Colour your world

To me it seems just crazy that colour is an illusion. When I first started painting I referred to the practice as colour saturation. I find the application of colour mesmeric, so I'm very happy that human eyes interpret reflected light as colour. Our language is filled with references to colour, sayings that describe many situations. I named an exhibition Colourful Language and used colour idioms as titles for the works:

• Out of the blue
• Once in a blue moon
• As white as snow
• A purple patch
• The black sheep
• Paint the town red
• Roll out the red carpet

Colour seems to mean a lot to us, we are insistent on children learning their colours early. Then we want to know their favourite colours and use our own preferences throughout life. Crazy as the idea of colour as an illusion is, I'm really taken by the notion that our brain, our visual cortex is constantly painting over the monochrome of life to create our own colourful world. No longer are we restricted to looking at the world through rose coloured glasses.

How to savour difference

I really struggle to understand why people fear those who are different to them. Where is their curiosity? Where is their sense of wonder? Because it is wonderful to learn about a different way of living, a different way of thinking, a different way of working, a different way of playing, a different way of communicating.

This week I watched Canadian poet Shane Koyczan speak about growing up being bullied and then turning into a bully. He finished by reciting his poignant poem To this day. It beautifully expresses why we should revel in our differences, an encouragement to get your freak on. With that though comes the call to society to be more accepting to not expect everyone to fit the same mould. We can all do our bit by expressing admiration for those who are out there; in the way they dress, in how they think, in what they do or what they hope for.

The compulsion to earn

Sometimes I think about how wonderful it would be to make some serious money from art. I avidly read advice from Cory Huff's websites The Abundant Artist and Creative Insurgents. I trawl through TED talks for inspiration, I look at grant applications,  I fantasise about patrons.

Then I think about why art has to earn money. Is it so what I do can be taken seriously? Is it to attain financial independence?

I don't really know. When I am in the process of making, these thoughts are absent. I am simply immersed in the work and I love the effect this has on my brain. A quiet excited hum of creativity and possibility. That should be reward enough, but I do feel a fiscal pressure. It's omnipresent in our society of economic rationalisation. My inclination is towards quiet contemplation with occasional outbursts of riotous garrulity.