“It takes more than a pony ride to scare a big four year old like me.”
– Maggie Pixel
everything in my paintings is relatively flat. some stacking of two dee objects or shapes, like paper cutouts sprinkled on the table, but almost no picture plane. shallow; lacking in depth.
like i’m afraid to commit the geometric cubes and barrels and conic sections from my drawings to paint and canvas; like something bad might happen if i start to. a spell that can’t be uncast; a rainbow bridge that can only be crossed once.
when objects like that have appeared, snuck in through an unguarded side entrace, or some magic portal — a big red six-sided die; a bowling pin with a hint of curvature from its shading — they really pop; i have a loaded rocket launcher in my hands and i don’t know what to aim at.
okay: so what’s the feeling state? am I SCARED to pull that trigger? AFRAID to launch that rocket? perhaps even TERRIFIED to risk casting that spell?
duh. of course I am.
like once i paint some cubes and pot shapes, a naked female body or an honest-to-god (forbid) landscape, a face with some depth and grain to it or — even worse — multiple faces, in relation to one another… once I do those things, there are no more limits. the rocket explodes, the spell lands, and the possibilities within that few linear feet of wood and canvas become — well, pretty much anything.
fucking yikes.
so yeah: imma take my time lining up that shot. i’m just a guy in a room, sitting in a chair, contemplating a swan dive into the infinite. no pressure.
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