Switching between abstract and figurative painting is like having a split personality. Two different identities inhabiting the same body. I spend time physically sitting between two of my paintings observing what part of me did what and what’s the common denominator.  It’s like being a detective and all the suspects in the case are pieces of yourself. I know the answers but I’m still asking questions. Don’t worry, This is not the moment where I forever start referring to myself as “we”. I also promise my life will not follow the script of fight club. Tyler and I swear to you.


The commission moved out of it’s awkward slump. I would never tell you in the moment or admit I ever had a brief period of doubt and panic because I’m Armando Cabba. Now that the past is in the past and you have no concrete proof of such a thing, I was feeling a bit worried. Being away from painting in my own style, especially after the academy, made me feel I forgot how to art. I felt I suddenly forgot those secret steps to what makes my work so unique. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again, creativity is like a fart. If you force it, chances are it’s shit. To be a painter means you have to be patient. I literally watch paint dry all day. That is my job description in a nutshell. I felt I misplaced the reins and forgot where I dropped them only to realize that they were in my hands the whole time. I had a brain fart and all was well again.


These two Bruts are coming to an end. I know this because I know what I’m doing. I don’t know how else to explain it to you. How do you know when you’re done eating? How do you know when you’re finished making love? It’s all because reasons. These paintings are more organic than just their style. Each day they change. They grow old and fit more into themselves like tiny human beings. I think they call them “children” but I’m not sure.

I am warning you for the millionth time that I’m in transition which means my internet connection is questionable. Got to love the wheneverness of Italy.