I’ve painted and drawn since my teens, I can’t help it. It puts me in a state of mind where the unexpected happens.
My only benchmark? If the paintings stay up on my own walls. Even better, when friends take one home. Their living rooms have been my exhibition spaces for as long as I can remember.
You can write endless forewords about being an artist and what art is. I’ve read plenty. They sound convincing, until you enter the gallery and see the crowd doing the art-world two-step: lean in, step back, sip wine…
Art connects people, it sparks discussion, disagreement, laughter, even horror. I like that. Meanwhile, the artist has already moved on, after months alone with brushes, materials, and doubt. Some works sell. Others end up in storage.
Putting yourself out there takes nerve. But as Jørgen Haugen Sørensen once said to me during a conversation on the subject: “ I’m not brave, art is just the only thing I know how to do.”
I grew up with POP ART. It’s bold, vibrant, and unpretentious — and I liked that. Still do.
