to reiterate the fact that I do not think I'm special enough to learn about. Rather the opposite! We all share the same wonder, and agony, of the human experience. Artists are just tasked with capturing that in their work. In attempting to do so in my paintings I find it an exercise in anxiety and sometimes crippling self doubt. I wish I could say that painting comes easy to me, it does not. Maybe I have a fist for drawing and do possess some ability to render the world I see, but, the stack of broken paintings and ripped up canvases attest to the fact that I have great difficulty creating the world I feel. My honest bio would tell you that for every painting I let people see, there are three more that I either broke over my knee or threw across the room in an outburst of crazy rage (I also have a habit of writing expletives on paintings that aren't working out). It would go on to talk about the hours I spend sitting in my studio staring at nothing wondering what I should paint next, second guessing every idea I come up with. Maybe there would be a sentence or two explaining the gut wrenching fear I have that I will never "make it" as an artist. Somewhere in the bio, however, it would say something about how I wouldn't want any of that to change. I feel like it is a wonderful gift to have a strong connection to the emotions of life and to have the desire to express them visually

       Please forgive me if I give the impression of someone absolutley miserable doing what they do. I really have enjoyed painting so much more in the last few years since I changed my approach to it (and I haven't attacked nearly as many paintings). I guess I treat this blog as a chance for me to record what's going on with my art at a certain time. I never was good at writing in a journal and I'm not sure why I find it easier to do here. I'm sure anyone who paints has a stack of "misbehavers" like I do. I just never seem to read about them. Man, I hope it's not just me!