Let’s get metaphysical for a moment.
I do not see auras or guardian angels, nor do I speak with the dead. But, having said that, I hasten to add that I am just too lucky not to sometimes wonder if some invisible-but-benevolent presence isn’t responsible for giving my life that necessary strategic nudge at the right time and place.
I do not discount in the least stories of communication with those who have preceded us to the, um, Elysian Fields, I only say I lack experience with it.
Looking back at my wounds, which I also see as being fortuitous, beautiful and helpful, teaching me exactly what I needed to learn at the moment, I seem to see an invisible hand, mind, and heart. I feel a kind of collaboration with fate and soul in the context of an impossible-to-grasp Universe. The task is to stay centered in the current of energies that needed to take the form of my particular life and to trust in this “Atman project”.
Yesterday a friend asked me an innocent question about my way of painting, which woke me up to the fact that over the years I’ve evolved not-a-few thoughts about what I call “painting from the body”.
I feel that the body and the non-analytical mind, in consort with the senses, have a voice, many voices even, that speak of the manifest earth (and its earthiness) and the passion and tumult of life in that form. A painting that may have been initiated with no conscious plan whatsoever can still speak eloquently–of singing colors, gravity, nature at an atomic level, beauty of proportion, kinetic fun, joyful tactility, and a wide range of emotions about all kinds of things.
It’s not easy to paint this way because we Moderns swim in a cultural sea of “smart thinking”, a kind of plotting to gain control that runs counter to the voices that often live outside the left hemisphere of the brain. These scattered intelligences have things to say. My discipline has been to listen as intuitively as I can and try my best to aid and abet them in finding a satisfying form. It’s a process that may take an hour or a decade to complete, I can never predict. This is not the way I was taught to paint. To teach it to myself took a long process of learning to listen and dialogue with the ever-shifting image while cocking a practiced ear toward my physical/mental impulses that eventually led to more powerful work. Fifty-odd years into this journey, I feel I’m just beginning to get a handle on this joyful, strange, but essential practice.
www.fineartamerica sells reproductions of my work under the name David Lawrence Price
An early result of this process: