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The Future of Art & Artists of the Future

The Future of Art & Artists of the Future                 

A Painter’s Perspective          

By C.J. Irwin

There has been much discussion of late about the future of Art; about the future of the ‘traditional artist’. 

ARTS = Entertainment and entertainment feeds the hungry vein that helps fuel the spirit of all mankind. All of us are attracted to Art in one form or another. It’s inherent and lives deep within. To each and every one of us, our taste in art is as specific and individualistic as a thumb print.

Maybe it’s the emotion and power of Bach’s Cello Suite No 5 in C Minor. Maybe it’s the writings of a poet or author that whisks us away on adventure. Maybe it’s the mesmerizing moves of a dancer effortlessly flowing across the floor. A good movie on a big screen can be spellbinding. The unharnessed and collective energy of a ‘live’ concert can create a contagious feedback that everyone in the room can feel. Maybe it’s a conceptual trigger or the textural paint that is pulling across the expanse of the painter’s canvas that transports us into another world. Whatever your preferences in the arts, it’s hard to ignore an art form when it’s talking to YOU.

They say never begin a sentence with ‘but’… but this is a big BUT. What happens when we get the majority of our entertainment, our experiences, our arts from one common source? The great WWW. How do the millions of apps, the ever developing technology and the mind blowing print capabilities affect the production and mass distribution of Art? How will the value of digitally and mass distributed art be perceived as it passes from viewer to viewer faster than a speeding bullet? Is it like a fading aura that weakens with each transmission; like a sound recording that loses a generation with each reproduction? Like vinyl to CD, is a part of the experience lost? How will the original art‘s aura value change? How do Artists retain their ownership/copyright? How do Artists control the altered and passed along memes of their work? So many questions. So many possibilities. Look at the old-school music industry. It has pondered these questions for years. It lost track and control of its customers by refusing to accept and adapt to obvious change. Technology isn’t going anywhere… except in every single home, in every single ear, through every single eye and eventually embedded into every single brain. Infinite capabilities are difficult, maybe impossible to predict, even harder to control. No one really knows where it’s going because the progression is never ending.

Will the majority of art buyers purchase their Art online? They already do. Films, books, fashion, music, paintings, sculpture and more have challenged conventional retail. Art is selling well for those technically hooked up with marketing. BUT usually, marketing and technology don’t come second nature to Artists, nor do the funds required for set up and maintenance. For Artists looking for virtual online exposure, the artisphere is just as cliquey as real-time galleries, dealers, curators and agents. Competition has never been as fierce and opportunity never greater. Twitter is testament to this. Twitter is an artist’s paradise now they have added automatic photo. There is sooooo much great art to view online. 

A vigilant and savy business minded Artist understanding licensing and copyright can be very succe$$ful - just like a Rockstar, but the difference between rockstar and painter is that although the painter may sleep with their muse they don’t paint for the money or the chics for free. Maybe they do :-) What was my point here? Ahhh - that the introduction of new devices, apps, printers etal is creating more dimensions and opportunities than ever before and as Artists, IF we decide to play in this arena, we must be smart, adapt and keep up.  If online dealers approach with offers, we need to do our research and understand our rights. It’s easy to give our work away unknowingly. Corporate onliners like Facebook, Google and Amazon can own you if you’re not careful. Most of us don’t even read the ten page privacy statements they throw up – we simply click ‘accept’. For Artists or anyone not wanting their material hijacked online, do the research and read between the lines. Not unlike the music industry – copyright is key. Recording artists want to keep their publishing; so do writers, painters and candle-stick makers. Licensing, copyright infringement and memes are good topics for a future blog.

Will film and the movie theatre die? Film and movies will never die but movie theatres will. Will books as we know them disappear? Access will become difficult and the Library may thrive again. Will the ‘live’ Gallery experience become extinct? NEVER. The real time Gallery and Museum ‘experience’ can not and never will be duplicated or replaced, although in the face of online competition, it WILL be difficult to maintain. In all cases the ‘original’ piece in it’s virginal, first generation aura will be most valued – both in sight value and monetary value. Even if the piece has been reproduced and distributed 50million times, even if it seems that the piece has become desensitized, the original will always be a commodity. It represents the truest experience.

