Shortly after graduating from the Ontario College of Art in 1980, I purchased a Color Computer from Radio Shack. After teaching myself to program in Color Basic, I began creating my first abstract digital art.
I was captivated by the endless streams of digital imagery that were possible as well as the fascinating and surreal, abstract patterns that the computer generated simply by tweaking a few parameters and formulas. I was hooked.
What began as a simple experiment and idle pastime turned into an obsession and then into a quest. What was I looking for in this infinite stream of strangely beautiful abstract images? There was a truth here and an unearthly beauty. The images didn’t represent anything other than themselves. They were their own truth and their own fierce beauty.
It was as if I was communicating with some invisible being who was telling me an extremely compelling story. Some nameless presence had captured my imagination and it seemed strangely important to give it my complete attention.
It became apparent to me that the images weren’t simply decorative, although they soon filled my walls, but rather they were objects of meditation, quiet contemplation, and even veneration.
They transformed my everyday world as well. I began to see everything as an unknowable abstraction that emerged from behind the veil of worldly concerns. The world had brightened as if the sun had come out from behind the clouds and the world sparkled with a wholesome freshness that I hadn’t experienced since childhood.
The world of frozen objects melted into a fluid ocean of perceptions dancing free and unencumbered by expectations of completion or explanation.
The images emerging from my computer’s screen were not my own creation or invention, but rather they were gifts from some unknowable, divine source of mathematical perfection. It was a collaboration between man and machine. It was a dance in which the separation between myself and my unseen partner disappeared and there was only the dance — and joy.