This knowledge [of painting materials] simultaneously brews inside me and constantly evades me. It’s not something I have, but seek. And through all of this seeking, it’s become harder and harder for me to write about what I’m learning. Why? For a while, I couldn’t tell you. Now I think I know. The more I have learned about paint and its long history and many characters, the more I realize I don’t know. Maybe this is actually a coming of age story. I remember the question crossing my mind, “what place does my voice have when there’s so many people who know so much more?”