Before we moved into our house, our neighbors called it “The Alamo” because it was a barren, battle axe, the last decrepit house in the neighborhood. We moved in with our young children, fixed things, and filled it up. In 2019, my children are now 25, 27, and 30. They’ve left to go be adults and have emptied The Alamo. Leaving happens slowly. Objects trickle out at a steady pace. Do you still want these stolen bowling shoes? Whose is this copy of Fahrenheit 451? Obama t-shirt?
As I paint images of The Alamo, I’m thinking about Agnes Martin and how she emptied out her paintings and George Elliot’s persistent message to de-aggrandize. Not painting figures and objects is something to think about.