I am a self-taught painter working in oils. Once, I was asked why I painted; did I enjoy it?
The questions took me by surprise. I had never really thought about such things before. The only answer I could give was that I didn’t necessarily enjoy it, after all, it is a lot of work, but I did paint because I had to. I have a need to create.
I suppose the questions were really meant to get me talking about painting, and I suppose I could say many things, but as someone who is painting, I am not all that interested in analyzing why someone does it. I am more interested in the technical aspects: the materials, the marks, the subject, and such. I have found that these topics don’t interest many people, other than painters. All I could think to say is something I said some time ago:
“Form and meaning give me the excuse to play with colour, my great love, and in the mix, a painting comes to life that occupies a space in the pictorial world.”
This is probably the closest I have ever come to making a statement of purpose; and it is probably only true for a time, for like all things in life, I too, change over time. Nevertheless, the paintings speak for themselves; and that is all that really matters.