pursuing the poetics in everyday life and drawing a parallel to the practice of painting.

an observation in the Fall, the way the leaves stained the pavement led to an experiment of leaving the leaves to rot or stain a canvas left outside in the elements.  this led to working with raw canvas and paint, among other things, revisiting a method from the past and always enjoying Frankenthaller, Morris Louis and the beauty of the stain.  From here... more canvas being painted and left outside, left in the rain, snow, in rivers, in fires, bleached, hosed off, baked in the sun and played with, paint applied, sprayed, drawn on, what other actions can be done?  Traveling with the work, bringing it from studio to home to studio again.  Building a relationship with it, love/hate and despair and finding some on the back and the front, going between the two.  Letting it settle, reeking of the past, of experience, old and beaten up, flying a flag of truce, tattered torn but still intact, made to be pristine and perhaps hiding this experience pretending to be wide-eyed innocence.  naive beauty.  Hanging up to dry, bringing it in from the rain, caring like it is an extension, carrying it around like a weight, like something you can't get rid of even if you tried.