Ripples of Melancholy

In our day-to-day living we are continuously put in situations where we must communicate with others. As an introvert, this is a constant struggle for me. Words - verbal or written - do not come easily to me and, at times, this can be a source of stress. Hence, painting. I discovered that once I get out my brushes, palette knives, paint and start applying it to a canvas, I can express myself without constraint or hesitation. At that time, the paint becomes my words and the canvas a piece of paper. I suddenly feel free to express myself; each brush or palette stroke is a word or sentence that can be worked or re-worked the same way one would write (and re-write) text - or would speak - to express feelings, thoughts and ideas, either to oneself or to others. From the first application of paint on the canvas, everything is intuitive for me. I let the moment guide me, everything flows; it is like having a deep conversation with someone (or at times with myself). A dialogue is created between the painting and myself, where we feed off each other. The painting speaks to me; I respond, and the conversation will continue for as long as either one of us has something to say or something new to listen to. Once I no longer have anything to say, or I am not hearing anything new from the painting, then I know the painting is complete. The conversation has ended. Although an underlying concept drives each painting - the same way a topic drives a conversation - I find myself reluctant to divulge these concepts, as I do not want to influence the viewer’s experience. I am most interested in their reading of my paintings: what they feel and the story they might weave from it, even if it is nowhere near what I had in mind. It is the viewer’s experience and interpretation that allows me to grow as an artist, because only then can the painting open up a new dialogue, revealing something I had not seen or which was unintended.