A Poem

Intention and illusion

Are two quite different things

Combined upon a canvas.

Art is what it brings

To convey or evoke emotion.

With every stroke or splash

I try to use all colors,

Even if they clash

To finish what was intended,

But never came to be.

The illusion then takes over,

Because I cannot see through

My techniques and errors.

This is how I've learned to paint:

No schools, rules or boundaries:

The definition of create.

Illusions

I've always been interested in art and creating. As far back as I can recall, it gave me a sense of accomplishment. I felt the praise I received when I colored correctly and stayed inside the lines. I felt disappointment when I was told I could do better.

With the loss of my eyesight,  those restraints are long gone. No more are there color boundaries or perfect lines forming the perimeters and angles of what is meant to be. Now the colors and their variances are lights and darks.  Contrast is what matters. No longer do straight lines border an outline of what is created, but rather composition and variegated qualities tell the story.

My works are illusions. I can't recreate a photograph except what I can interpret in my mind's eye.  The feeling, spirit and soul are the tools I use now.  Every painting has a profound meaning to me and has to achieve this in the finished product or it is subject to re-working. I love feedback and constructive criticism. Everyone has an opinion, likes and dislikes.  They can hate one of my paintings, or like it, or love it, or parts of it, but they cannot change the finished product.  That is a given.

Past Reflections

It always amazes me at how fast time passes.  This is the start of 2014, and I remember clear as a bell, still writing "1976."   It's at this time of year, I reflect back on the year and past years, and am amazed at how far I've come. 

This painting is entitled "My Secret Spot." It initially was in memory of my Grandfather, who took me fishing  to many different lakes when I was younger.  It's funny now how after five years of my own father's passing, how much this painting reminds me of him.  It's a vivid memory, taking a boat to a small lake behind his house, going out on a summer's evening and casting the shoreline.  It would take us about two hours to row once around the lake.  It was a time of connection and talking about the days or week's events.  It's hard to capture a feeling on canvas, so this is more or less a frozen part of time that in my mind, connects both  the memory of my father and grandfather in one serene setting.

 In all my paintings, I usually have such a personal connection to them in different ways.  This painting took about three months to complete, because I would continually go back and rework the background and water areas, trying continually to remember what it was like when I was in the boat.  The water splashing against the shore, the occasional fish jumping, and the soft summer breeze blowing in the trees.  Then, out of nowhere, fish on!  And the excitement would start until we got it to the boat and on our stringer.  It's a moment frozen in time, and a memory I'll have forever.  Now I have the memory on canvas.