We were just remarking the other day at our good fortune in repairing the roof on my home studio. I had discovered a lot of water damage last spring after a heavy rain, and many things were damaged. Some salvageable and some not.
I knew that I had a lot of paper out there, Watercolor paper, printmaking paper, etc.. So I was thinking why not use it. I ended up getting about ten sheets of hot press watercolor to work with. Every sheet had water stains and rusty looking edges. Nothing that a couple of coats of gesso couldn't fix. So I started priming the sheets to use for the series of paintings that I was working on.
It was spooky how similar the water stains were to my current color palette and how easy it would be to incorporate them into a painting. It was like the past had reached through the fabric of time and pulled me back to the days when I was working on those same papers, with that same palette, in that same studio fifteen years before. I spent the rest of the day mulling over time space continuum theories, back to the future theories and how even if we have no religion or follow no mythology, the synchronicity of life and the time loop of familiarity can create it's own dogma in each of our lives. So I look at this paper and see an entire chunk of my life and I wonder about the meaning of it being here now, again. Perhaps there is no meaning, and the meaning is in what I make from the paper. How I react to it once the paper has all been used.
Connecting the dots... I think about these things, not because I am looking for some kind of singularity to merge and make it all make sense; and surely not because I want to find some sort of art speak meaning to it all. That is just a myth. More than anything I like the way things drop into my life. I like how even the smallest thing will spur me to deeper thought. I think that I just like to think...