Until a computer can think on it’s own, whatever it creates will still lack true human emotion. Sure computers are extensions of ourselves but the results, although beautiful and well structured, seem to me anyway, to be devoid of the main ingredient. As much as this doesn’t seem to be a deterrent to some – it often is to me. I’m not saying that there isn’t a place for digital art; there IS an art to digital work and it’s a growing medium, but when I look at digital art I don’t really contemplate the process. Few understand the true symbiosis between computers and printers and because it IS so technical, even though we may find the piece aesthetically appealing, most don’t care about the process. However, when a ‘live’, unadulterated, pure piece of art is in front of me and I know that it has been created by an artist’s hand and heart, the interaction is more personal, with more appreciation. It invites me to ask questions, inquire about the process and of course relate it all to the Artist that created it. So will digital/technical art kill off the ‘traditional Artist’? Stupid question.

I’m a young artist, meaning that I’ve only been painting fifteen years. Art is my outlet, my plug-in that allows me to feed off the meditation-like process of LIFE. It’s my rhythm, rhyme and reason and without it – well, I don’t contemplate that.  I love that creating art is a never ending learning, experimental and experiential process. Simply, that’s the underlying hook for artists. It’s this simple process that keeps us doing what we do. Love and Addiction. This is why we spend hours creating something that may only appeal to ourselves. This is why we can easily shrug off a failed experiment. We don’t think about the mess; sometimes not even the toxicity. If we forget to breathe while painting, our body will remind us. Sometimes our nutrition suffers because we’d rather art than eat. Materials are mad expensive. Poorly attended shows can hurt our oh-so-sensitive egos and in my case, living in the country can make it difficult to get attention. Did I mention that being an artist can also make you feel like a social outcast or recluse? How many times have I cancelled a dinner engagement or a night out with friends? “Sorry can’t make it, I’m in the middle of a major project”. Or, maybe it’s because there are highlights in my hair that aren’t by Clairol, my scent is Eau de Linseed and I have few clothes that haven’t been touched by paint.

The ‘traditional artist’ creates simply out of an innate drive. Creativity provides a sense of accomplishment, a beginning and an end. Creativity isn’t exclusive to the typical ‘artist’. Whether you are a baker, a teacher, a wine sommelier or you’re restoring a ’57 Chevy, you are being creative and the best of you have practiced your craft to a state of ART. The process and the results are the same - cerebral, soothing, therapeutic and satisfying. About the only other thing that can compete with this is sex.

How are Artists perceived? When I moved from the city to a smaller town a decade ago, even though I moved my marketing business with me and worked nine-to-five, I always seemed to be introduced by others in the community as – ‘an Artist’. Mostly I felt complimented by the label but on odd occasion I felt slightly demeaned. After all, I’m now in a much smaller community where culture isn’t rightly supported and many of the people I meet hold office or hard labor jobs. I loved my business for thirty years, but dammit, I love painting more. Does it make me a bum? Seriously, today few people take artists seriously. It’s a myth that we don’t grind as hard. Oh we grind, maybe harder and we still support ourselves and pay taxes. Many of us know we may never match the snack bracket of those in the concrete jungle but that isn’t our goal. It’s an economic designation and a choice we’ve made and most of us, even though we really do know struggle, are comfortable with our decision.

During the time of Rembrandt, Artists were held in high regard. There were no magazines, the few pamphlets that existed were hand-scribed, passed around and copied over and over. There was no photography, no television, no radio, no internet. ‘Live’ music, painting, theatre, story-telling and dance were considered magical arts. Unfortunately, today, art commercialism built by the higher tiered galleries, curators and dealers has placed much of the art market beyond reason, price or talent.

Of course it doesn’t help that Science continues to weave an association between Artists and mental illness and it’s obvious that more than a few have read the articles. It probably accounts for the summer encounter I had recently. Hot day. I decided to cool off at the local watering hole before dinner. There’s a table of eight people in the corner; some I know, some I don’t. “Join us CJ”. I sit and am introduced as local artist. Some ask questions and I get to tell people about my Gallery. But then, there’s always one isn’t there? A fellow at the far end of the table, in a too-small suit, tie slightly askew, beer in fist, balances his chair on two hind legs. He hasn’t said a word and he barely acknowledged my introduction. I’m drawn to look at him because I feel his eyes, but he seems to look straight past me whenever I look at him. When I do manage to catch him looking at me, he has that smile, you know the one that doesn’t quite creep into the eyes. Have you ever seen eyes that smirk? “So how long you been an Artist?” he asks. Before I can answer he spits out another question. “How’s it workin for ya, you actually make a living from it?”. I wait for the next question and when it doesn’t come I answer.  “Well, I outgrew my suit and tie. I’ll probably never be rich like you, but I’m happy” I retort. “I dated an Artist once”, he says. “Trying to get her to come out was such an effort”. “I can’t see you tonight, I’m painting” he mimes in his best girlie voice. Inside I laugh because of the obvious. “I think she’s a bit nuts anyway” he says. “Who Jenna?” says the fellow beside him. “She’s bi-polar”.  “Well, they say all artists are some kinda fucked up crazy” says the suit with the smirky eyes. And there it was, the mark of disgrace associated with being an Artist. Stigma.

