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About Jack McEnany
Artist's Statement
For 45 years, I lived inside language. As a journalist, essayist, and screenwriter, I learned that the deepest work is never really about the words themselves — it's about what lies beneath them, the current running under the surface that the right sentence tries, imperfectly, to catch. I wrote for publications as different as The Nation and The Humanist and Men's Journal, and I wrote books — Bode: Go Fast... and Brush Cat — each one a different kind of reckoning with the world. I also wanted to paint. But I understood early on that you cannot chase two obsessions at full
speed. You have to choose. I chose writing because it could feed me. I gave it everything I had.
Now, at 69, I paint. What I've discovered is that everything I learned about writing — the discipline, the willingness to begin without knowing where you're going, the tolerance for failure, the long patience required before something true appears — turns out to have been preparation for this. A writer and a painter are after the same thing. They just use different lies to get at the truth. Abstract painting suits me because abstraction is what I always trusted most. Not the literal. Not the explained. The thing that means something before you can say what it means — the image
that lands in the body before it reaches the brain. I spent decades finding words for what couldn't quite be said. Now I don't have to find the words at all.
I've never been happier.