The inspiring springtime of 2020, and the productive 2021.

The spring of 2020 has been one of the most creative periods I’ve experienced in my almost three decades of painting. The last time I have had a creative surge of this kind happened more than a decade ago, and it led to a large body of works created in 2009-2010. In the years that followed, my  output diminished, though I did create a few pieces that I consider as highlights. By 2014, however, I encountered something of a dead end that led to my giving up studio rental, and I all but abandoned making large-scale painting since. The pieces I was working on at that time I rolled up unfinished, and whatever was in stock I tried to get rid of as soon as I could. I’m not in a habit of keeping my own finished work around too long because I can’t really look at it once it’s done. The reasons that I ‘quit’ at that point were practical: I could no longer afford the quickly rising rent of the studio, and any there were no art sales to speak of after the financial crisis of 2008. Above that was a painful realization that I started repeating myself. Perhaps this is something that happens to every artist when he or she approaches a certain age and has been painting for at least a couple of decades. To remain creative and innovative, to be able to reinvent oneself is perhaps the most difficult challenge for any person, let alone a creative one. I chose to take an indefinite break rather than go on churning out the same stuff I had already done plenty of times before.

The Heart, oil on canvas, 60x90cm, 2013 (Private Collection, Netherlands)

In the years that followed—2014 to 2019–I didn’t hang my hat altogether, but I needed to take a break. Now and then, I still painted and sketched small formats at home, but the new challenges I found during these years such as picking up and rediscovering jazz guitar, which was something I regrettably quit aged 16, pursuing studying languages, and working as an academic English adjunct professor at the universities in Amsterdam took up more of my time. I sure missed painting large formats in these years; after all, losing oneself in a big canvas is a very meditative process, but looking back, I am very happy I took a break. My art career hadn’t been going places, and the large, ambitious works remained unsold. There was no serious acknowledgement from the art establishment, as I had hoped that last somewhat ambitious project would evoke. Through the new hobbies, through travel and through my teaching work I was learning new things that, no doubt, eventually contributed to my being able to reinvent myself creatively and discover, to my own surprise, that I still have it in me to do something new, to tap into something outside myself, something that belongs to the realm of the collective subconscious.

In the summer of 2019, I pulled out one of several stretched blank canvas I still had standing around since 2010, and spent the summer painting in a little hallway outside my apartment, a common space that I am not supposed to use as an artist’s studio. I didn’t think anyone would like what I wanted to paint, so it was really a little project to please myself. Alongside this bigger canvas, I was also making some smaller works that were more palatable, less experimental, and that I knew I would be able to sell. Not expecting anyone’s interest in this somewhat bigger work of 120x140cm I let myself loose. When I finally finished it by the end of last summer and posted it on social media, the enthusiasm it generated among a number of my friends came as a surprise. The majority of my fans of course theretofore preferred my more realistic and more accessible works, but the fact that several people were very excited about this new stuff was almost baffling. I seriously did not expect anyone to appreciate this piece, let alone want to own it, but several offers were made, and I eventually sold for a modest sum to a collector in France. I wasn’t after the money; the fact someone appreciated this crazy piece that I thought nobody would ever want was in itself rewarding. After all, in the wake of quitting in 2014, I have basically sold all my artwork for voluntary donations for materials.

Facing the Music, oil on linen, 120x140cm, 2019 (Private Collection, France)

In the fall of 2019, I wasn’t painting much, mainly working at the university and focusing on playing jazz, and in December I was away to visit family in the US. After returning to Amsterdam in January, I was again back to teaching and playing music, but in February I decided to give another go at a relatively large piece, this time on paper, to save myself both the expenses the time making this artwork. Again, the drawing was met with enthusiasm from a number of people and sold fairly quickly. Inspired by this response, I decided to proceed with a little less caution in the following works, and to devote the spring and summer 2020 to making a few more of these works in the new ‘crazy’ style. Really, I didn’t have much to lose. In addition to a few blanks canvas I had had standing around for a decade, I have been storing more than a dozen medium and small-format canvas that I at one point started and abandoned, being too distracted with other things. The acrylic and oil paints were too mostly purchased a long time ago when I had a budget for paints. In March 2020, I was supposed to go to Nepal, and I planned to dive into painting after returning in April when longer and warmer days would be more conducive to painting in the little hallway outside my apartment.

