It's time for another sweep of my old paintings, to reassess, salvage those that need it, throw away. This is the first time I've gone through some work in decades... rolls and rolls of canvases from my earliest days as a painter. And it's the first time I've had a digital camera, with it's instant gratification for correction. I hardly ever look at my old slides. I was no photographer, and I seldom had the money for a real one. Most of this work lay forgotten and undocumented in what ever storage place I could muster... attic or basement, garage. There are a couple of crates of thickly painted paintings I'm leaving for last. I expect, after all the freeze-thaws and years of damp there will be little left of the paint surface, and I know there are no photos of this work.
I am ready to let go of all of it. It seems to me that I was marking time. That these are place holders, tickets for the future.I was teaching myself my colours, educating my hand, and protecting my heart. I was figuring myself out, because everything, including me, was an enigma. If someone said "oh you are a landscape painter" I would say to myself, "okay let's see what a landscape painter does".