I was seated in the corner of the Spellerberg Projects observing the rare instance when an educator explains me. A woman was reacting to my work on this day together with her friend, as visitors to an art gallery often do, and she muttered something about impulse and expression and creativity. I was entertained. Honoria Starbuck, artist and teacher and new friend, stood within earshot and countered in the manner of a credentialed educator that while yes there is a certain amount of spontaneity in each of my works, there is also a balanced level of logic.
The road is a fantasy. Straight and unnatural. Safe and predictable. It is a construct that becomes symbolic when painted .
Michael Pollan, author of a new book about the use of psychedelics, spoke so lucidly with Terry Gross about the virtue of openness that is so common to people with experience of hallucinogenics. It either comes easily, or if it does not, one must abide by openness. Or fight. Or do mushrooms, I guess. Being described as logical was a new one for me. Mind you, this was from a painter of zen chickens who might avoid logic like a ship avoids the storm, or a vehicle avoids turns.
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