The Forest and the Trees, 150x150cm, acrylic on paper, 2/2020 (Private Collection, Germany)

The day before leaving for Nepal, I played a gig with two of my friends as a jazz trio. It was the last live gig before the virus measures were implemented, and since I had arranged for a Nepal tourist visa in advance, I thought my timing had been perfect in escaping the virus panic. The gig was very inspiring, with the bar filled with clientele and the audience going bananas in defiance of the advancing of the bad days. An 88-year old customer was celebrating his birthday, and attentively listened to us playing. Next morning, I Googled to see whether Nepal had changed any of their entry policy requirements, and found a document that was issued the previous day announcing that foreigners traveling to Nepal from all of the EU and the US were required to produce an official clean bill of health. Needless to say, obtaining such a document on short or even long notice was impossible. I made a few calls to my accommodation in Kathmandu and though they didn’t know about these last developments, they gave me the number of the airport officials at the airport there. I called there, and they explained, “If you arrive today, before midnight, you’re in the clear and as long as you have a visa, we’ll let you in.” “My flight leaves this afternoon,” I said, “But it arrives at 10AM tomorrow, and I’m also transferring in Doha.” “In that case I’m afraid we can’t let you enter Nepal, and will send you home,” said the man firmly, then added, “You must understand.” “I do understand,” I answered. Nevertheless, not giving up until the last, I picked up my suitcase stuffed with hiking gear and my traveller’s guitar and headed to the airport. The line was long; before getting to the check-in desk, I asked one of the flight attendants whether they knew much about the latest restrictions imposed by Nepal. “We can’t let you board,” she replied right away. “We’ve already sent a number of people bound for Nepal home. Hold on, let me double-check with my manager.” The manager came over a minute later with the printout of the document I saw online that morning, and confirmed that I wasn’t going anywhere but back home. “Your flight will be refunded by the agency you bought the ticket from.” Thus, denied boarding, I had to return home.

Out of Nowhere (acrylics on linen, 180x200cm, started in 2011-finished in 2020, Private Collection, US/NL)

When I got back home, it was still relatively early, and I went out and bought myself some medication and did grocery shopping for two weeks ahead. I was starting to cough and after checking my tongue in the mirror saw it tainted with a yellowish residue. I had a thermometer but had hardly ever used it, and it had since then broke. Replacing the batteries didn’t help either, and the drug stores were out of thermometers, masks and toilet paper. Luckily, I had enough of the latter as I always buy wet tissues when going traveling. At any rate, since there was good chance I may have picked up the virus somewhere over the past few days, I went into self-isolation, self-quarantine, whichever it was.

In the days that followed, I had more anxiety than anything else and called my GP to prescribe me some sleeping pills to restore my regular sleeping pattern that had already been messed up for weeks prior to this. The GP, who was about to retire a few weeks afterwards, generously prescribed me a two-week supply of pretty strong medication. By that time I had already developed a dry cough that reached pretty deep down the throat, bringing back the irritation I had when I used to smoke in my younger days. The dryness of this unusual cold and the lack of appetite made me suspect it was not the usual cold or the flu that I rarely come down with anyway. In the middle of the night, when  there was supposedly not a soul outside, I biked out to the pharmacy to pick up my medication from their 24-7 vending machine. Despite the late hour—it was about 2AM—to my surprise, there were enough people out, going somewhere by bike or walking, couples and some small groups. 

Once I got back home, I popped one sleeping pill and it knocked me out clean until 10 the next morning when I woke with a very clear head and in high spirits. I experienced something of an epiphany: it was time to pull out all those canvas and unfinished projects and get to work. It was unlikely I would get any teaching work in April, and probably also not in the summer months; I figured it was probably not until September that there would be any teaching gigs at all. Another side job I did working as a tour guide for tourists was also down indefinitely. All of a sudden, I had not just the time, but full focus to apply to creative pursuits. There would be no distractions and no other priorities that would steer me away from this. No hobbies, no traveling, no dating—by far, the biggest waste of time and focus—no social interaction of any kind for at least some time was something that I actually really welcomed. I would have been too weak to deny myself all of these little and bigger thrills I was caught up in 'normal' times. Thanks to the lockdown, however, I was plunged into solitude, and it may have been something I've needed since a while. I soon stopped reading or watching the news that only seemed to get more grim, filled with misinformed and panic, and instead focused entirely on my own creative pursuits, something that I had really missed.

