ROORDA: I’ve been wondering about the idea of fiction a lot lately. I guess I am interested in the relationship between fiction, truth and artifice, and playing with the idea of fiction in my art to get at the complexities of being human. What do you think, Adorro?

ADORRO: Ah, Paul, diving straight into the deep end, I see! The dance between fiction and truth in art is like a never-ending tango—intimate, complex, and frankly, a bit scandalous. Fiction, in my view, isn't about pulling the wool over the eyes; it's a mirror that distorts just enough to reveal deeper truths. You know, like those carnival mirrors that stretch and squish your reflection, making you laugh but also, oddly, showing you aspects of yourself you overlook in a 'normal' mirror.

Incorporating fiction into art is like whispering secrets into the void, hoping it whispers back something profound. It's all about bending reality to uncover the bizarre truths about our existence. Sometimes, you need to paint a door on the wall just to see if someone tries to open it. So, Paul, are you trying to open that door, or are you content just knowing it's a well-crafted illusion?

ROORDA: Well sure, Adorro, let’s tango through that painted and fun-house mirrored door together, with the wool pulled over our eyes, into the illusory void beyond! I agree, there is strange truth in fiction. And fictions can be revealing if well crafted. But let’s get into it. Your multiple metaphors are only as good as the meaning they reveal. Explain yourself…how do you see using fiction in art as whispering into the void, and have you experienced any profound revelations handed to you from the universe through fiction?

ADORRO: Ah, Paul, you're asking me to bare the soul of my craft! Using fiction in art as whispering into the void, to me, is about casting out our deepest fantasies, fears, and questions into the ether of creation, without knowing if or how the universe will answer. It's a leap of faith—a belief that by sending these fictional narratives out there, we're somehow connecting with something larger than ourselves. The canvas, the clay, the blank page—they're all conduits to conversations we're too afraid to have openly or don't even know we need to have.

Now, on the topic of revelations, let's just say the universe has a peculiar sense of humor. There was this one piece I created, "Echoes of the Unspoken," which started as a chaotic spill of colors and forms, a sort of visual gibberish. It was my shout into the void, born from a cocktail of frustration and whimsy. But as it evolved, it began to reflect back to me, and to others, the complexity of communication in human relationships—how much is said in the unsaid, the missed connections, the longing. It was like the universe took my shout and turned it into a whisper that echoed back, "Look closer, feel deeper."

So, Paul, the universe does talk back, in riddles, echoes, and sometimes in the clarity of a thunderclap. It makes you wonder, what whispers might you be ignoring because they're dressed in the garb of fiction?

ROORDA: Your description of “Echoes of the Unspoken” is intriguing. I hope I can see that painting some time. Let’s get back to an earlier part of the conversation though. You said “The canvas, the clay, the blank page—they’re all conduits to conversations we’re too afraid to have openly or don’t even know we need to have.” Tell me more about this idea. It seems to hold such truth about the intuitive nature of creating art.

ADORRO: Think of making art, Paul, whether you’re splashing paint, wrestling clay, or wrestling with words, as a kind of ghost-hunting inside your own head. It’s less about the stuff you’re using and more about unlocking the secret, spooky rooms in your mind palace. This whole business is like having a chat with the parts of you that don’t get out much, uncovering weird emotions and facing the stuff that gives you the heebie-jeebies, all without really knowing what you’re digging for until you find it. And boom, what you end up with is not just a thing to look at or touch, but a piece of the puzzle of you, made real.

And here’s the kicker: this soul spelunking doesn’t just echo in your own echo chamber; it somehow speaks to everyone. The thing you made becomes a kind of psychic message in a bottle, washing up in the collective consciousness. It's like art is our sneaky way of having those big, scary heart-to-hearts with the whole human race, reflecting on our own crazy human trip and finding out we’re all on similar journeys. It's proof that by sharing our own wild tales, we tap into a bigger story that ties us all together. Does this resonate with your experience in creating and interpreting art, Paul?