Last year researchers at the Karolinska Institute in Sweden, one of Europe’s most prestigious medical universities, released an article that claimed, as many other articles have, that artists of all genres have a higher risk of anxiety, schizophrenia, depression and bipolar disorders and that they are almost twice as likely as anyone to commit suicide (as reported in the Journal of Psychiatric Research). Of course, they don’t look at the finer details as to probable causes for suicide i.e. unstructured lifestyle, addictions, isolation which can lead to depression, the struggle of self-employment, low remuneration, little security, heavy competition, inappreciation and criticism. It’s not a wonder that from time to time an artist feels doubt and fear. BUT DOESN’T EVERYONE at some point in their life? Anyone denying fear and doubt in today’s world is either lying or dead. Being an artist today is a huge gamble and if you’re going for the money you’ll definitely have better odds in Vegas. Many artists do lead a lifestyle that some may call eccentric, but that eccentricity may just be creativity and maybe that simply means – thinking in a different way.

Who’s crazier? Me or the guy in the suit and smirk that works in commerce, hoodwinking clients with commissions and financial risk. Like they say, if it makes you happy… and as Artists, creativity makes us happy. IF we didn’t have our art and expression, then maybe we would be crazy. I’ve been fortunate enough to have experienced the corporate world and the art world, ‘both sides’ as Joni would say, “and I really don’t know life ~ at all”. All I do know is that I don’t want to work or paint the same scene over and over. I want to keep it moving, keep it challenging, keep it fresh. Trial, error and fail if I must. Failing is an art too and essential to success, teaching us what works and doesn’t. And NO, I don’t want to be a techie, in fact I abhor the demands of it, but I’ll learn what I need to in order to stay in the game.

So who/what is an Artist of the future? We will continue to be a bunch of crazed lovers of an intimate universal language, determined to translate ideas, thoughts and emotions through the flow of paint, music, dance, words, film, fashion and all mediums of art. This will NEVER change. We will morph but our nature will remain. To all Artists out there – Keep on! Art is Truth. We may never be as cunning as Bansky or as masterful as Rembrandt. Or maybe we will. Maybe Banksy and Rembrandt will pale to what comes in the future. We accept who and what we are and just because we haven’t been discovered yet or maybe ever, doesn’t mean we’re not good enough or relevant. We’ll learn what we need to to protect ourselves and move forward. We’ll never feel that we must defend our vocation. Our art is our identity. We’ll feel our persona and ignore fear and doubt or use it to our advantage. We’ll feed our soul. We’ll be Happy! Albert Schweitzer, musician, artist said, “Success is not the key to happiness. Happiness is the key to success. If you love what you are doing, YOU WILL BE SUCCESSFUL” and knowing this, having the ability to create and the mere act of doing it makes us not only successful, but the luckiest bunch of people on the planet.  

Cheers to the Arts!

Welcome To The Jungle

My adventure in the Amazon

“Just leave me” I managed to moan. From my vantage point, all I could see were bare feet pacing the ground in front of my face and... what looked like a wild boar staring me down from beneath a tree in the distance.

“Agua” the guide shouted. “Agua”. My one remaining brain cell asked, what guide enters the jungle without water? Here I was five thousand miles from home, flat on my back in the Amazon, certain I was about to die. I would be eaten by lions, or worse by that bloody hog glaring at me. Who dies from a bucket list experience? A headline flashed through my aching cortex. ‘Canadian girl dies of alcohol poisoning in the Amazon Jungle’.

I had packed water for this expedition but clumsily managed to break the bottle getting onto the tiny raft. It never dawned on me that neither the man maneuvering the raft or the guide taking me inland wouldn't have water.