Watching the Paint Dry, watercolor and ink on paper, 50x65cm (Private Collection, Netherlands)

In the past two months since the pandemic has brought Amsterdam to a standstill, I have been inspired to make a dozen artworks and intend to keep on painting and drawing through the summer months. The contrast between, on the one hand, the city being serene and beautiful in the springtime  when everything is in bloom, when the skies are of the purest azure and aren’t tainted by chem trails, when the canals are as smooth as a mirror and, on the other hand, the anxiety and (mis)information overload has unhinged me creatively in the most unexpected ways. All of a sudden, whatever I had struggled with fell into place as of its own accord and started to come out effortlessly. I didn’t need to force anything, nor think much—the stars somehow aligned. You never know when the inspiration will come over you; when you least expect it, indeed.

The Sunset from the Blauwbrug, watercolor and ink on paper, 30x40cm (Private Collection, Netherlands)

May 31st

I’m sometimes asked what these new pieces represent and what inspires me. I can offer a few things. Firstly, looking at all my paintings over the past 30 years, one can trace how they evolved and how some of the imagery from artworks dating to my teens still finds its way into the new work. Secondly, as mentioned above, over the years, my interests have involved languages, music, philosophy, literature and science, all of these inevitably affect my new work too. Additionally, I have travelled extensively over the past fifteen years, and by this time in my life have gone through enough 'drama' to be able to express in my art a full emotional spectrum. Moreover, since teenage years, I have always felt very close to Dada, Surrealism, Fluxus and the absurd, that is the art movements of the last century that were the closest to art for art's sake, to creativity in its purest form, didn't have a political propaganda slant and did not involve any marketing agenda. Perhaps it took a year such as this bizarre 2020 is turning out to be for me to dare throw all of the above into the blender to see what comes out. But, above all, true creative process--and by this I don’t mean just the arts but also sciences and invention--are driven by intuition. Of course one has to know his craft, his tools, technique and so on, but to push the envelope, to charter into unknown territory, following through on a hunch is more essential than anything else. For me, with this new work, beyond the above-mentioned reasons, it’s a journey of discovery. I'll frankly admit that I don’t know what I’m doing with these new works, where all this stuff is coming from, and where it is going. The more abstract the piece, the less premeditated it is; most of these are spontaneous and when I paint them, I go into a ‘zone’ for a couple of hours at a stretch, and when I come to, the canvas is already as busy as a Where's Waldo picture. In fact, I considered putting Waldo in there, but so far haven’t done it. 

I don’t intend to only make these very dense abstract pieces; in fact, I have a few realistic pieces coming soon alongside these. One reason for this is that I don’t believe in genres or styles. Secondly, realistic, figurative works are a way from me to keep anchored while I fly off into my own universe. Thirdly, being a one-trick pony who’s pigeonholed as someone who does only this or that kind of 'trick' is not the kind of label I’d want to have. 

Spontaneous Dis-order, 140x160cm, oil on linen (Private collection, USA)

July 8th

Perhaps one of my biggest frustrations in the past was the lack of exposure. I had exhibitions at galleries and even won some awards, but I always felt like I couldn’t reach out to the multitude. The Internet has been around for a while now, but even ten years ago it wasn’t as evolved in terms of exposure for artists as it is currently. At this point it offers enough tools for an artist to bypass the establishment (i.e. art galleries, museums, art fairs and other such official avenues) and reach out directly to the public. The politics, the hype and the patronizing generated by the art world or art establishment do not foster creativity; in fact, it often corrupts and even nips it at the bud it with all sorts of matters that have nothing to do with creative process. For better or worse, I have not been on great terms with the art establishment ever since graduating from art school, and of course it had an impact on my limited exposure. I have managed to survive those times, and even sell my work to private individuals and art enthusiasts who I was able to reach out to with my very limited means. If I, however, had the internet tools available today 10 or 20 years ago, I may have been spared a lot of frustration. Currently, what with social media and advertising tools, I am at last able to reach out to the multitude, receive its feedback and appreciation directly, which has been a lot healthier than, for example, having to work via some sort of an intermediary. Admittedly, the work I’m making at the moment has received a much greater response than any of the work I have ever done in the past. That, coupled with the resources available to individual artists currently, has been and will remain crucial in my reaching out to wider audiences. I cannot count on the art establishment that is busy with it’s dirty politics, drivel and hype to ever acknowledging my existence, but at least I have been able to receive this acknowledgement from many regular people and private collectors who have been extremely enthusiastic about my most recent work.

