For the past 30 years, I have been preoccupied with the act of painting. For most of this time, I have been captivated by the blurring of paint. I like to streak it to imply motion, or finesse the paint until the image is hidden a bit, or drag the brush aggressively until the image is almost obliterated. My favorite blur, the gentle, steady, repetitive blur, seeks to create the illusion of a tangible, three-dimensional apparition, like a hologram. Because this result is not always achieved, and because the pursuit of this enterprise can be strenuous, and must be meticulous, it is important to find joy in the process of painting. The blur has become more than a means to an end. I love to watch the paint change as the brush passes over it. It is mesmerizing to watch an image gradually develop and reshape. I am comforted by the repetition of brush strokes and entranced by the transformation of colors and textures. While the conclusion of a painting may not be the realization of the desired objective, I find that the more time I spend immersed in the practice of painting, the more I come to value the act of painting itself.