I paint without brushes.
I use the glass dropper from a jar of acrylic ink. FW acrylic ink to be exact. I owe this technique to my
cat Lola. She got my attention one morning at 3:00 am by knocking over jars of acrylic ink onto a
large piece of canvas as I sat staring, wondering where to begin. Watching the ink pour-a-puddle, I
grabbed the dropper to save the color. Pulling it off to put it back in the jar. Then I saw it. A shape of
sorts. Might be a flower, possibly a hand but definitely something had formed from this apparent mess
on canvas. I happen to love messes so it was a good fit. A style is born. Meow.
I have been creative my whole life as the saying goes. I remember Harold and the Purple Crayon falling off the shelf at the library. I secretively hated books. Lacked the patience to read. But I loved this book. Simple pictures, few words and he drew on walls! My hero. This began my love of line, which I still am quite fond of. Taking a pencil, pulling the line into form amazes me even now. How one line can make an incredible shape or write beautiful words. Long live the lovely line.
I did draw a lot growing up and owe that entirely to my Nanny. Salomae Bielawa Michno. I loved her. She saw that my mischeviousnes was actually art in hiding so she sat me down with a tin of broken crayons and animal stencils and a stack of paper and I was gone. In heaven. Lost track of time. Don't talk to me. This was why I was here. To create. Something. Not sure what at this point but I sure knew I had found a part of me that was meant to be.