Sometimes, before I can write, meaning emerges in my art.
Each dream, each colour, each brush stroke, each vision is a way of holding what can not yet be spoken. On the paper and canvas, I stop controlling and counting what matters, and just let it be whatever it will be.
The colour and brush strokes flow. With each movement, I feel the weight of control ease around my shoulder as I poured my deepest and darkest fears and loving thoughts and prayers into the paint. The work moves as I move. It change as I change. It carries what I am becoming.
It wasn’t until several years later that the art became animation. It started as writer’s block. I couldn’t find the words to compliment the paintings and the knowledge and practice I inherently knew. It was through animation that we brought the images to life. And as they moved, as they breathed and unfolded, I saw something I had not been able to see before. I saw movement. And from that movement, I finally found the words.
Not to explain the journey, but to walk it.
