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Signing Your Name

This morning the sunshine poured into the studio. I signed a painting while thinking about a conversation I had years ago with a therapist. “How do you feel when you sign a painting?” she asked. “Appalled,”I said. I was shocked to hear myself say it. *** Finishing a painting gradually becomes easier as the years go by. I am still critical and humbled, but sometimes a project must come to an end imperfectly, something people with salaried jobs often take as a given. Hopefully one moves on to the next endeavour with more skill and some wisdom under your belt. The image of art festivals on rainy days comes to mind. Some soggy artists in the rain are intact, laughing at the ridiculousness of pay

Points of Connection

People imagine that artists like each other. I connect with other artists as much as I connect with the rest of the population. Pressed to paint with a wide brush, I might admit I sometimes find artists more prickly and defensive. If anything, I’m attracted to writers. Marilynne Robinson’s novels (Gilead, Home)feel more aligned with what I am doing in the studio than the work of most painters. Robinson has a worldview that seems profoundly positive, but that acknowledges the heartache of life, and her work brings me a lot of solace. We both seem to like to absorb the energy of someone mindfully slicing bread. I went to see Mr.Turner last night; about 19th century English artist William Turne

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