An internet friend introduced me to the paintings of Australian painter Elizabeth Cummings, who until today was completely unknown to me.
Cummings has taken inspiration from some of the same artists as I, and yet her paintings help me see these painters — ones like Bonnard and Matisse — with a fresh sense of the possible.
So I put aside the project I was working on to make a quick pochade in a less reserved way. I have not gotten any where close to Elizabeth Cumming’s abandon. But I creep toward something of my own.
My inhibitions are strong. I can only shake them off a bit at a time. I need my hang ups. They’re an essential part of who I am. But sometimes I let them relax.