i do want to think of myself as a passionate man. i know that i thrive for feelings of all types, of joy, sadness, desire, accomplishment, loss, loneliness, contentment, anger. i want to wallow in each moment, make them last forever and be able to find the string between them that reveals who i am, the commonality between experiences. i want to get lost in every feeling and experience it repeatedly until i understand my reaction, understand how the person i am defines what i learn and how i act because of my feelings. i don't wish to do this because i seek to control them, but rather only so i can be able to understand others reactions to things, and to be able to communicate what i learn through my paintings.

it seems that it is somehow a shameful thing nowadays to be unabashedly passionate. somehow it is improper to be an idealist and a romantic and be utterly sincere about it. the proper attitude is rather a detached jaded view of the world, where love is a lie people tell themselves to feel good about the world, and where truth is an antiquated relic that exists only as an example of our forefathers foolishness and pigheadedness. as if truth is real, as if love is attainable. and so long ago i adopted the habit of hiding my feelings in half-truths, in riddles and lies so that who i truly am is unmockable, so that i may live my life without fear of feeling guilty for wanting to love everyone and discover all truth and beauty. and when the idea of a passionate artist is mocked as a farce and a starry-eyed ideal, i laugh along.