The arch and the open door

Every painting is an archway. This is the closest thing I have to a manifesto: the work is not the wall, it is the opening in the wall. The viewer must always be invited to walk through, toward something lit, something warm, something that was worth building the arch for.

I learned this from the desert. Stand at the edge of the Empty Quarter at dusk and you understand thresholds instantly: the line between shadow and gold is a door, and the sun walks through it every evening like it owns the house. My "She Walks to the Light" is simply that walk, painted over and over.

Writing works the same way. A paragraph is an arch; a sentence is the step through it. When I write copy for a client, I ask one question of every line: does this open a door, or does it decorate a wall? Delete the decorations. Keep the doors.