Acrylic paint, ballpoint pen, tape, on a solid pine canvas.
I had been thinking about this and saw the idea of what this painting was going to be several months ago, but was in the process of moving and realized I had packed my paint supplies up in a box that was unreachable.
The image was burned into my brain.
Normally when I have an idea or a “vision” of something, I try to sketch it and get it on paper immediately, but this felt different.
I knew this was going to be a scene of a green mountain, with red flags along the path, and a stormy sky. It felt really unusual to picture something so clearly when I normally work with more abstract ideas.
As I sat and thought about it, I realized the landscape in my head was abstract. It was a place I had never been to, yet I could see it vividly. The landscape was a representation of a feeling, and all the pieces started to come together.
How do we relate to our consciousness?
What does it mean to be conscious?
What drives the things we do?
What has influence over the things we do, and the way we feel?
Is the ability to think a blessing or a curse?
Why do we keep trying?