For as far back as I can remember my interests have swung like a pendulum between the rational and spiritual aspects of life, never quite finding full purchase in either camp.

I think it was Victor Hugo who said - follow gladly those who seek truth, but run quickly from those who claim to have found it. I must agree because the worst possible atrocities committed usually have someone or some group behind them spouting all number of facts and justifications to prove the rightness of their actions.
I like to stick to the adage that one must be careful of the things ones hate because more often than not you will become the very thing you despise.

That happened to one of my favorite authors from my twenties - Ayn Rand. I was attracted to her writing through The Fountainhead, a novel about an idealistic architect who stuck to his vision and principles even though it meant years of hardship and little work. As a young artist working to forge my own vision during the popularity of abstract expressionism, her words were fuel for my soul and kept me going. Allowing me to withstand negative criticism and rejections from the publicly funded galleries that catered to the art school cliques.

It was an interesting surprise some twenty years later to read in Mary Hrbacek's article that she saw Rand's influence in my work, without my ever having discussed the author with her.
One of Ayn Rand's highest goals was to be true to oneself against all manners of encroachment or influence and pressure, something I've aspired to practice in my life and evidently it shows in my work. Her focus on the individual’s interests over conformity to the group’s wishes also started me on a path away from organized religion to a much more encompassing view of the world and people’s beliefs.

Sadly this value for the individual's autonomy wasn't extended to the circle of followers closest to Rand and if anyone differed in opinion from her firmly held point of view they were banished, black listed, and publicly dragged through the mud.
She started out fighting blind authority but became as blind herself. The individual was free to be - but only if that fell in line with her strict dogma. I did read all of her works and then the biographies written by Barbara Branden and then Nathaniel Branden. Although my views have grown far from Ms, Rands in the years since, I still credit her with helping steel my resolve and focus my singularity of purpose. She does have much to offer - just be aware of the land mines in some of her logic.

At the same time I was reading Ayn Rand's essays and novels I was racing through the works of George Orwell. I consider him the counterbalance to Rand's Objectivism and her love of unfettered, unregulated capitalism. Yes, life would be fine without laws and regulation if only everyone were honest and trustworthy.

Orwell also wrote about the dangers of blindly following authority but he revealed the sordid underside of power, money and influence. He rallied on the side of the poor and disenfranchised, those with few possessions and fewer options in life than the privileged few. His warnings still hold true today as in - the goal of war is to be waged continuously against foreign and domestic enemies alike, to keep the masses in fear.
If you think the domestic ones don't include you - think again.

Since that fair and balanced foundation was shaped I've studied a wide range of subjects too numerous to go into at this time. I've learned a great deal and formed my own particular point of view on the nature of life and existence. I don't expect or solicit agreement to my views, it's just what works for me.

Some of the more influential books on my shelf are listed at the end of this page.

For me the most exhilarating periods in the course of making a painting are the beginning and the end.

Preparation is anticipation.

At the beginning I have all the choices, the many ways to proceed. The blank space holds infinite possibilities.
I usually try and generate as many thumbnail sketches as possible, forcing myself to not become attached to any one idea but to keep bringing new ideas onto the page. To me creativity is like a muscle that can be strengthened through exercise. If you tell your mind to reach deeper, to come up with another idea and another - it will, and the task becomes easier, with less and less effort the more you train yourself.
And as in athletic training the ideas improve over time until you have more new ideas than you have time to do them.

Every painting is a promise I keep to myself.

I commit my future to seeing a work of art through to completion, my hours and days to bringing it to life. The initial inspiration is an infatuation with the idea and then the design but once work has begun that feeling quickly fades, often replaced with the monotonous drudgery of filling in the elements of the work. I enjoy the work of painting and there is a zen quality to painting a wall of tiny bricks, paving stones or tree leaves - one by one. But it lacks the thrill of beginning a new piece.

Sometimes a work will change part way through, like the background color will feel wrong or an element that was intended to be solid will feel better if it's transparent. The intent of the design remains consistent - what changes is my awareness of the nature of the painting, it's true identity, it's needs and requirements. These discoveries only happen in the process of making the painting and are only experienced by the artist personally.

Slave to another God.

When a change is needed it often comes like a knot in the gut or as though the painting is telling me that it's just not good enough and I can't leave it as it is. The painting dictates it's own course, as though it were in charge and I'm a servant following its instruction, yet it's still up to me to find the solutions.
Some solutions prove wrong and the sense of unease remains or worsens. Then it's as though I'm seeking the painting's approval but getting disapproval.
When the answer is found it's as though dark clouds have parted and I'm free to continue on ahead.

Speaking of clouds - they are by far the most difficult subject to paint. The difficulty lies in the variations of forms clouds can exhibit. I'll paint in a sky and feel that it's just right, set down my brush only to return an hour later and see things that need fixing. So begins the endless “dog chasing it's tail” process of building the perfect sky.
When I paint a wall or a road it has well defined features and specific dimensions. I don't very often feel that it needs fixing once I've painted it. But clouds can keep me up half the night.

For years I disliked it when I felt my work just wasn't right, that nagging diffuse feeling that something more needed to be done. Eventually it occurred to me that that was a precious gift, probably the most important talent to possess. It's that persistent higher value that you haven't yet achieved making itself known. It is your inner critical eye pushing you to do better.

Let the celebrations begin.

When I near the end of a painting that intense excitement that was there at the beginning returns. I'm now down to the details and finishing touches, letting my eyes wander the surface of the painting to see where the picture pulls my attention.
I make subtle alterations, directing the eye towards the important and away from the distracting. Muting some areas with washes or shadows and lightening or sharpening other details, finessing the picture towards completion. It's very subjective and each change precipitates further changes, but eventually they become smaller and fewer.

When the painting is finished the weeks of struggle and hard work quickly fade - replaced by a wedding, birthday and graduation all in one feeling.
But by this time I've already begun a new painting because the pressure of the next one always helps me finish the last one.
And so the cycle continues.