Another of the paintings I just discovered in my garage.
This painting, however, has the distinction of being one the oldest canvases I have in my possession—painted in 1992.
It was the painting in which I had a breakthrough.
It was in this painting that I unlearned everything my teachers taught me.
I realize that in life, we do not see things like a camera.
A camera sees objects one shot at a time, in a systematic manner, one item at the same moment.
But when we humans walk down the street, we don’t see objects like that.
We see objects in multiple layers,
embedded in memory.
We see objects as cut and paste,
in strata, levels, as films,
one on top of the other
to make sense of reality.
For instance, when I see a person, I may not see the entire body, but may focus on the face only.
Then my gaze may move to the feet to check out the shoes, then I may be distracted briefly by a dog;
then my eyes may move to the building next to the person, before I return to this person again.
Where is this person going, dressed so gorgeously?
Then I start thinking about the wedding I must attend that weekend. That is the way we see things.
We see things together, in contexts
not in isolation.
How does one translate that way of thinking to the canvas, I asked myself.
The result is this painting.
Once I got this breakthrough,
I knew I could fly
with my compositions
without any limit.