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24×18″ Acrylic on scrap pressboard. Why… with blue dominant, didn’t I choose a horizontal and pacific design? I don’t know…. and yet….
… I look at this again, as something in a dream, or an image–not even an image, but movement. Remember when you were a child, watching runoff along the curb after a rain? Imaging yourself watching a great river from space, a deluge slicing through continents. Is it that these patterns are there in our unconscious, so when we think we are working with abstract, non-figurative visual ideas, we are mapping those patterns, and the degree of satisfaction we feel as we work derives from how close we have come to those unconscious patterns? Before we had words for what we saw, images–moving, always moving–crossed our fields of vision, without names, without the burden of language–or rather, with a language more primal than words?
How can it ever be irrelevant–to map what is hidden–to what actually drives our actions? We give so much credit to consciousness–to conscious will, when it’s no more that a pipping bird on the back of a Rhinoceros.