Understandably, this morning I was a little rough around the edges. The night before I had forgone sleep; not intentionally but let’s just say I was enjoying myself way too much. “I can sleep when I’m dead” I remember saying, glancing at my watch reading 4:00AM. Why travel if you’re not going to submerge yourself in the local culture? That was the whole idea. So when I left the ‘boteco’ at 5:00AM I had only enough time to pack a few items before heading to the water’s edge to meet my guide at 6:00. Note: The South American botecos (bars) serve a little differently than here in Canada. Instead of ordering your drinks and running a tab, the bottle of your pleasure is ceremoniously presented to your table and left there. A marker is then swept across the bottle indicating the level. When checking out, the waiter measures your bottle consumption and charges you accordingly. It’s a money-maker for the bar and just too damn tempting when your glass is always empty and the bottle is right in front of you. Suffice to say that there was nothing left to measure. Sure I’d generously shared, but Jack Daniels and I bonded.

I’d waited all week for this trek. Heck I’d waited years to see South America. Number five on my bucket list. As well as tour various regions, I had lined up a couple experiences. One was to mine semi-precious gems. To any collector, Brazil is a gem cornucopia - amethyst, emerald, topaz, aquamarine and countless other. And of course I wanted to experience the wilds of the Amazon river and the jungle, particularly to meet up with a rainforest tribe who would teach me how to hunt various plants and seeds that produced natural color and paint-like pigments.

The raft up the Amazon was an eye opener, even in my half awake state. I’d glanced at my guide’s knapsack several times intending to ask for water but was continuously sidetracked by everything around me. The Amazon is the wildest river in the world and as we snaked in and out of narrow tributaries, we floated past hundreds of different birds; Parrots in the wild. Insects of such vivid color skimmed atop the water. A school of piranha swam by, not all that big for their fierce reputation. A very large black and foul smelling vulture stood upon a fallen stump; head, neck and claws caked in who knows what, but it smelled like death. It’s legs bigger than my arms and its eyes piercing red. Small monkeys scurried among the treetops or hung from branches screaming at us as we slowly drifted by. Even an anaconda half buried in a mudflat lazily peeked out at us. Yes, this is exactly how I envisioned it. Everything was so alive... but what really fascinated me were the enormous, lime green water Lilies; eight feet across and supposedly capable of holding 136kg or almost 300 lbs. It appeared as though one could hop from one pad to another, but with what surely lurked beneath these giant shelters, I wasn't about to jump on one and find out. “Later, we swim in natural pond with waterfall”, said my guide.

The sound of the jungle is something I could listen to all day. The mornings are best, but then the serenity of mid day when animals are napping is pure serenity. The nights – well about the closest I will get to spending a night in the jungle is through youtube.

After forty minutes we navigated closer to shore and disembarked. As my guide explained some of the dangers of the jungle, instructing me to stay close and not to wander, I began to feel ill. “Suck it up”, I said to myself. "You’ve come a long way for this adventure. Breathe. Drink some water". The forest was dense, hot and the pungent scent of trees, grasses and moss reached straight down into my gut. We weren't fifteen minutes into our hike and I knew I was going to be sick. And then - I blacked out.

I awoke to a very small man, wearing a very small G-string and a bare breasted woman hovering above me. I’m in a National Geographic nightmare I thought. “No aqua” I heard the woman say. I rolled onto my side to be sick again and watched the little man with machete between his teeth shimmy up a nearby tree, only to disappear into the canopy of a thick green cloud. Seconds later I heard the thud of something hit the ground and looked up hoping it wasn’t the little man. There he was coming toward me, carrying something, machete still in his mouth. He knelt beside me and summoned me to watch. He split what looked like a large nut. Digging his dirty fingers into the pulp, he scooped some into his mouth. I watched him make a sucking motion, his hand running down his throat indicating the juice. He spit the pulp on the ground. Suck-swallow-spit. He gouged another handful of pulp and shoved it into my dry mouth. They don’t call it jungle mouth for nothing. Cautiously I bit down on the bitter seeds, desperately holding down another heave while slowly letting the juice trickle down my throat. Spit. Again, he motioned and after three infusions and the help of the woman sitting beside me, I was sitting and smiling. The little man beamed, his two front teeth missing. “Magic!” I pointed to the nut. “Que?” “Cacao” said the woman. “Chocolate nut” said the guide. “Does Bayer know about this?" I asked. Nobody got the joke. Within minutes I was standing, revived and ready to continue on. I reached into my knapsack, bowed my head in thanks and handed the little man my Guns N’ Roses/Welcome To The Jungle t-shirt. Again, he gave me that wonderful toothless smile.

