Watercolours are the medium of my soul. My mind lights up like the plaza at christmastime when I paint, splashing colours fervently across the page.
My palette is made up of the distinct colours of my existence: the frustration of my family's suffering; all the words I should have said; the lamplight in the snowy night; the transience of the mournful coast; fast cars and freeways; true love and untrue lovers; truth and beauty and liberty.
I would paint the feeling of standing on that veranda in the cool summer midnight and knowing that I would have loved you in another life. I would paint standing at the edge of the Sackville pier and watching your ship sail out for the last time. I would paint the way the East coast leaves swirl around our feet in the fall. I would paint the story of airports. I would paint pilgrimages through the prairies' golden ocean.
I would paint the story of love among bankers.