October 7, 2015

How can what I imagine to be a landscape, a cloud or a bowl be somehow equally transposed into oil paint such that I utterly believe that it is what is in front of me on the canvas and yet it's not?  And why then would the entire notion of a bowl become totally suspect, as though I was wrong all along about what it was?  I am painting a cloud.  It looks like a cloud, and yet it's not, and the same should be said for those things floating around in the sky.  In believing that I know what something is I destroy its freedom.  In seeing that I knew absolutely nothing about it in the first place, it realizes itself perfectly within its own infinite freedom.