I am learning that, as an intuitive painter, I am directed by the emotional climate around me. Peace, harmony, confidence:  my painting is calm but intriguing.  Angry, hateful, frightened:  it is garish; it clashes like the angry missiles fired from one side to the other. 

I agree:  the more harmonious and intriguing pieces are more pleasant to look at.  The angry ones are like a quick slam of the face into the blades of the fan.  It’s even hard for me to look at them for more than a few moments. But then, we have become a society stricken with ADHD.  It’s almost impossible for us to pay attention for more than 140 characters, anyway.

And, of course, he who yells loudest, wins.  (Thank you, Jerry Springer).  Truth is determined by the volume of the teller and the number of parrots who can mimic his sound bites.

As we head into the next Feudal State, plunge headlong into the darkness, I think artists have to do what they have always done when the Goddess of Dullness descends to numb the collective consciousness into submission.  We have to go underground, and we have to preserve the work that went before the fall.  Like candlelight Monks fastidiously copying manuscripts, we must continue to breathe for art, to keep it alive.

My plan of tack (not attack; just tack – the harnessing of existing wind to accomplish a specific direction and destination), my plan of tack is to take control of my own climate.  Rather than reacting to the mood of the day like a leaf in the breeze, I will create my own wind.  It’s time to turn off media (the modern day snake in the garden), go within, meditate and create peace. 

Only then will the intuitive art I create not be a reflection of something outside of me and beyond my control. It will reflect the only thing I know is true:  my soul.