Art is a process and a journey.

Art is a process and a journey. All artists have to find ways to lie to themselves, find ways to fool themselves into believing that what they’re doing is good enough, the best they can do at that moment, and that’s okay. Every work of art falls short of what the artist envisioned. It is precisely that gap between their intention and their execution that opens up the door for the next work.

Almost without realizing it, I’d discovered the community of like-minded truth seekers I’d hungered for in the Haight. Art was our godhead. It was our calling and our discipline. It summoned and focused our energies, structured our time. Art humbled us. Everyone agreed they didn’t know the answers, or even the questions. Everyone was open to the new, struggling to make his or her stuff important, vying for attention. It was intensely competitive.

Much later I realized I’d not only set aside logic—I’d gone beyond language. Even though I was using words as images, I wasn’t thinking in words. I wasn’t thinking, period. I was using a part of my imagination connected to image making. I was painting.

Bad Boy: My Life On and Off the Canvas