There Are A Few Of Us . .

Oil on linen on panel, 6" x 8"

I am one of those guys who has had multiple jobs and careers in my life. Most recently, teaching art / painting and being a realtor. Before that it was business owner, hi tech manager, salesman, marketing guy . . .all kinds of stuff . . .most of which had nothing to do with art. At a late age, the bug bit me. Age 46. And now, 18 years later, the bug still chomps down on me. Art is the only thing that has ever held my interest for any length of time beyond 2 or 3 years. Or, should I say that art is my compulsion.

A while ago, I had my studio on the same floor as my office and bedrooms are. . . .near the bathroom. If the door to the studio was open, it was a rare thing to pass that door without entering the studio to fiddle for a minute or two. Time stood still in that room. And often to the detriment of everything else in my life. That sort of access fed my compulsion and taught me much. What I learned over time is this: There are only a few of us who can even tell the difference in two colors of red . . .there are only a few who study value patterns, or shape design, or who feel that it really DOES matter to be concerned about what is going on in the world of art. There are only a few who really 'get' why people paint or make art. There are even fewer who will give painting a place in life that has priority.

And when someone else recognizes the compulsion . . .and sees it as honorable (ahem!) . . . .it seems that someone becomes a lifelong friend. That someone knows our heart . . and knows how much art really does matter.

I celebrate those who paw a keyboard daily in search of good art . . .or make it their business to find artists and see their work in some other way. They may not be the reason we do this, but they certainly provide validation. They, along with the few of us, really do understand that bread alone does not nourish us!

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