My work is more or less like me: full of contrasts.
I like things that don't belong together. I like ideas that make absolutely no sense at first. And sometimes not even at second glance. I paint large, colorful, slightly absurd worlds. Mostly with acrylics, brushes, palette knives and whatever happens to be within reach.
Where do my ideas come from? No idea. Everywhere, probably. Something I see, something someone says, a completely useless thought at three in the morning. My brain collects all sorts of nonsense and occasionally turns it into a painting. I don't have a grand philosophy behind every brushstroke. Sometimes I just think something would make a damn good painting. So I try it.
Once, I asked a young woman looking at one of my paintings if she'd like to hear the story behind it. She looked at me as if I'd asked a rather stupid question.
"No. Why should I? Either a painting catches me the moment I see it or it doesn't.
I don't need your story. I see my own."
I don't need your story. I see my own."
Fair enough.
Since then, I've been much more interested in what other people see in my paintings than in telling them what they're supposed to see. You might see something completely different from what I had in mind.
Good.
