notes from the studio, 2016

 

As a painter, I love to to layer color in cellophane thin sheets, staying with a painting until it glows.

My new works begin with several pours of paint as liquid as ink. The colors wash and stain and run. They escape me entirely. I'm learning to recognize the beauty in these accidents, a place where the velocity of a gesture and the emotion that gave rise to it are complete in their immediacy. The composition then wrestles to life around and through this first, raw expression. In the process I often use brushes that require a concentrated movement of the entire body, which behaves of its own subterranean motives, the muscle memory of grief and joy. 

Though the elements of a finished piece are often different than I'd planned, I'm often surprised to find that odd intuitions and long digressions have created something nonetheless emotionally accurate, as a dream translates the soul to the mind with a nonsense that transcends logic.