"Were born not invited. Our first shadowy visions are vague spotlights. The first sounds we hear are tears of joy and oh my gods but god means nothing at that point. Then we learn about not being good enough, how we disappoint everyone, and finally horse racing and masturbation. Only then does god mean something. I promise not to. Can I tell my child most bets lose, pretty horses end up glue and yes son, there isnt a Santa Claus? Can I pretend to lie that well? Probably not. I cant because every pain in my body is incurable cancer; every twitch is Parkinsons, every step, thought, and involuntary muscle is about me. Its not healthy for anyone, including painting. I know Im wrong but what would the world look like without shadows? White on white oils without brush strokes? Malevich. Blacks on Blacks on Blacks acrylic? Sherman Williams."
