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I paint to explore the infinite worlds within the psyche. My initial inspiration frequently comes from observing and studying the forms and patterns of nature: human blood vessels and nervous systems, snakes, cells and DNA, whirlpools and galaxies, spirals and waves, and especially plants. My intention is not to illustrate nature, but to use it as a springboard for contemplation and visioning. While I may start with a human body or a wavy line, I do not plan my paintings. As I paint, one form often metamorphoses into another: a leaf becomes part human; a cocoon or pod becomes a womb for humans and replicates itself into a fractal network; polyps become seaweed; and leaves sprout thorns. The boundaries between forms begin to dissolve, and I see again and again the awesome intricacy and interconnectedness of everything. I travel out into vast space and down into the microscopic world of the cell. As my mind journeys inward and outward, the brush in my hand spontaneously deposits the images that my mind receives, until the painting is complete. Thus the painting is visionary: depicting what the psyche sees and feels, rather than what the physical eye alone sees. The goal of this method of "spontaneous" painting is not to produce a "beautiful painting" but to pick up the brush, paint, and see what is revealed. Each painting is a journey into the unknown, where I meet many life forms excluded from consensus reality, struggle and negotiate with them, even admire them, and bring them back on paper so that I and others may see what is otherwise hidden. My earlier spontaneous paintings were created in a group setting at the Center for Creative Exploration in San Francisco, surrounded by other silent painters, each focused on his or her painting, and under the guidance of a teacher. At the end of each painting session we would talk only about our own process, but not about the content of our painting. Each one of us painters was, at one point or another, shocked and/or embarrassed to paint or even look at some of our "darker" images: demons, murderers, decay, genitalia, blood and guts - just as any viewer might. But after awhile, we learned to embrace all the images, even our own; we saw that images don't "belong" to anybody anyway. The terrifying demons, snakes, bloody knives, and barbed wire, no less than the naked bodies and the beautiful flowers, trees, angels, sun, and moon - are simply expressions of the collective unconscious. To paint them all - the terrifying and the comforting, the ugly and the beautiful - brings a tremendous sense of freedom, self-lessness, aliveness, healing. During the process of painting - spontaneously, without a sketch, without a plan, with the intention simply to be open to whatever arises (as in Buddhist meditation practice), everything does arise. The painting becomes a tangible mirror of my mind and body, forcing me to confront attachment ("I love my painting, and I don't want to ruin it by adding one more thing"), aversion ("I don't like the ugly part, and I want to cover it up"), judgments ("My last painting is better than this"), fear ("I'm too embarrassed to paint the taboo image that's in my head"), and so forth. To become aware of my own mind and to free it from the grip of attachment, aversion, delusion and fear - through painting - is one of the greatest fruits of this spiritual practice. |
