Working on a series of pieces incorporating black and white prints from the archives has kindled a deep sense of satisfaction. I haven't worked in the darkroom for nearly twenty years and I didn't start experimenting with acrylics until 2007; tying then and now together on watercolor paper, I realized that while the medium might be different I have always had the need to see what's around the next corner, behind that weathered door.
My primary reason for using the watercolor book was because I don't need another dozen canvases loitering in the studio. I found it quite liberating, not nearly as serious as prepping a 12x12 board with gesso. A lifelong writer, I've had trouble getting art journaling to make sense; they've always been separate disciplines. Then I realized it's just about playing, experimenting and I opened the watercolor book and the fun began.
If I had a dollar for every word I've written I'd be having lunch with Bill Gates (and picking up the tab), but even after having a blast with these pages - and I've done several - I'm not writing on them. So, does that qualify it as a journal?
One of the, if not the, very best things about art is the endless exploration. I believe that curiosity and vision, as original as fingerprint and snowflake, but shared universally are what drive us to express. I've never had a distinct 'style' but rather a progression of approaches that only share texture, layers and paint. There isn't a lot of commonality in these two pieces, done in the same week, aside from my way of doing backgrounds. But both are the result of trying something new. I used to feel that I hadn't discovered my own voice... now I'm beginning to think I just create in many different languages.