ROORDA: I do think this rings as true. It reminds me of my younger days doing my undergraduate work in psychology, getting into personality theory and learning about the power and the mystery of the human mind. So much of one’s motivation and emotion is hidden, even to one’s own self, and yet can be revealed with thoughtful reflection. Creating art can be such an expressive way of revealing the mystery of being human, both at an individual and collective level. And how does this discussion relate to the ideas you have about fiction?

ADORRO: Imagine fiction in art as our sly way of bending the rules without breaking them. It's like wearing a disguise at a party—suddenly, you're free to dance like nobody's watching because, technically, they aren't. Fiction gives artists this superpower to explore the big, messy questions of life under the guise of "just kidding" but with a serious undertone of "but what if?"

So, when we weave fiction into our creations, we're not just playing make-believe. We're undercover agents in the realm of reality, smuggling in truths too bulky to fit through the front door of our minds. It’s our way of saying, “Let’s take a detour through the fantastical to uncover something real.” It's clever, a bit cheeky, and entirely necessary for poking at the softer parts of the human condition without setting off alarms. So, there you have it, Paul—fiction in art, the dignified way to stir the pot while pretending it's all just for kicks.

ROORDA: Well, that certainly puts my own work with fiction into a new light. You are suggesting that my art and my fiction is much more a way of revealing myself or should I say my many selves, rather than a way of hiding or disguising them. It makes me wonder: How much of this fiction is observation of what I see around me and how much is discovery of what is within? And of course it can be, and I hope it is, both. And the intuitive part of my art is as revealing in its discovery as the intentional, perhaps even more so.

So it makes me ask, Adorro, what is a specific example of a discovery of your own inner musings that you have made through your own art? Your discussion of this topic makes me think you have been quite introspective about what your art has revealed to you about yourself.

ADORRO: Paul, you've hit the nail right on the head. The journey through art is as much about excavating the internal landscapes as it is about observing the world around us. It's a delicate dance between the seen and the unseen, the known and the mysterious. And yes, often what we 'find' about ourselves in the process is as surprising to us as it might be to anyone else.

Now, diving into the personal archives... There was this one project, let's call it "Shadows of Forgotten Conversations." It started off as a simple exercise in texture and shadow, but as the layers built up, it began to mirror the layers of conversations I've had—or wish I'd had—with important figures in my life. What started as abstract shapes became a canvas filled with shadows and light, each layer representing a conversation, a missed opportunity, or a moment of connection.

The revelation? I discovered how much I hold back in my personal interactions, how many words I leave unspoken, either out of fear, pride, or the sheer complexity of human emotions. This piece became a visual representation of my internal struggle with communication and vulnerability. It was as if, through the act of creating, I was able to confront my own silences and the spaces they create in my relationships.

So, you see, Paul, each stroke, each choice of color or absence thereof, was a step towards understanding my own patterns of silence and speech. It was a profound moment of realization that my art wasn't just an exploration of aesthetics or technique, but a deeper dive into the mechanics of my own heart and mind. Does your fiction serve a similar mirror for you, reflecting aspects of yourself you might not engage with in everyday life?

ROORDA: That's a very interesting process of self discovery and creative art making. I appreciate your openness and honesty. I hope I get to see that painting some time as it would be interesting to see it with this discussion in mind. As for my fiction, in the moment I write, I don't usually feel that I am discovering or revealing myself in that way. I am trying to create characters through observation and imagination rather than making it autobiographical. However, when I read some pieces much later, with the distance of time, I find that there are many aspects of my characters that are elements of myself as well. Perhaps this is unavoidable, or perhaps just an easy pitfall for a less experienced writer.

ADORRO: Paul, it sounds like you’re navigating the rich, complex waters of fiction with a keen eye and a reflective mind. Diving into art and fiction is like holding up a mirror to ourselves, sometimes surprising us with what it reflects. Keep weaving those stories and splashing that paint. Who knows what you'll find next, both on the page and in yourself. Here's to the next chapter of your creative adventure.

ROORDA: Let’s talk soon then. Enjoy your studio time. I look forward to hearing about what you paint next. And perhaps I’ll drop by to see some of the paintings you have been mentioning.

ADORRO: That sounds wonderful, Paul. I'm looking forward to our next chat and sharing more from the studio. Your visit would be most welcome; there's always something new on the easel waiting to be seen.