Why I Paint

The moment of truth arrives unexpectedly yet quietly.
Like a breeze of warm hesitation blowing from the Mediterranean when the sun starts rolling down the western slope of the trajectory.
It is not a revelation, but an assertion of what you already know.
Every inspiration is fleeting and subsides with time.
But this knowledge is rooted deep in the darkest cavity of the unconsciousness.
It is as arcane as the elements themselves.
This intimate knowledge is persistent, but unaware of its accuracy or very existence.
And then it arrives….
Without shape, smell or sound that can be explained away or sounded out, it can only be described by means of no words or notes… Yet it wants to be revealed, it demands to be released from its eternal incarceration and to be judged and accepted for what it really is.

But what is it really? …