Sunday, July 6, 2025, 60* 0539
It looks unfinished, it’s not perfect, it should be a different color, maybe flip it horizontally, no that doesn’t work, try hanging it upside down. Not everyone sees the same angles shapes and lines. We all have our favorite colors. For me, art doesn’t have to make sense. Art is messy, unusual, unscripted, unplanned, incomplete, out of order, undefined; not confined to the teachings of others. It doesn’t fit except with me. Pieces that make me smile, that excite me are seldom received with the same acclaim. Art can never be finished -- the artist primes another canvas with experience, at times recreating the same theme as memory shapes change.
I have often said I go through life finding pieces of myself. Painting is finding, revealing another part of self. All art, if it captures us, even art we didn’t create; all art tells a story of ourselves. A story perhaps we heard only once, an experience we may not remember.
Art turns the heart inside out,
makes it bleed, sews it up,
gives it back
with a deeper understanding.
Watercolor Painting: LJ Austin
