I often have dreams about Good and Evil meeting over a glass of wine, reminiscing about when they once got along. In the morning, when I try to paint these dreams, I don’t remember much. It’s pleasurable frustration.
Once, I dreamt the devil yanked me from a lapse of lethargy, threw me into a boiling crystal jar of butterscotch and sugarplum and gumdrops and marzipans and Turkish delights. I was thrilled, because inside, I met with ex popes and presidents and princes who were now frivolous pets confined to gardens. They had been taught tricks for the gum-chewing proletariat’s amusement, and made a profitable living. This gave me ideas, but when I told this to the devil, and thanked him, he was too furious to keep a straight face. I was perplexed by the laughing devil.
He let me go, and I have been inspired to paint that dream since.
Summer 2014 on the road series