Why do I paint? Painting has always been a way for me to focus my thoughts. When you see my work you will often see reflections of my personal battles with myself. Colors and textures fight for priority; subjects weave in and out battling the plane of the canvas; and spontaneity takes on intellect. All of this "visual noise" competes for attention. As the noise grows louder and louder, the visual tension grows, texture and color collide, subjects stare blankly–looking for understanding, and then at the final crescendo there is a brief moment of silence and then peace.
I have always had a keen interest in history–the history of humanity, the history of beliefs, the history of art, my own family histories. Where do I fit in to the great puzzle of life? My art has always been a way for me to explore those thoughts, a way to open up conversations with history. Through my paintings I can challenge the Cubists; Contemplate Be-bop with Coltrane; Deny my academia in pursuit of naivety; and through my own simple creations gain a better understanding of God.
I am often asked why I paint in acrylics as opposed to oils. The truth is that I have never had the luxury of having my own studio. I have always painted in the places I lived, surrounded by the "visual noise" of family life. As opposed to oil, acrylic paints have very little odor, but more importantly they dry quickly. When viewing my work you will notice that they rely heavily on layers–color and texture frequently fight on-going battles for attention. The spontaneity of my work (and my life) often relies on the ability to accept mistakes and to actively pursue ways to fix them
Imperfection. In my pursuit in the understanding of my creation I have had privilege and the pain to daily understand my own imperfections as a human being. Imperfection is the foundational cornerstone of my artwork. It is my belief that life is a canvas made up of good and bad decisions– The way we act and respond to those decisions is instrumental in the completion of the final work. This is true of my work–there comes a time when the visual noise of color, pattern, and subject become silent and I know the artwork is complete.