Hello, bloggers.

On one of my last days in Ireland, I did a lot of reflecting about the ancient Mayan civilization.

I’ve watched a number of documentaries this year about the Mayan people, their philosphy, and their way of life.

I’ve come away with the supposition that their philosophy is almost diametrically opposed to ours today in the West, where we protect and cherish and foster life and beauty.

In our sports, for example, when you win some big game or series, the top players are hoisted on the shoulders of the team and carry the trophy, and everybody reveres them.

It has been speculated—I don’t know if it’s proven—that in the Mayan culture, the team captain was sacrificed after the game.  It was a great honor to be killed.  Blood was the sacrificial elixer that was constantly given to their gods.  This seems strange to us in our culture today.

In Ireland, I have been working on 50 paintings for the last couple years.  They’re 6’x6’, and during this transition time of shutting down one studio and going to the other, I have worked for the last five or six days for probably 6 to 8 hours a day.  Every micro-inch of these paintings cries out for me to do something to it.

I was standing, looking on them with great glee, “Oh wouldn’t they be great in a museum, where everybody could see them!”

Then I thought, What would the Maya do with these?

And I thought, in one way, shape, or form, they would destroy them, sacrifice them, or somehow screw them up—at least from the perspective of my philosophy.

So I thought:  I think I’ll try something and see what happens...

I picked four of them out, two that I thought were masterpieces and two that I thought were very good for me...  so I wasn’t kidding myself by saying I was sacrificing some of the very best ones.

I then mixed up a concoction of water, polyurethane, varnish, turpentine, and paint solvent, and with great flourish and a big, thick paint roller, rolled it on these paintings and watched in horror as they started to bleed and come apart and do what paints do when they get hit with stuff like this.

Then I threw fans on them to see what effect that would have, to speed up the process.  Next I thought maybe I should throw some water on them too, which I did.

Much to my surprise, the next morning when I got up and looked at them, they looked very interesting.  They weren’t all dressed up in their fine suits and flowers and clothes, but I could still see the gems of them coming out, and other things happening, too.

For the next four days I tweaked them and tweaked them.  Two of them I didn’t do anything with and two of them I did.

In the meantime, I had two blank canvases that I hadn’t done anything with, so I took two down and put two up...

Then, with the concoction that I used, I judiciously put nine different colors on, with spatulas, and watched them blast off and take flight like Aladdin’s carpet.  They just ran down and introduced themselves to each other and changed...  It was a wonderful event for me to watch.

And so when I got through, I learned that by going through that process of destroying something that I had considered a masterpiece, I hadn’t changed my philosophy, but my intrigue with the Mayan principles had altered my way of looking at my work.

It made me question:  Is this a gold mine, and inside it is a diamond mine?  Should I keep digging further, exploring further?  And if I do, when the hell am I going to get out of this?  Am I going to find myself in China?

It’s a daunting trip, and it expands my mind and my horizons to places I didn’t think I was going to go—but places that are very exciting.

I’ll continue to watch things that intrigue and challenge me, because it seems to always translate back into my spirits and how they keep saying, “Onward and upward, you stupid ass!  You have’t gone anywhere yet!”

Matt