The paintings were still dictating themselves to me, and I was just following their lead and guidance. Be they abstract or semi-abstract or something more representational mattered not, I was simply painting as the inspiration came and directed me. After spending some time working on each of these paintings, it would become clear to me how to continue each composition and then how to finish them. My process of creation was less of a specific intention and more of an organic unfolding of one color, line, and choice leading immediately to the next. I wasn't "trying" to make paintings, I was simply painting with the ideal of finding out what I was painting while I painted. Upon finishing each painting it was also evident as to what the title should be, either abstractly evident or evidenced in the final image as with Paintings 134 and 135.

I felt more and more satisfied artistically with each new painting - there was very little if any frustration or angst during my painting process. The paintings on this page represent exactly what I was after when I decided to stop being a professional illustrator: to have more fun without any struggle and to let go of any pre-determined outcome visually. I was having an adventurously fantastic time that is very hard to describe with words.

My father Stephen (RIP) at this time was also creating art via print making and painting. Additionally Stephen wrote poetry and produced small runs of handmade books to showcase his poetry. One day we planned to work together in his studio space in Menlo Park, CA. I drove down from San Francisco and he provided me a space to set up my portable painting rig next to him while he worked on a print of some kind. I brought with me this freshly gessoed rectangle of masonite with a mixture of sawdust and glue randomly applied over areas of the surface.

Stephen watched me as I set up my easel and placed my paints and brushes on a side table. He looked at my rectangle of white masonite and asked what I planned on painting. He had been creating pictures that were all representational, both in print and on canvas, and he was familiar with my previous paintings, some of which indeed were representational by design. "I don't know yet," I answered, and he looked at me surprised. "I haven't been pre-planning my paintings of late. It's really fun not knowing what I'm doing until after I start doing it." I smiled at him. He seemed amused, but otherwise stayed silent.

As we both worked side by side that afternoon, we looked at what each other was doing. I noticed the degree of labor and consideration he was exhibiting in his work ethic. Printing, generally speaking, is a rather specific process that requires a fair amount of set up and execution to then produce one print that is deemed successful. There can be lots of errors on the way to that one successful print, often accompanied by a measure of frustration. I, as usual, was off on my unknown adventure of adding colors and lines to my masonite without any real clarity as to what would show up. It is a trust I had developed with my painting process to ultimately reveal something to my liking, a trust that would consistently yield me the kind of results that warranted having the trust.

By the late afternoon I was molding my colors and lines and shapes into their final compositional places over the masonite and sawdust textures. I was also really liking the outcome of my choices and my process. "Do you think you'll finish that today?" Stephen asked as he studied my progress on the painting. "Yes, that's my intention," I said, "it's coming along nicely so I should be able to finish it today." He seemed impressed that I could show up, set up, paint and finish a painting all in a single afternoon. I know he would spend much longer to complete one of his own works, not to imply there's anything wrong with that. I know with my Broken Canvases and the more surreal representational paintings I made that I had spent weeks to finish one. An interesting fact about the creative process: the work dictates the time it needs to come into being. Different kinds of work require different amounts of time to complete. And if the work is fighting the artist and not coming together to the artist's liking, it will take even longer to complete. And, of course, some work that is started never gets completed and can be considered a failed work that never came together successfully for the artist.

I really enjoyed this opportunity to work side by side with my father. I enjoyed our shared communication and energy, and was considering doing this again and again in the future with Stephen. But alas it was the only time we worked together. One thing I've learned while growing older is that in any relationship if both parties are not putting in the effort or desire to do anything together, it simply won't happen. It's nobody's fault - it simply "takes two to tango," as my mother used to say.