Art does not come from a shallow soul nor does it come from the weak of heart or thin of faith. Art comes from the struggle of life. The struggle I think every Artist feels. The balance between the light and dark of the human condition. Perhaps the creation of the things we need to see and say vs the things people want to hear. Often I find myself lost in deep thoughts for hours at a time. Sculpting each pallet stroke, blending each colour, checking transparency and viscosity. Peering into it’s pigment density and touching the silkiness of its touch between my fingers. This is me at my best unless actually painting or sitting with friends enjoying the bounty of life and this Earth. Good food, good wine, good medicine and friends. But art does not come from these long periods of content. I feel since my departure from societies “normal” that I’ve been forbidden to find peace of mind and stable heart. Yet all I I’ve ever craved to rest this weary weathered soul. Ever since I was a child Ive carried this burden at the age of 2-3 I remember this weight of conciousness. Art, cleans my soul and gives the four million thoughts going through my head every second a place to land and settle with ease. Trying to find the motivation to keep going today… Afraid of making the wrong choice. They say, be free! Live, laugh, love but all those actions have consequences and I no longer possess the ability to decern those outcomes. I tried just recently and I cost the last bit of things I had on this Earth. This is why I’m paralyzed with fear and regret, if I could hid forevermore I would but I’m compelled to share this life with someone and if it can’t be one hand to hold. Then let it be a million souls reaching out to the night sky as I try and bask in the glow of friends and the compassion of those know me best.