I think about the answer to the question “what do you paint?” a lot.  Probably because I get asked this question a lot and have a hard time coming up with an on the spot answer.  And yet even though I think about it all the time, obsess about it even, I still can’t think of an adequate answer.

It might be easier to say what I don’t paint.  I don’t do portraits, landscapes or still life, at least not in the typical manner one might think of.  Neither am I an abstract expressionist, a realist or graphic artist.  And I don’t do “I” art.

“I” art.  Yuck.  The art that screams look at me and see how fucked up I am, isn’t that cool?  I can’t do this art.  I am amazingly not very fucked up for an artist.  I wasn’t abused, neglected or abandoned as a child.  I had a great childhood with a wonderful mother and full access to nature, fresh air and friends.  I have been poor, but never destitute.  I have on occasion been one or all of the following: tired, depressed, lonely and frustrated.  But no more so than any other person is in the compartmentalized world of technology we currently live in.  I am not a person of color, handicapped, homosexual or exploited.  So even if I wanted to (which I must stress I most assuredly do not want) I have nothing to make “I” art about.

I don’t make political art either.  I think political art is useless and egocentric, made more for the artist’s 15 minutes of fame than for any real expectation of change.  If I am interested in politics, I will take that interest to the voting booth or the soap box, but not to the canvas.  Of course much to my art sorrow, this is the kind of art that gets the most funding.

So what do I paint?  I asked myself again today while mountain biking on the trails at Rock Cut State Park.  And I decided that just for today, I am going to say I paint beauty and optimism and innocence.  I paint a love of nature, the remembrance of childish wonder and the blind trust that people will eventually (given enough chances) do the right thing.

Maybe there is just a little “I” art, political posturing in me after all.

Tied Fence Anderson Japanese Garden