Around 2004, I began to feel a foreboding sense of doom around my artistic abilities. Perhaps the easiest way to describe this is that I felt as though I would be “struck dead” if I failed to develop the artistic ability that I was born with and obviously had my whole life. It is difficult to describe this feeling and the certainty with which it pursued me. So I began taking painting classes. Around this same time, the fish showed up, demanding to be painted. I was not good enough to paint them on a canvas. But still they insisted. So I painted them–crudely–inside of pottery bowls:
You’ve perhaps heard similar stories from musicians who say a song comes over the landscape and the have to “capture” it. Timekeepers were similar, they quietly, insistently, consistently, demanded that I get better so that they could exist. I tried several times to paint them, unsuccessfully.
Finally, I was able to do it. This is the painting you see today. Timekeepers is one of the few paintings I have painted without any reference (meaning, I’ve looked at nothing to create the image, no pictures of fish, the sky, etc.). They came straight out of the brush and onto the canvas. Here is their story:
“Timekeepers are eternal. They hold the space between the day sky and the night sky–where it is neither day, nor night. It is the space of infinity, and simultaneously the space of beginnings and endings. Their work is to create and hold that infinite moment that is the always and forever now in which we live. They create and hold the paradox that is the sense of the past and the sense of the future, but yet it is always eternally now. While we constantly change and grow, we never, ever, leave the infinite now. All we ever have is now. The past does not matter, the future does not yet exist, and will never exist. It is always, forever now. Be, now. Live, now. Love, now.“ (add in the picture of the Timekeepers painting, too)