Robert Bingamanのインスタグラム(robertjosiah) - 2月26日 04時01分
In October of 2016, after mounting an exhausting, heart-emptying exhibition at @hawcontemporary, I was languishing on a hillside at Barton Springs with my friend @sco, and he asked me, “so what’s next?” I remember saying, “I don’t know,” and really meaning it. It wasn’t his fault, but I hated the question. I wanted something to simply exist for a while. For time to stop barreling forward. I did know that my relationship to painting would change. All of the sudden, after 15 years, my fantasy was to stop completely. I had other more pressing questions to answer. Questions like, how did I get here? Can I begin a career in commercial filmmaking? Do I want to live? Those are questions that take some sorting.
Answers unfolded over time, beginning with a desire to truly live. A desire to honor my existence. To be a worthy partner. To love my family. To master a new trade. To work with people. To accept being disliked. To fail, and to succeed.
Out of anxiety or insecurity, I sometimes told people I had started painting again when I hadn’t. We hold so tight to notions of identity, of viability. But deep down, I knew it would simply come of its own accord, or not. If it returned, it would be allowed to exist as a form of rest. A hobby even. It would visit me without pretension, pressure, or angst. The desire would return to its visceral origin—the simple compulsion to put color in specific places. To imperil shapes and then rescue them. And for the last several weeks, I’ve been setting the daylight on Sundays apart from my other pursuits to paint. As it should be, paint now is a place for curious doubt. For presence and gratitude. For “I love you,” speaker unknown. And a few hours on Sundays—or even only some Sundays—is more than enough. Whatever that makes me, I’m glad to be.
[BIHAKUEN]UVシールド(UVShield)
>> 飲む日焼け止め！「UVシールド」を購入する
261
13
2019/2/26
