When I write or paint, I glean information from the electrical impulses that have entered my brain. Unless there was something installed before my life experiences, that is all I have to go on. I extrapolate meaning. I move the puzzle pieces around.

My brain doesn’t see. It resides in the darkness, enclosed in my skull. It receives electrical impulses from my eye, and usually believes what my eye tells it. It interprets what my ears strain to pick up, and for me, this is a somewhat less reliable source of information. The nerve endings in my skin help me deduce the physical nature of objects. My olfactory nerve and gustatory system give me clues through smell and taste. Based on these impulses, my brain builds an interpretation of the world around me.

I was recently told that my brain hallucinates my reality through this information.

When I paint, I select from the colors I find on the shelf in my studio. I mix the paints together, and I try many combinations of brushstrokes. The supplies are limited, yet the possible combinations are infinite.