I do not think of art as therapy, at least not the way I work: painting, exhibiting, selling. I think of it as my job, what I do. It’s not self-expression. It’s my work. On the other hand, there are times when I think I may have to admit that what I paint does effect and reflect my inner life.
I had some upsetting experiences this week with some people close to me and then went into my studio and took an entirely new approach to a painting that had been subdued, a painting that never looked quite right, sat patiently waiting for something to change in me. I slashed it with aggressive strokes of paint and color and gave it a new life. If this is therapy, then anything in life could be therapy. But the painting is not me. It has its own life. It needed me to change. To be willing to take a chance with it, to do something different, more bold, wake it up.
A scientist friend of mine once said that he thought there was no difference between art and science. They both ask the question “what if?” In painting, there is rarely a chance to go back to what was there before a change is made, so the hesitation is more or less an obstacle, depending on the state of mind I might be in when working. At this point, I take more chances, ask more questions. There is not enough time to hesitate.