At a point in my life in the search for what kind of artist I was, and wanted to be. Into which medium that I would pour myself, into what work. I had contemplated acting and becoming an actor, professionally I mean. As an avenue for the singular creative force within me.

I acted for a while, in minor plays, took lessons and workshops, honing my craft, acquiring experience and skill. And then it came to me one day that my whole life I had been acting this person called Michael. That I had stereotyped myself and in actuality I had perfected that performance. It sometimes was a hammy performance, when I needed to be big, and cover inadequacy or a confidence issue, in others; I could play the victim to, in order to get my way. But I was at all times playing parts informed by my reality… but still a role.
The versatility is in performance. From one characterization to another, the archetypes within set the tone for all the Michaels.

The creator/destroyer, hero, orphan, the warrior, the king, and philosopher, the trickster, more so the harlequin who would take no blame and held no allegiance. Who has no politics, is an anarchist, and does not really have a sex. It became a favorite characterisation of the eventual painter.
In all these characters, they are informed by my reality, and that which I am submersed.
To be an artist is to recognize we can change in moment, from one breath to the next, to something different, something new, something that is capable of adapting very quickly.
In fact at my best I am a walking contradiction.
In the end I choice to paint, which was much more difficult and satisfying creatively as an art form for me.
But as to the performances, they still continue, with the real me watching from the background. Besides acting is much more real than life.
Michael