My earliest memory, my only memories...are of color, texture, layers...
When I was in kindergarten, I would ask my teacher if I could miss recess to stay inside and create. To create was to play. To play was to paint or color or shadow or draw or cut or glue...in and outside the lines.
That's how surrealism is born. It's like taking a snapshot of a dream. It's capturing one precise moment in time when the obscure is laid bare for interpretation.
That is how the Lord speaks to me. He puts my hand to canvas. And oil on top of oil, his visions become my visions. It is my heartfelt hope, that these visions become clear to those that see them. For through these works, the Master speaks, rhema words through art...fitting for the moment in the life and time of the viewer.
God teaches me to paint in the most extraordinary ways. If I need to paint a broken mirror, I know to take a tangible one and smash it to pieces to see it in its splintered dimensions. Light and shadow, curvature, a break, even if not a clean one, can speak volumes once translated to a work of art.
When people see my work, I want them to see God. I want them to feel the breath of the Holy Spirit as he speaks to them as he spoke to me. I want people to come who need to see and feel. I want to be a worker among the harvest...my testimony being spun with an artist's brush. That is my gift from my heavenly Father. That is my gift to you.
Degas, one of my favorite artists, once said, 'Art is not what you see. It is what you make others see.' If you view my art and have renewed vision, I have done my job. If you view my work and you hear a still small voice, I have fueled my passion. If you view my dream and feel a tug by the Holy Spirit, I have fulfilled my destiny.