Painting to me is a process, a long one, which I muddle through. Painting is like driving into a tunnel. A long and winding one. I drive into a tunnel not clearly seeing what’s ahead. Nevertheless, I keep going because I know it will end. Most of the time, I see the light at the end of the tunnel and find my way out. Other times, I am lost.
During this process, I try to face myself honestly. It is painful but necessary. When this long and distressing journey’s over, I am not in the painting. My paintings do not need me anymore. They stand on their own, separated from me. They talk to me.