These came quickly last night and I was glad for it because I had to fight like a fisherman for them. Indeed I do understand Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea so much more as I have aged into Painting.
A picture can be ruined so easily, enough to make a grown man cry like a child. Thankfully, I haven't lost many pictures over the past few years. But when I did I raged like Donald Trump. Then I drank it off at night. But that is another lifetime ago.
In the picture below I am finding my way into a place in Painting which has enticed me for a long while. A place where a graphic sense of luminosity has formed from a motif external to myself. It feels like a kind of Expressionism which is tethered by reality. Suddenly, I wonder if moored by reality isn't more apt, and so I hesitate between the two. Moored is a metaphor of the ocean while tethered is one of the air. Ma foi.
The top picture feels more fastened to the past, while the one below lures me into my future.