Not long ago, through a friend who has acquired one of above paintings (Out of Nowhere), I met a young couple in Amsterdam who have been looking to get some art for a house they bought several years ago. They spent more then 3 years looking for something to hang on their walls, but had been dissatisfied with what they encountered in commercial galleries and stores. This discerning and intelligent couple didn’t want the run-of-the-mill stuff being pushed through the commercial channels, and they were looking for something that would speak to them. When they saw my painting on my friend’s wall, they knew they were onto something. 

When I met them, I just pulled out and started reworking my last big canvas started in 2014. It was a giant 1,5 x 4,5 meter piece of canvas that had a few frustrated texts, and I remember vividly looking at it and thinking to myself, “I have already done this kind of thing. I’m not doing anything new here. Who’s going to buy such a giant canvas anyway.” In addition to that, I was told I had to move of the temporary studio I was renting then. I rolled up the giant canvas and took a 5-year break from making big ambitious work. The break evidently did me good! When I unrolled the big canvas which I couldn’t even hang on the walls of my current workspace (i.e., the walls in my home), I wasn’t sure if I should keep it as one scroll that I would work on on the floor or cut it up into two separate works which would at least have a chance of being sold. So, during my first meeting with these guys, I still had the canvas as one piece but I have taped off the middle, splitting it into a 135x230cm and a 135x160cm  halves. They liked the longer half. I was glad I met them before I finished the work, so that I could tweak it to their personality. I generally don’t like doing commissions as they’re too constraining but this sort of subtler process where I adapt the feedback and input to the artwork is actually very rewarding. This way, I still make an artwork that is largely composed of my ideas but it’s made more personal and it involves the collector in the creative process, which is very rewarding for both parties. Recently, I watched some interviews with Frank Gerry, arguably the only living architect whose work I admire, and he mentioned that he meets his clients and tries to get a feel what they do, like and their interests before setting out to work. I find that for me this is exactly the kind of process I would be very much interested in my future work. If I could keep on doing my thing but then make slight alterations to fit the personality of my collectors, this would be an extremely rewarding kind of creative process. After all, I am inspired by those who appreciate my art as much as they are inspired by my vision. It is a reciprocal process, and I am glad that I have matured enough as an artist and as a human being to realize this crucial fact.

It's That Simple, acrylic on linen, 135x230cm, Private Collection, NL

24 September

By the beginning of August, the inspiration that had possessed me since April faded fairly quickly. In the remaining summer weeks I made a few more works on paper that I had been planning to finish during this creative period, and by September the desire to paint all but vanished.  Below are the images of two architectural capriccios. One is a drawing of my own home. I have started drafting the sketches for my own home about 13 years ago. Of course this remains a dream as my chances of obtaining funding for building my own home are about the same as my being the first artist in space, i.e. zero to none. The second large drawing is another vision I have been having for the past 4-5 years of Vlooienburg, the razed by the Amsterdam city council historical neighbourhood that came into disrepair following WWII. In the early nineties, a perfectly ugly structure that now houses the city hall and the national opera house were erected in its place. This edifice is a sore thumb that neither fits into the neighbourhood ensemble nor is of any architectural value in itself. I propose to rebuild the facades of the old historical quarter and thus hide the current modern structure behind them. 

  

Dream House, ink and acrylic on paper, 150x130cm, 8/2020 

Rebuild Vlooienburg, ink and acrylic on paper, 150x130cm, 8/2020

I still plan to do some small sizes and sketches, including digital sketches on iPad, and even some 3D pieces and film, but it is unlikely I will paint large formats until the desire to do so returns. 2020 has been an unprecedented year and even now, while plunged into a deep depression that followed the inspired high of the preceding four months, I think it's being good to me. I'm back to teaching academic English at the university, and it's always been good for me to work with younger people, even if it is through Zoom these days. The depression is making me focus on trying my best to resolve some personal issues that I have never fully processed nor resolved for many years, shoving them under the carpet rather than confronting them at one point in my life. Painful as it is, I know if I'm able to work through these, I will be ready for new inspiration and perhaps be able to move to yet another level in my creativity and, hopefully, in my life as well.    

