The Art of an Atlas

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It all started when…

I was a boy as father left. I spent years alone. My hands were full of questions, and empty of a compass. A great deal of time had gone by before someone pointed me north. And time demanded humility to admit that I was lost.

I soaked pigments into fabric because I was on a lonely quest. The canvas was my friend through the hard years. As the colours bled, so did I. And what was like a map emerged from the pages. I discovered that painting was walking me through the journey like an atlas would.