I’ve never considered myself to be much of an artist. But I always looked up to those kinds of people. I am a lover of art. And who knows… maybe that makes me appreciate it even more than the artist himself. After all – a woman is not overly fascinated with her own body. But from the perspective of a man… an outsider looking on… passion is ignited, poems are written, wars are waged, and history is written. My acute eye towards art is probably a good part of what ultimately lead me to this magazine. Because I like to SHARE art. The people closest to me may call it an annoying habit. Because I get obsessive & even dramatic, trying to make sure people see just as I see it. And feel it the same way I feel it. I’ll try and explain my point of view until I’m blue in the face… just to make sure they’re with me.
Art in Motion. That’s what really gets me. Ever since I was a kid – motion, particularly speed, has been my fascination. Not so much the art you see hanging still on a wall in a gallery. But the kind of art that passes before your very eyes. The kind of art that you have to chase. The kind of art you not only see, but hear… and feel. I was never too into the ‘ball’ sports – football, baseball, basketball, etc. But I loved racing. I loved anything with wheels. And now that I’m an adult, I think that art in motion was a big part of that attraction.
Even to this day, a lot of times, my vocabulary can’t even keep up with the things that I feel when I see/hear certain things. I still stumble over words to try and explain. The site of a LeMans car cresting a hill & disappearing over the ridge at sunset. The popping sound it makes when it grabs the next gear. The spit of fire. The smell of spent race fuel. And the sound that echoes over the hills & the trees, long after it’s disappeared from sight… but you can still hear the driver burying the throttle, downshifting for the next turn, and then…
Purchase Issue 30 here to read the rest of this story