(Tomorrow this painting will be different & the day after that & the day after that…so will you.)

Art is never finished, only abandoned, said Da Vinci, which to me, indicates that the epitome of a living work of art is a graffiti tagged wall, which is never "finished" but subject to perpetual and endless revision. 

It was Sartre who reflected that no man could know the ultimate meaning of his own life because that was something that could only be known after his death, when the life was complete, leaving the problem of synthesis and interpretation to others. Or maybe it was Bataille who said that. Bataille, who left his work consciously "unfinished." Or maybe it was Sartre reflecting on the life and work of Bataille who said it.

Or maybe.
Or maybe.
Or maybe.

Just so, my recent canvases reflect the idea that no painting, like no life, is over until it's over. It's all about process. One day it's pretty  bad, the next day it's even worse; the day after, a slight improvement, followed by a regression. At some point, maybe it's almost beautiful, but the next day, christ, what happened...it's all fucked-up again. Everything is in a constant state of flux. It's like looking out the window at the weather…or out the window of a bus traveling across the country…the scenery is always different.

The canvas—or wall—or train-car siding—is like a diary being written & overwritten. It would be great to have a museum hung entirely with canvases which visitors were encouraged to mark up as they passed through (what better "picture" of humanity?)…or if one's house were hung with such canvases, where all the people living there and even the guests left a record of their visit on the walls as they leave their record upon you.