I’ve realized that I relate to everyone on the train despite never really talking to them much, often drawing them as I travel around the city. I feel like every person out there is only at the beginning of life every day, no being ever static enough to truthfully describe. I feel that no one ever is, but rather is becoming or is being through being.
I try to paint people so that I don’t understand them better; in fact, by placing people I’ve never met into open ended narratives I find myself filled with a joyful anxiety that provides more questions than it does answers. The paintings are usually bigger than my body; something I can’t physically hold or have a physical presence over. The colors in these typically are from personal memory, usually of fleeting things. The color is then chased, lost, discovered and lost again; like strangers on a train.
I try to dissolve who I know and whom I have met, who I don’t know and whom I’ve never met, what I know and what I don’t know into this soup of experience that leaves me in a state of happy confusion. It becomes the connectedness I feel when I see a stranger smile at a text or sigh on their way to work. It becomes like being hugged at a funeral or a birthday party.
I can't be anything more than my point of view and I have decided that I feel the reduction of human beings into answers, as either this or that doesn’t reflect the truth of what humanity is.
It’s liberating to think that people are potentialities and that I don’t understand them.