I’ve been thinking lately about what I’ve loosely coined “an artist-first approach to art.” To expand:
I love art. Sometimes I think about a specific painting, artist, museum, and I get so overwhelmed with love it surprises me. Where does this passion come from? I’ve tried to work backwards, to a childhood spent sketching Henry Moore sculptures in the AGO, walking tours around the Rijksmuseum, and painting at the Harbourfront kids camp. Perhaps my love of art is a reflection of the care my parents showed taking me to galleries? Or did art provide a private space, something that felt like mine alone? I’m trying to create logic out of the something (love) that defies all reason.