I often get asked “What is it?” What does my work depict? The answer is that the forms that populate a particular composition are open to interpretation; the general subject matter that permeates my work is easier to pin down.
Painting is a largely intuitive process for me. It begins with washes and drips of color, rather than a defined image. I add layer over layer of translucent paint and let the turpentine create rivulets of pigment until I see something. The imagery that emerges revolves around the organic, the visceral, and the abstract: fleshy, hairy or sticky forms drip and slide out of glossy splatters and variegated color fields. Although I utilize intellect in order to create believable space and light, it is my subconscious that generates the characters that dominate the compositions.
Often during the painting process, I find myself overthinking a form, at which point I force myself to step back. Not infrequently, the painting is turned on its head and nearly obliterated with new layers. Looking in from the outside, this might seem ridiculous and self-defeating, but my purpose isn't to invent forms to paint. It is to use painting as a method for exploring my mental world. The composition that results is more a byproduct of the process and a receptacle of my findings than a goal in itself.
