In 1964 I dropped out of college to read a stack of books. I started to paint and never read the books. A painter lived down the hall (another basement room in an old building) and taught me a few things, none of which I remember.
In 2007, 43 years later, I dropped out of college again (this time as a dean rather than a freshman) to read books and paint. I ended up writing poems, drawing, and learning a little about Buddhism. I stopped the writing when I discovered that I didn't know anything.
Now it is time to paint. Sometimes, like today, the paintings won't be very good. I beg your indulgence (is that the right expression?). I suspect that many good things come from failed attempts. I remember seeing a movie on the Wright brothers last week. They had some disasters until they improved their plane...and figured out how to fly it.
William Blake said that practice is art. My hope is that if I paint everyday I'll get better at it.
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