SHE PLAYED WITH FIRE

What do Valentine Michael Smith, surreal conversations with Anton Newcombe about solar flares, my serendipitous noir connection with David J, and purposely reading Stewart Home’s avant-garde novels out of order mean in context to the state of the universe? Nothing at all, unless you’re an artist who thrives off the energy of like-minded souls, which I make plainly obvious by candidly referencing my inspiration from films, books, lyrics, and music in the creation of my paintings, often employing a combination of all of the aforementioned before a piece is complete.  That is not to say I am not a firm believer in existentialism, I am; but after billions of years of earth’s existence, I believe nothing in the universe is random, nor is anything in the universe unconnected.  I’m just pointing out a scientific fact, as after my encounter with Fibonacci, I have lately rather gotten to like science.  

As artists we tend to keep a closer eye on the subtlety of the world around us, absorbing it, reprocessing it, and spitting it out in a different form as either catharsis or in the hope of being noticed, and therein lies the creative connection. I have spoken with many artists who fall victim to this same artistic praxis of working in fits and starts, alternating periods of frustrating drought and manic genius. I have never spoken with an artist who does not draw inspiration from other artists or from the world itself.

So, if I’m getting my inspiration from Herman Rosse, or Pee-wee Herman, or “Luther Blissett,” working on my new series this week, despite the fact the solar flares are messing up my Internet connection and shaking up my equilibrium, I celebrate the muse and wherever it takes me. As I told Anton…the sun won’t kill earth… ignorance is already doing that.