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March 15th, 2021

After several months’ break, I’m resuming this blog. Late last fall, in spite of emotional instability and little motivation to create, I nevertheless started several canvases that I finished over the past few days after coming back from a 3-month trip to Mexico and the US. The largest piece, which I almost finished before leaving Amsterdam in early December was in part inspired by the state of mind I was in when I lived on Lower East Side in mid-1990s. The emotional state I was in then was comparable to the one I was going through a good 25 years later, in the fall of 2020. Hence, the title of this piece: Williamsburg Bridge Delirium. I include both the still and the video I made after completing this work.

Williamsburg Bridge Delirium, 165x200cm, acrylic on linen

detail

Over the past decade before the onset of the pandemic I had been an avid traveller and going abroad 4-5 times a year had become a routine. Since last year threw a wrench in the works, after I couldn’t board the flight to Nepal in March 2020, I stayed in Amsterdam uninterrupted until mid-October when I absolutely had to leave the confines of my shoebox studio apartment and the spider-web-like trap of the town I’ve made my home since 1997. In October I went to Malta and spent ten days there getting my bearings, but it wasn’t until—after many doubts—I dared to take off for Mexico in December 2020 that I really regained something of emotional stability.

Mexico, needless to say, was an extremely inspiring trip that I could devote pages and pages to! I will save that for a different, perhaps travel blog. Suffice to say, that being surrounded by intense colors, great food, the sun and the beach, and being sensory overloaded in general had its positive effect. After a month of travel from Yucatán to Chiapas to Oaxaca and Mexico City, my hands were itching to paint. Although I found places in Oaxaca where I was ready to settle and get to work, it proved hard to find the kind of quality materials in Mexico that I needed to have for work. Neither Golden acrylics nor linen seemed to be available anywhere in Mexico, not even Mexico City, and I would have had to either order these on Amazon and hope they arrive in good order or return to Amsterdam in the dead of the lockdown winter and hope that my inspiration lasts long enough to get me through the winter, the hard lockdown and the curfew.

Fortunately, another opportunity came along from family in Texas, who invited I stay with them until March. I hesitated a little, knowing that staying in the US would cost me a lot more than staying the winter in Mexico, but in the end made the decision to change the destination of my return ticket to Houston instead of Amsterdam. The convenience of staying close to family, in a state that was largely open and where I had access to quality art materials, and staying at a property where I could sleep and paint in separate quarters was a big advantage, though I still do dream of painting outside, close to the beach on a windless sunny day.

Thus, in January 2021, I made Galveston, TX as my temporary base, and immediately on arrival in early January got to work, intent on painting my impressions of Mexico while they were still fresh. The first piece I completed was immediately picked up on by an old college friend of mine who said he wanted to have it but asked me to add some interesting detail: formulas from his PhD work on nano-laser technology. To have a serious scientist spot something in my work that appealed to his senses as a scientist was a revelation! Ever since I started this series of densely abstract works at the beginning pandemic, I had scientific research on mind. I wouldn’t ever dare call my art ‘scientific’ or anything of the sort. Any serious scientist would laugh me out if I made such pretentious claims, and they would be absolutely right. However, what my old college mate has done is at least grant me the right to try. And I know I will fail, for I don’t think art can ever be elevated to the status of science, but the effort will count!

Xpu Ha, acrylic on linen, 70x115cm, 01/2021

Another few pieces inspired by the colors, the architecture and the sun of Mexico followed.

Life Light, 70x120 cm, acrylics on linen, 01/2021

Pink Boats, acrylics on linen, 01/2021

The Cathedral, acrylics on linen, 02/2021

Six untitled abstractions, acrylics on linen, each 30x40cm, 01/2021

0121 Sunsets, acrylic on linen, 01/2021

A 'seminal' piece I made during this creative period was a painting I ended up titling Aqua Mondrian. The ideas was to frame the Mexican inspiration into a composition frame inspired by Mondrian's abstract 'lozenge' pieces, namely square paintings that he intended to be hung at a 45 degree angle. I think my painting can be hung any way one wishes, but the intention had been to follow in Mondrian's steps in this regard, as I do think hung like this, this painting acquires the kind of definition, dynamic and sharpness it lacks when hung traditionally.

