Foucault said something to the effect that pure thought is by its nature poetic. This is what interests me no matter what the medium: the poetics of three-dimensional space, or within the space of the picture plane, or speech, or thought. Perhaps by telling some of my story, if I listen hard to the story that wants telling, I can tell our story, a tiny part of it. If I speak of my grief, for example, I can tell something about our collective grief, for sooner or later we all mourn.
It is necessary to let go of the sense of self in order to be open to the story that wants telling, and I think of the many ways in which fear holds us hostage. One can not let go of the self if one is afraid. And the way to accept courage is to recognize that we are part of a larger thing than our tiny mewling body. There's a small gap in between those two things, I think, that requires hope or faith or maybe utter desperation (or maybe they are all the same): to accept that one is part of a larger consciousness. Which helps with the notion of freedom, and in this case for me, the freedom to paint, to work toward a controlled wildness.
For a time I really wanted to understand the nuances of the human form, to be able to see it well in order to draw it well. Now I want to move beyond it, to see the power addressed to the body, the essence within, whatever that means.... Can one be brave in painting and not in life? I think of the element of desire: that sometimes the shape of what we lack inside takes its form in what we create, what we in a sense wish for.... But I work toward bravery in both, an integration of what I'm thinking, what I'm doing, what I'm living. It's what makes sense to me.