What is fine art? I often ask myself this question. What would sell? What is the best art you have ever seen? How can I paint something that you just couldn’t live without?
The life of my art has evolved, just as I have. Early stages, like most artist I know. were spent in school learning techniques. I hated school but loved art class. Back in the high school days, they tried kicking me out. At the same time the high school wanted me gone, I was taking night art college classes and killing it. I can’t tell you how many classes I shouldn’t of not passed in high school. but did because I would paint or draw something for the teachers. They did me no great justice with that. I look back and think I would have been better served actually learning in school. But all the same I made it to a community college were after a couple semesters the head of the advertising department took note and would see I had a following of fellow classmates that I would show how to draw or paint things. Ended up teaching part time and never graduated college. Heck I was teaching the classes why would I need to graduate. That turned out to be a regret later down the road. All the same I look back and I feel blessed.
I sit and stare at the blank canvas. My head is spinning on what to do, what/ what colors, what style, what the heck. I almost feel dizzy. Have to focus. If it is a commissioned piece. I have my notes, have the story from the client, find or go take photos for reference, or I just sit and throw all the reference away and paint. If it is a dark art type of painting, head phones on with some disturbing angry music. A beer and cigar and off to the races I go, sometimes it just takes a couple scribbles. Then very soon it turns into something even I look at and think WTF.
Other days I will get up at 1;30 IN THE MORNING because my head won’t shut the ($%(@#^$) up. This vision or thought that will consume my silence calls me to get up and paint. Morning is my favorite time. Love my coffee. Or should I say love a little coffee with my creamer. The silence of the morning reminds me of fishing. Thinking I was around 5 or so, I would Get up early with my grandpa to go fishing. Small lake outside the town of Danforth, Illinois. where we would visit every summer. The crickets singing, the mist coming off the lake and the smell of the lake seems to calm me. Morning time here on my property in desert hills, az. feels like this to me in the early hours of the morning. Makes me smile. Puts me in the right place in my head.
So now when I paint I paint what I feel not what I think will sell. And in return I seem to paint a part of myself. Complex, yet simple at times.
When people ask what kind of fine art I do, I often ponder what to say, hard to explain. So I just show them.
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