As we trekked deeper my guide informed me that we would soon stop to eat and the scent of smoke and something cooking wafted through my nostrils, reminding me that I was running on empty. Another small man (it seemed the deeper you ventured into the jungle, the smaller the people became), wearing only a loincloth appeared out of what seemed nowhere and enthusiastically shook our hands. He led us to a clearing where upon a makeshift grill lay the ugliest, charred, black fish I’d ever seen. Lunch? That fish may have been the most grotesque looking thing, but it was the tastiest fish I’d ever eaten. Coupled with platano (banana) I was now completely restored.

While licking my fingers of every last morsel of lunch, a small group of nearby villagers arrived and displayed in front of us an assortment of wares – exquisitely designed blankets, jewelry made of quills, red and black huayruro beads (seeds) and mescal beans. There was pottery, sacks of medicinal herbs and bark, beautiful hand woven mats and baskets – all color dyed from indigenous plants. Plants such as the vibrantly red-podded urucum, more commonly known as the lipstick tree. This plant’s seeds have traditionally been used for body paint and dyes for over 2000 years. The seed is also used to flavor foods and today you can find urucum fruit traces in soft drinks, popcorn, cheese and butter.

After purchasing herbs and jewelry I relaxed in the shade with a cup of camu camu juice before a refreshing swim in a nearby pond. As I floated on my back, hearing the small waterfall in the background, only then did I truly realize just how important the sustaining of our planet’s rainforests are. We are dependent on its entire biodiversity and as I write this something new is being discovered. Whether it’s a plant or bug that can be used medicinally, or a natural food additive or a fiber (rubber/latex) or even a new animal such as the ‘olinguito’ only discovered this year (2013) – these rainforests are our lungs and life blood.

After studying different plants and painting our faces in vibrant colors, we said goodbye to our new friends and began our journey back to the raft, stopping along the way to collect leaves, bark, seeds, hazel nuts and acai berries. There on the path ahead was the little man that had saved my life. His bare breasted companion behind him. I thanked them both again, thinking that I really should have given my t-shirt to the woman. As we waved a final goodbye I rummaged through my knapsack searching for something appropriate to leave with her. I could find nothing suitable except a tube of my favorite coral lipstick. I ran back, took out my mirror, applied the lipstick to my own lips and placed the tube and mirror in her hands. Her smile was as illuminating as that evening’s full moon, of which I witnessed before being lulled into a ten-hour dream where I floated down the river on my own giant lily pad. What a day. What a memory.

FunFact: Although when most of us think about the Amazon rainforest, we think of plants and animals, birds and snakes, fish and crocodile, but did you know that today, there are over thirty million people living inside the Amazon rainforest? Nearly three million indigenous people from over 300 different indigenous tribes, some sill living in isolation make it their home sweet home.

Playing

July, 2013

The other day, when I was PLAYING, and in a minute I will tell you with what, I was thinking about all the things I wanted to be when I grew up. As most children, I dreamt of being many things, but my first recollection, living in wild, rural country where the nearest neighbor lived miles away and most daily interaction involved rabbits and birds, snakes and lizards, horses and dogs, and a barn full of animals – naturally I wanted to be a veterinarian. I think it’s a common choice among children. Maybe we relate to animals better than our parents or siblings. My father had built my brother and I the most fantastical tree fort and it was there that I whiled away the hours – writing, drawing, painting, and studying bugs and plants.

I had two toys that meant the world to me. One was a wood burning set where for hours I would burn images into the floor of the tree fort. My second and probably most important and cathartic toy, was a microscope. It wasn’t an expensive, real lab microscope, just a toy kit that came equipped with slides, labels, vials, stains, tweezers and tools, That microscope literally blew the doors off my mind.  I was not only able to watch and study a bug eating and digesting, but the colorful fractal images of a single blade of grass or flower petal put me in Wonderland. I soon promoted myself from veterinarian to zoologist/biologist. Gawd, I loved that microscope.

And then suddenly, in an instant – everything stopped. I didn’t write or draw or play with my microscope anymore. I moved – into a very small shadow, in the corner of my mind and there I remained for what seemed like an eternity. Why is of no importance here, but suffice to say, there’s a part of me that is very comfortable being alone. Don’t get me wrong, I love interacting with everything around me, including people, but I love my space and as someone stated years ago  “you’re your own best friend”.

