There are no rules in art.

Pieces of fall was created from trash and other items I had lying around my backyard. The wood was from a painting gone wrong that ended up alongside the fence, rotting all summer long, the tiles where broken tiles I had been saving for some reason. The bottom section was from potted plant that died a few years ago.
I was struggling with this one. My wife said she loved it. I changed it a bit and she said she liked it better before I made the changes. With my already fragile state with this piece I just ended up throwing it in the trash.
There it sat for about an hour when I was reminded by my wife that there are no rules in art. With those words I realized that I had always believed that, but instead of following my own advice I somehow create rules that I was following.
Rules make art less free and more constraining. There are very few things that I hate, in fact I often never use the word “hate” it’s such a strong and powerful word that I don’t truly believe it has any place in my life. Being constrained with my art is one thing that I can honestly say that I truly hate.

There are truly no rules in art save for those that we put in place.

Pieces of fall was created from trash for a local “Fall” Themed art show. I don’t normally participate in themed style shows, however I love fall.

Returning of Ego

I did a painting titled, "Returning Ego," which for almost a year had no name until four days before a student and instructor art show. This was early this year, and a few moments ago I began to think about what that painting meant. The answer came with flooding thoughts of its creation.
I started it nearly a year earlier, didn’t like what I saw and threw it aside in a mini fit of anger.
One day I decided to give it another shot, even though I despised looking at it no matter how much time had passed. But, with a fresh mind, I was able to apply color and detail that I had not been able to see before.

What resulted was a painting, in the making for a long time, something that took time to mold itself in the back of my mind, much like the ego which we often allow to take control in certain situations.

I won’t go into a mind numbing discussion about the “evil ego,” but I what I realized is that in my most frustrating moments of artistic madness, when I am on the brink of discovery there it is… my ego. It had blocked me, got into the way of artistic value, of what it needed to be.

Truth is, that block would never had been there in the first place, I had not allowed it to get in the way. An artist can blame lack of skills, lack of will, or even lack of oxygen to the brain. It is simply an excuse for lack of execution on behalf of the artist. Excuses are useless on the playground that is art. It is art that creates us, not the other way around.
The idea that a particular piece is a mistake—is simply a matter of ones ego being hurt. Ego has no place in art. Art is simply what it has made us, not what our ego tells us it is, or is not.