Some people call me a painter, but I don’t see myself that way.
Some people say they paint too, that it’s nice, a relaxing thing to do.
I don’t see what I do as being like that at all . . . though I never say.
I’m an artist, I’ve done my years of toil (decades really) and I’ve spent my years at study. I don’t paint . . . I use paint as the blood I create with. Every single work is a living thing to me, every single brush stroke frightens me - but the thought of not working, not creating, not trying to climb the next cliff-face, and the next and the next, frightens me more. I want to stand on the mountaintop, though I know there is no mountaintop, just another cliff face, and another, another painting that will frighten me and then delight me before I stand at the foot of the next cliff, and look up, and take a deep breath.
I’m an artist . . . and I’m proud of that.
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