The strange thing about today is that it was no different from any other day, until it was. It seemed like it was a dream that I woke into rather than woke out of. The wind was blowing in the trees. The water was flowing in the creek. And I realized that I was Truman.
While lying in a hot springs looking up at the billions of stars, I began to question if there was a deeper meaning to life. For most of my life I have thought there was. I call myself a pagan, buddhist, witch. And ironically I always thought it was the little punk in me that
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“Prince, Purple Rain” An Amalee Original. I painted this painting in August 2016, but I now find myself thinking about him more. Prince was more than comfortable being seen while I would rather stay hidden. He seemed to be so seen as who he really was and yet he seemed to die lonely and sad.
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The great thing about being an artist is that you are expected to break rules, or so you would think. As an artist, I have been told several thousand times I need to have a style that is recognizable. Brush stokes and subject matter matter. My “Johnny Cash” painting pretty much sums up my feelings about this
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