And then, as suddenly as it had stopped, at the age of eighteen, it all began again. It was as though I had boarded a spaceship and transported myself to another realm. Once again there was fun, wonderment, excitement, ambition and something new. There was CHOICE? I’d never had ‘choice’ before. It’s one of the most important, powerful and maybe distinct elements of human nature. However, even though the choices were now mine to make, for someone that had led such an early sheltered life, it was a new concept. I didn’t live in the forest anymore, my school chemistry and math grades weren’t exactly conducive to perusing biology and more importantly there were so many choices to make, so many directions to go that I was somewhat overwhelmed. Therefore, I simply allowed myself to take a few hands and let the cards fall wherever my spirit’s interests led – which was EVERYWHERE. Whatever it was, it was new, fresh, exciting and sometimes very frightening, but once I got going it was like I’d found a map with paths and knew where all the treasures lay. And if you’re lucky enough to find the treasure (actually, luck has nothing to do with it) you attain even more opportunity and responsibility. It’s a never-ending cycle. Throw in some entropy – a little chaos and disorder and again – you need to make another choice. Gotta love it. Keeps it fresh.

And here I am, right now, under a tree. I’m under a tree PLAYING with MY NEW TOY! Yes, I have a new microscope and it’s taken me right back to that old tree fort. Right now, I am laying on my stomach in the grass, with the bees, the ants, and those little bugs that when you touch them, roll up into tight little balls - and I’m eye to scope marveling the intricate fractal design of a single mosquito wing. Amazing. I wish I had a camera that connected to the scope. Wish list.

In short, it’s been a whirlwind of a month and I played hard. No time to miss BPI. The email dings a little less and if my phone rings, I may talk to another ‘live’ person. Being an Artist generally means spending great deals of time alone. I don’t mean lonely, I mean peaceful, cerebral solitude – just me, my toys, my thoughts.

My internal clock has me rising late morning and retiring in the wee hours of the next. I get to blast tunes through the day, play with an entirely different late night social crowd and go to bed with Jimmy Fallon. I go to bed tired and wake up with the refreshed enthusiasm of whatever the new day will bring.

And BRING IT it is! Mid month I received a call from the Humane Society for a Petscape commission - their long term shelter cat Emma. She’s been a fun journey and I will be presenting her back to the Humane Society next week. I had wanted to go encaustic with this piece, but with all the rain, it morphed wonderfully into gold leaf and oils. I will show you when finished.

Last week the charming Louis, owner and sommelier of PaneVino, our local and very fine dining and toocoolwinebar establishment granted me a WALL. I’ve hung eight pieces of art. They are up until August, and if you’re passing thru Lindsay, come to CJ’s Gallery first, I’ll give you the nickel tour, before heading to PaneVino for a glass.

Back to my toys. I wonder what this paint chip looks like under the microscope?

Keep on playing everyone!

Blogs are simply – public diaries. I remember as a child I had a baby blue diary with a tiny lock and key attached to it. I also remember losing that key, which meant I had to cut my diary open. With no lock, it became an open book. As it is now, that diary was filled with hopes, dreams, aspirations, affirmations and experiences. I wasn’t afraid to try anything. I didn’t worry about time. I didn’t think about money.

I’ve spent many years in the entertainment field making stars and orchestrating other people’s dreams. I loved every minute of it. And I just wrote that in the past tense. Feels strange yet liberating. During that time, I filled many of my own dreams too. Some have yet to be realized and THIS IS what MY new venture is about. My creative spirit, my inner child is telling me it’s TIME TO PLAY.

I think as adults, sometimes it’s possible to forget how alive we really are. We can get trapped with responsibilities and limitations. Even the barrage of too frequent, disturbing images and events around the world can make us numb and want to hide under cover. I think it’s possible to forget about our inner child and all the things that make our hearts leap for joy. I think it’s possible to forget about the radiant intelligence of our inner child, especially when discovering something new for the very first time. I want to see more of the wonderment and excitement of the present in the way my inner child sees. I WANT TO CREATE! I WANT TO PAINT! I WANT TO SEE ART, I WANT TO SHARE ART. I WANT TO HOLD ART SHOWS. I WANT TO SELL ART. No confinement, no deadlines, no limitations and if my inner child wants to paint fluffy purple clouds – so be it. The other need my inner child is asking for is a dog and now that I have the time and love to share, I can address this need too. So mission accomplished, a couple more dreams realized.

Join me on my journey and maybe you too will be inspired to let your inner child out to play – because after all, this IS what life is all about.

“Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an Artist once he grows up” Pablo Picasso

“The most potent muse of all is our own inner child.” Stephen Nachmanovitch

“The thing is to become a master and in your old age to acquire the courage to do what children did when they first knew nothing.” Henry Miller