On occasion the question of meaning rises to my mind while painting. Once I've picked out definite things for the scribbley paint strokes to head towards, I sometimes wonder why it is I saw those particular things in the hazy lines and blobs most of my paintings start as. It's possible there is some sort of projection happening here, something inside beyond words or rational thought seeking some sort of expression. It's also (equally) possible they simply arise from an unspeakably complex combination of air pressure, the current price of porkbellies on the open market, and the time elapsed since my last meal. Of course, it could just be that I've learned how to paint X things relatively well, and now just find any opportunity to keep painting them. Doing the prominent head thing in the middle was an interesting task. First of all, I sort of forced myself to choose a challenging perspective for it, just because I've grown kind of tired of the usual somewhat flat looking faces I tend to gravitate towards. While rising to meet this challenge, I came very close to understanding the true form of the human skull. I've seen them, even studied them, but when it comes to imagining one the distinction between all of the bones and crevices and joints and creases tends to become somewhat blurry and frustrating to keep in mind. Learning perhaps? There are certain types of surfaces and objects that have always seemed like special effects when it comes to painting. Things like shininess and liquidiness and fire and explosions. Perhaps they are not special, but just complicated. I have tended to stay away from these things, but now that I've figured out acceptable methods of rendering more ordinary components, perhaps it is time to explore these in more depth? In addition to these, the concept of interaction has always been quite intriguing to me. Things pressing against skin, people carrying stuff, or just doing anything aside from standing around awkwardly all seem like they would add a bit of life and dynamics to my pictures.