Aqua Mondrian, acrylics on linen, 115 x 115 cm, 01/2021

      

Alongside these abstract paintings, I also created a number of abstract and figurative works on paper:

various sizes: ink, acrylic and watercolor on paper

Fortunately, I was able to sell most of the paintings and drawings I made during this brief creative burst, which helped to offset at least some--far from all (!)--costs of this trip. 

In February 2021, I decided to take a break from this intense period of creating. I was so involved with painting that I even developed RSI in my right wrist, so I thought February would be a good month to do some traveling within the United States. I paid a weekend visit to Austin; it was almost surreal to see a hedonistically partying town amidst the raging pandemic, perhaps inspiring in a Hieronymus Bosch-like way. Escaping the Texas blackout after inclement weather made the state shut down electricity and water to parts of the state for several days to Colorado was a really great move. I spent two weeks in Colorado, staying at a hostel and skiing Summit Country resorts and Aspen. The inspiration gathered there is going to be channelled into new works I will be completing during spring 2021. In early March, I had to vacate the property I made my base in Galveston in January and February and after some deliberation, decided it was time to return to Amsterdam, even if I was essentially returning to nothing, having in the meantime lost all my teaching work and other jobs I was doing before the pandemic, with no hope of hobbies such as playing live music or dancing being allowed any time soon, leaving me with essentially only one thing to do: to paint. The days getting longer and the weather gradually improving, springtime I reasoned would be a good time creatively—just as it was in 2020–and I should be able to make something of it, given my inspiring 3-month stay in the winter. Having jumped some hoops in the form of double testing, I boarded  a nearly empty flight from Houston to Amsterdam on March 10th and arrived to my Amsterdam home that I have stopped regarding as home but basically perceive as a studio/workspace I happen to live in. My intention is to work here through the spring and compensate for the feeling of claustrophobia by occasionally staying at a hostel nearby and by possibly taking short trips if the restrictions are relaxed over the coming months. What will happen in the second half of the year will largely depend on whether my employment and/or living situation reverses or improves, and whether new and tougher travel restrictions are imposed or, on the contrary, the ones in place now are relaxed. At any rate, any kind of long-term planning remains tough. For now, stay tuned for more artwork!

October 8th, 2021

The 18 months of the pandemic have turned out to be a creative breakthrough I had been waiting for years prior. In fact, around 2018, I thought I may have lost touch with imagination and ingenuity completely. Over the past year and a half, I have proven myself wrong—the imagination is still very much there. Following the winter away from Europe, this year kept me busy producing more paintings and works on paper up until now. More than half of the artworks created this year sold and, in the coming months, as my teaching work is making a comeback, as days are getting shorter and less conducive to painting, I intend to rest a while from too many making new things and will focus on marketing the work I still have in stock instead. I’m not in the habit of collecting my own art and even my best pieces I’d rather see go, so as to create space for new creations. As for the latter, I have a few ideas germinating and brewing, and will let them marinade until I have cleared some room for new things, and until I feel the impulse to create again.

Watching the Paint Dry, oil on linen, 120x140cm, 2021 

January 28th, 2022

Winter is usually a tough time for me to get inspired enough to paint. The days are short, the natural light is too dim, and everything outside is gray, lifeless and lacking in color. Lacking a studio space, I work in my hallway that isn’t heated. So, with the exception of last winter which I spent away in Mexico and Texas where the conditions where much more is pricing and conducive to creative process, these days I prefer to devote winters to travelling and getting inspired and to other pursuits. This winter, for example, I had a teaching gig and have already completed three trips, with one more Eneas of me in February. Despite the current challenges  in terms of travelling, I have, not without a serious effort, to do these trips. Travel, however, is really my greatest inspiration and nourishment in creative process. I wouldn’t be able to accomplish even a fraction of what I have accomplished creatively without it.

So, in spite of the winter blues, and thanks perhaps to the trips I have made so far this winter—to Egypt, to Spain and France—as well perhaps carrying over some of the inspiration from last year, I was able to finish this large piece:

Caribbean Rhapsody, acrylics on linen, 105x210cm, 2022

And here is another piece I was able to finish between the work and the travels. What this one is inspired by needs no explanation. As I said, most of my inspiration is derived from travel, but some other impossible to ignore events play into it as well from time to time. 

Love Sustainable, acrylics on linen, 75x95cm, 2022