Perspective on perspective

Tonight saw me using two pieces of technology I recently had dropped in my lap. Thankfully, as both were needed.
A printer from Ashley.
A digital camera from my dad.
With the camera I took a photo from which I extracted the above image. I printed it with my printer. Tomorrow I will work from this image in the studio.
Of course I've painted stripes before, but the starburst cut in Casual Friday Morning Coming Down got me thinking about about perspective, my more and more sturdy steps into painting with a brush and tube has had me thinking about illusionistic space.
The construction barriers allow a nice guide to perspective.

I've been thinking a lot about what it means to be raised, and educated in a place, Calgary, with an abundance of all the things you would not immediately choose for a painter's education, and with such a physical distance from the relics of painting's history.
When I search for a technique, my comfort is with the exercise books that taught me, with the exercises that demonstrated illusionistic perspective to me.
The worn out points that can't be erased, the Star Wars hyperspeed lines that get erased, the boxes, the white and black and white and black.
I feel shaky writing here again but I am back working at laundromat, so will likely be writing more.

Powder Coating: An Ode to My Father

My father, besides passing me rather good business sense and a bucketload of charm, directly affected my relationship to paint.
From the age of 12 to 22 I worked in nearly every capacity at Dwight's business Calgary Powder Coatings Inc.(if you don't know the process, buy me three beers and I will explain it...it involves a gigantic oven) . Besides making me most comfortable around bikers and dudes who work labour jobs, it gave me something that feels like insider knowledge about paint.
By seeing poorly-coated cured paint shearing off of metal, I was let in on a secret about paint. It has dimensionality, an underside. It does not just fill in a space with colour. This disallowed my becoming a painter uncursed by a curiosity about what I was painting and how it looked form the board's side.
Seeing the daily ridiculous of 100 panels flying past, all fuschia did something too.

This post doesn't do justice and feels like the old "I was built to be a painter" routine...how do you deal with experience and what it did to your work. Especially with how common attributing special to every memory you have is. It feels like saying I was a drug addict because I have addiction in my family....so what about my sister? Is she not one because off the same reason.

I have a lot of discomfort around discussing my upbringing and how it affects my work. Tomorrow I'll describe my Mother's work at Observation Nurseries Calgary and what that did.