For an abstract painter, where nearly everything in life is abstract, painting is very much like driving down a road to nowhere. At the same time it is very much like driving down a road to somewhere.
The distance between the two is thinly veiled. A slice in time and space.
With no GPS to guide this way or that. There is no up and down, no left and right. Only space unfolding.
Intuition plays a great part in all of this. But, if you listen too hard or too often, intuition will turn on you as well. It cannot do the work. It is not up to this enormous task.
The painter must find the path.
The painter must struggle through the reeds, the muck, the mire, the bramble. Torn and bloodied the painter crawls up from the slippery slope back onto the road.
Sometimes you see something in the distance, but it is nothing.
Other times you see nothing but your own hand, your own doubt and the painting appears before you.
This is the magic of painting: it chooses you as much as you choose it.
The road comes to a turn.
One gets out and walks under a full moon.