Only when I was waiting in the car and watching hordes of people and vehicles pass did the penny drop. There was absolutely nothing that made me want to paint. And I realized that the unifying focus for my work is that of a quiet state. Life is made up of shining still moments even if these moments are irregularly strung together. My monkey brain is at peace in this elevated state; in gratitude I want to honour it with my brush in the hope that my painting will recreate that quiet state in the viewer.
Years ago, somebody somewhere (haven't a clue) simplified humanity into two groups: the stimuli enhansers and the stimuli suppressors. My beloved belongs to the first group. It is not uncommon for him to turn on the radio in every room he enters. That they are tuned differently is unimportant. Because people like me are chronically OVER-stimulated, we are always trying to reduce stimuli. I follow him from room to room, turning the radio off. We get our exercise this way.
So don't you be expecting a crowd scene, a street with cars, or a fair. If my paintings came with an audio tape, you might hear quiet waves, wind in the trees, or breathing. But not heavy breathing. (I think I once received an obscene phone call. However, because it was in another language, I didn't recognize the words and so patiently, in my very best French, apologized and asked if the caller would mind repeating what he said. We went back and forth a few times until he hung up rather abruptly, in my opinion.)
But I digress. Getting back to the issue at hand, hypnotic beauty is my drug of choice. And, boy, it is everywhere.