Snapshot Of An Artist & The Desire To Be Perfect.

He said “I just want to paint perfect pictures. A way to create a perfect world.”

So I asked why do you want to paint? He said, “it is because it feels like acceptance; but at the same time never truly is.” He said, “as an artist, there is something within, that silently strives for an impossible standard.” Notably, the fine detail is thoughtful, considered and patient, the art of the self-critical.

Mostly the oil paintings represent moments of life. Moments that sometimes create an illusion, moments that make the world look calmer and more beautiful. Sometimes the moments unveil. Sometimes it is the ordinary day, sometimes it is remembering that day you forgot to appreciate whilst you were living it.

The paintbrush draws into the world, slowly enough for us to finally see it. The careful paintbrush that acknowledges consideration to form. The captured moment. The desire to paint what the eye translates.

Memory itself is the imperfect painter, we do not remember life clearly, we remember its warmth.

Warmth is a strange kind of magic because it rarely announces itself.

It lives in small things.

The helping hand

The amber glow of a cafe’s lighting on a rainy day.

The sunlight seeping through a dark space.

A small kindness that remembers you gently.

The feeling that, somehow, your existence was welcomed.

Not grand gestures.
Not perfection.

Just the quiet art of making another person feel less alone in the cold. The softness of sun, that has survived the winter. The gentle amount of colour on a canvas.