Art of an Open Door

You wake up and check the weather. Cloudy with a chance of rain. Something in you constricts. You wanted a sunny day.

That slight preference has already begun sorting the day. This side is welcome; that side is not. Once the sorting starts, it doesn’t stop. Moods, conversations, and the feel of a day are measured against a version of things that isn’t here.

Often, the sense that things are wrong is just a habit of preference.

Yet, meeting life without sorting it first doesn’t mean you stop caring. Instead, it means you stop arriving already contracted by expectation. The day opens differently when you’re not standing guard at the door.

In my art, I’ve found that the paintings that breathe are the ones where I let what’s emerging be what it is, not what I planned.

When you meet life as an open door, without needing it to be anything other than it is, even a typical morning becomes the whole world.