The truth is I just really like to paint. It’s my love language. My own tender and bold way to love life. To find the little moments that mean nothing. I’m in love with those. Warped by time and body my love prevails. I love the humanity of it all. The heaviness. The fleetingness. The messiness. I love painting but I’m not a painter. I’m a lover. Art is just my medium. And if it weren’t for love, why bother?