I recall the first time I chose to paint with oils on a canvas. It was a thundering revelation. I suddenly saw my life stretched out before me. A difficult, painfully unclear life. Like someone heading into a darkening sky filled with storm clouds. And this vision has come true. But in a way, my life is much better than I imagined it'd be. I couldn't have foreseen its minor triumphs, its odd successes, and its general air of satisfaction. I got what I wanted, some of the time. Actually much more than I dared to want. I believe it was mostly due to an early sense of mild confusion. I didn't see myself arriving at any place where a person would hope to be. I didn't feel that I deserved anything particularly grand. I was happy with whatever scraps fell from the table of life. It was enough. It could have been much worse. I never starved, and always had a roof over my head. And I made paintings and sold paintings. I learned how to do those two things. And am still learning. Painting is one long self-education.
