A collaborative effort
A work between me and Another
A surprise outcome of a great painting, not understanding how it happened

It just sort of created itself

Ego takes credit
Thank you so much for the compliments!
It was all me
I did everything
Sweat
Blood
Worry
Stress
Time

All me

How wonderful to think of it better this way;
God gave it
I held the brush
He created my hand and mind and personality

I gave nothing and got everything

Now I am going to remember where all my work
every painting, drawing, photo
originates
And be blessed to have been given the honor to participate

It seems like sometimes the craft of creating a painting eclipses the content of a painting. That is, the ‘why’ becomes a little lost.

Maybe I can say that I work very intuitively on the question of why. But that doesn’t play well when you are trying to explain your work to prospective clients.

And so I am grappling, once again, with the all important question of why I paint what I paint, and what it is I am trying to communicate anyway. And of course, the entire reason for scrounging for words to explain, in their absence in many case when speaking with clients, what my paintings are about is to connect with my viewer.

No great surprise, but if I never got any positive feedback from a viewer, likely I would consider myself a failure. Why? Because the work isn’t really complete until it is pushed through the filter of each individual. I want them to feel the awe that I do by leading them through my perspective. Then, when they see something I missed, the epiphany for the viewer is often times one for me as well. A dialog, of sorts must take place between the viewer and me.

It is not always clear how far I will have to go to satisfy the itch I have. I see something along the road, I draw or photograph it, I bring it into the studio, compose the work picture, then dive into the process of painting a place my own. When I can stand back and feel a bit astonished at my own labor—this when the painting is finished.

When I see my own work, it’s the same feeling, if I have succeeded, that I feel when exploring unknown land. A stumbling upon a secret, so mysterious to me, but probably well known to others. But the fact that others do know of it in no way diminishes my delight in my fantasy of discovery. Most everything is known to someone. But to the new explorer, the rush of discovery is true.

So picture yourself, out wandering the countryside, or the city too, until you find that amazing something that just stops you in your tracks for a minute or so. That’s what my perspective is. Continuing wonder about—everything.

Once upon a time there was a little red hen who scratched about the barnyard until she uncovered some grains of wheat. She called her neighbors and said ‘If we plant this wheat, we shall have bread to eat. Who will help me plant it?
“Not I, ” said the cow.
“Not I,” said the duck.
“Not I,” said the pig.
“Not I,” said the goose.
“Then I will,” said the little red hen. And she did.

The wheat grew tall and ripened into golden grain. “Who will help me reap my wheat?” asked the little red hen.
“Not I,” said the duck.
“Out of my classification,” said the pig.
“I’d lose my seniority,” said the cow.
“I’d lose my unemployment compensation,” said the goose.
“Then I will,” said the little red hen, and she did.

At last the time came to bake the bread. “Who will help me bake bread?” asked the little red hen.
“That would be overtime for me,” said the cow.
“I’d lose my welfare benefits,” said the duck.
“I’m a dropout and never learned how,” said the pig.
“If I’m to be the only helper, that’s discrimination,” said the goose.
“Then I will,” said the little red hen.

She baked five loaves and held them up for the neighbors to see.
They all wanted some and, in fact, demanded a share. But the little red hen said, “No, I can eat the five loaves myself.”
“Excess profits,” cried the cow.
“Capitalist leech,” screamed the duck.
“I demand equal rights,” yelled the goose.
And the pig just grunted.
And they painted “unfair” picket signs and marched round and around the little red hen shouting obscenities.

When the government agent came, he said to the little red hen, “You must not be greedy.”
“But I earned the bread,” said the little red hen.
“Exactly,” said the agent. “That’s the wonderful free enterprise system. Anyone in the barnyard can earn as much as he wants. But under our modern government regulations productive workers must divide their products with the idle.”

And they lived happily ever after, including the little red hen, who smiled and clucked, “I am grateful, I am grateful.” But her neighbors wondered why she never again baked any more bread.

— Author Unknown

Overheard on the shore of North Point Beach, Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Two men in their middle forties discussing the state of American Rock culture as it relates to the scene before them as they lounged on the boardwalk overlooking volleyball pits and pristine sand beaches on a bright and warm, summer day.

Lounger 1: “Yeah, remember Motley Crew and Poison? There was some great stuff!”
Lounger 2: “No doubt. That was some great music. Nothing like what happens today…”

Lounger 1: “That’s for sure. I mean, look at the crap you see on guys today. They wear makeup! I know this one guy – he’s a welder and he wears makeup! Look at that guy down there, geaze! Colored hair and eye makeup. What’s the world coming to? I bet that guy doesn’t wear makeup when he goes to work with other welders. But all his friends are wearing it. Unbelievable!”

On Friday last, I was attending a member preview exhibition at the Milwaukee Art Museum. The John Sloan paintings were fantastic. But before entering the portion of the exhibit featuring “The Eight, American Modernisms”, there was an installation of furniture design by Charles Rohlfs, which, incidentally, left something to be desired in fine craft typical of that era. There were an elderly couple behind me who had taken advantage of the audio tour option, and therefore both were wearing earphones. The woman exclaimed to her husband (loudly), not realizing she could be heard by all within ear shot, referring to the furniture builder, “I think he must have been a little crazy!” Her companion, also apparently unaware of the ability of others to hear him replied not with words, but with an extended and perfectly toned release of gas!