I am at peace on my computer, Photoshop application open, eyes fixated on a 5000 by 7000 pixel window. This window becomes a very special type of canvas. It can be expanded and cropped without any effect on its contents, which are comprised of a myriad of geometric structures, vector graphics, typefaces, and so on. When imported onto this canvas, each article becomes one of many separately intangible layers that can be unceasingly repositioned, skewed, and rotated to digital precision and perspectival accuracy, all the while leaving no evidence of their alteration. East of my Workspace, stored in a Swatch Palette, are colors I have created. My personal favorite – # 1200ff – exists in neither Gouache, Posca, or Tempera. I make art for one reason: to produce anything, knowing that no one else would have done it the same way, to complete it, and to call it yours, is quite gratifying.
By some meticulous quirk of nature, I’ve always hated making traditional art. Painting, drawing, sketching, all of it. I couldn’t endure how, if I botched up one line, stroke, or paint splatter, the entire image became an aesthetic wreck. Having finished a drawing or painting, I’d return compulsively to it, staring it down until I managed to pick out…
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