Painting is like listening to music.
Both Painting and Music have the power to make me move. They both make me feel. They both are in the now. Once a note passes it is gone. It marks a moment in time, just like a stroke of a brush full of color. Painting is not just the stroke. Not just the color chosen to be on the end of the brush. It is also the smell of the paint and the turpentine, the texture, the stroke from beginning to end. Painting is the sound of the brush hitting the canvas with the wet paint on its end, sounding a bit like a stick hitting a gob of wet mud with a whoosh as the grass is being hit along with it. The movement of my body swinging with the motion of the brush in my hand dabbing at the palette, taking a step towards the oversized canvas, swinging my arms, splattering the paint, using my whole body to make that stroke in that one moment of time.
I listen to music on the stereo and in my mind I am Dancing. Dancing with Canvas. Dancing with Paint.