I do not paint and draw for intellectual purposes. I began to do art long before I even knew what art was. Art is life itself. It is tactile, it is feeling, it is sensuous, and in time it has become, for me, full of heart.
I do not paint with my brain. I paint with my yearning skin. It is my soul seeking something divine, alive, delicate, angry, on fire, and impassioned.
Painting is breathing. It is Linga. It is wet on wet, dry on wet, moisture meeting flame. It is the contours of bodies, barely lit, amidst the power of life, and locked in an eternal embrace.
My art is a journey. Every work has a new element that alters the course, elevates the path, always. Every work seeks something new, and the knowledge — the nuances of information accumulated, borrowed or self-discovered, then refined — pushes my art forward to something more ideal, even enlightened.
Darkness will show you the light, and light exposes the lines, contours, and weaknesses that make us special. The peace in meditative drawing, what the Yogi craves without craving. Life’s a cold day in winter, when you’re blinded by the sun!