It was a day or two after my dad died, I was staying in his home with my brother and sister-in-law. We were looking around for tea or coffee and true to my dad’s form there were the coffee crystals. The same coffee crystals he had been drinking since I could remember. My maternal grandfather drank the instant coffee too. As soon as I took a sip of the stuff, I was flooded with memories and a strange sort of comfort as the grieving process began.
I didn’t paint the background for this one. I cannibalized an old mono print.
Still having a great time with this left hand painting stuff. Is it art? I don’t know. I don’t know that anything I create is actually art. Perhaps that is not for me to determine.
I’m much more interested in where this journey is taking me, and what, if anything I’ll have to say as a right hand answer to all this painting.
Text on painting:
I’m Pink Buddha from cosmic goo, I spend my days juggling human poo.
Not exactly eloquent, but that’s the Zen of PB.