The other day I met an artist who, as a child was known to checked under the sofa for lost things. One of those times her Mother told her to be careful of the draft. She heard "giraffe". She spent many years trying to find the giraffe that was small enough to hide under the sofa. As a child I used to climb up into a small closet above the stairwell that was lined with books. It was probably the world’s smallest library. My Mom's old latin textbooks were in there with glowing reproductions of paintings showing Greek and Roman stories and lore. I couldn't read the latin but thats ok because at that point I couldn't read the English either. It was the pictures I went in there to hang out with. I now enjoy reading words in English but I prefer the paintings.
Children are natural artist, more in tune with their own spirit within and without. They know that tiny giraffes exist and small private places are among the best. Life's cobblestones jar these connections loose but at some point we begin to miss them and sit down to find them.
My own painting has evolved into an increasingly deeper spiritual journey. Our spiritual journey begins before we are born and continues after we die but the only one we are aware of is the one happening right now. As I move ever closer to a clearer connection with the central core of me, my work becomes unique and a clearer definition of not only me but what art is to me.