Why Do I Do What I Do?  This is actually a better name for this series of blog posts.  Why the hell do I do THIS???

Today the question for me is why abstract art?  Why not representational?  Well, I've always loved abstract art.  It has always attracted me.  Yes, there are wonderful representational works of art.  But abstract art attracts me like nothing else ever has.   One of the big benefits of abstract art is that it has unlimited possibilities.  The sky is the limit.  There is nothing holding me back because what I make need not conform to ... anything.  My art doesn't have to look like anything specific.  This lack of requirements, lack of definition, is particularly appealing because I work in resin.  Resin does not lend itself to representational art.  In fact, representational work is nearly impossible to do with colored resin (color added to resin which is what I paint with) for creating with colored resin is rather like painting with molasses.  Resin runs, flows and moves.  Usually, I WANT it to run, flow and move.  Sometimes it runs, flows and moves whether I want it to or not.  In that event, sometimes the result is wonderful.  Sometimes, well, the result is not only not wonderful, the result can be completely inadequate and immensely wrong in every respect.

So abstract art is my "thing".  My only hope (and prayer) is that I do it well.

There are quite a few reasons that I create art.  In the next blog posts, I'm going to explore this question.

First, I create art because I, rather miraculously, have the ability to create beauty.  Who knew?  This former lawyer who never had an art class in high school or college (and certainly not in law school) somehow has the ability to create beautiful things. 

Trust me, no one is more surprised about this than I. 

Long ago, a dear friend sat me down one tough mid-divorce day when I stopped by for encouragement, a listening ear and a cup of coffee and encouraged me to collage with her.  Three hours later, I had created my first piece of art ever.  It was and is a lovely little piece.  I was amazed (and still am) that I could create something so ... so good.  I marveled at the first adult work of art that I had ever created.  My friend, who was a professional artist for many years and had taught art, was also amazed at what I had created.   She had always said that everyone has artistic talent, that I only needed to find the right medium.  I had thought that was, well, nonsense.  Turns out she was right.  I too had the ability to create art.  

Once you realize that you can create art, how could you possibly stop creating?  

Here's Seth's blog for today:

More than a hundred billion people have ever lived. Perhaps 1,000 have been widely heralded as artistic geniuses who painted in oils.

And perhaps there were another thousand genius physicists and just one Nobel-Prize winning folksinger.

We sell ourselves short when we argue that there's something magical about creative work, something that can only happen if we're born to do it.

It's not that different from the thesis that there's something in the DNA of Spanish-speaking people that makes them good at soccer. I hope we can agree that people from countries that speak Spanish are more likely to be soccer stars because they grow up surrounded by soccer, with the expectation that they too can be good at it.

It's not too late for you to be a genius. It comes at a price, but it's not based on your DNA.

I can attest that this is true. After all, I went from lawyer to artist, which is, you must admit, a radical change.  If you would have told me in, say, 1990 that I'd become an artist, I would have fallen off of my hobnailed lawyer chair laughing.

You just never know what's gonna happen next. 

A new friend of mine who is a professional art mentor and instructor referred me to John O'Donohue's " conversation with Krista Tippet on The Inner Landscape of Beauty.  You can either listen to it or read a transcript of it here:

https://onbeing.org/programs/john-odonohue-the-inner-landscape-of-beauty-aug2017/

One of his quotes:  “It’s strange to be here. The mystery never leaves you.”   That is, I think, especially true for artists.  

I commend this conversation to your attention.