My earliest memory is one of making art. Sitting in the tiny kitchen looking out over Lakeshore Drive, I am surrounded by crayons and Mom’s button collection. I am making designs on the cardboard inserts from Dad’s laundered shirts. The Howdy Doody show is on the TV, and I am aware of a feeling of happiness.
Even as a child, I seldom drew people, horses, houses… the usual stuff… and coloring books were not for me. I guess I always wanted to do my own thing. Mom certainly thought so!
And here I am… making paintings with no preconceived notion, no sketch, no photo… I start only with a feeling to pick up my brush and lay some shapes and drips of colors on a backdrop of stretched linen or canvas or Duron board. My first application… a mixture of oil paint, mineral spirits, and linseed oil… is lean. They get richer as the painting unfolds. Sometimes the process takes many hours… even days, weeks… sometimes even longer before I can see the next step.
“Where does it all come from, what is your inspiration?…” These are questions I am often asked… to which I reply… “It is a gift.”
I am but the brushmaster doing the bidding of the muse.
Christine Schub17 July 2023