I've been asking myself questions about my art lately. Interviews tend to do this to me, leave my thoughts circling around some central idea that I cannot quite get to because it is so fortressed. I think of my own art as intimate poetry, as letters to a loved one, as metaphor in itself. I've become obsessed with the idea of what we keep, of submerged and secret selves, and of all the personal meaning that gathers in objects, places and words. I've barely begun to say what I want to... but I am happy with what's emerging.
Love and Blessings,
|The Good Daughter. Acrylic, Pen and Collage.|