acrylics and collage on w/c paper, 10 X 11″
My lovely hat serves to disguise my hollow emptiness. No one knows my true identity, not even I. I blame the moisture and dryness, the heat and the cold, and the bugs, of course. There’s so little left of the me that was. But it’s enough to wonder, Who was I?
Just another garden variety identity crisis. We artists have them more frequently than most, and the Buddhist in me has them all the time as I seek the one who is seeking.
On Monday this week we played with heavy body paints, slathering them on thickly with palette knives and rollers, smooshing a bit with fingers and scraping back through wet paint. Fun!