A knife in my hand–

And you’ll have to pry it out

paint stains on cold hands


Here’s the thing– I love painting with knives, and once I get going it’s hard to stop. I don’t know what it is– perhaps the directness of my intention, the unreserved application of paint, the fact that it is called a knife and makes me feel part surgeon, part maniac, part caretaker (yes, of course I can butter that toast for you).

When I paint with watercolor sometimes I think, who are you? From where did this delicacy come? And I like it. I really do. But I’ll always return again and again to oil paint and a knife– cutting right to the heart of things.

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