I make thick, graphic pictures with clear colors and totemic forms. They are neither illusionistic nor abstract. Instead, I set out to realize in symbols and shadows an admittedly mundane kind of tension; one I like to compare to that deceptively languorous but watchful manner typical of adolescents. But it is an ardent and lustful pictorial world, made of these tangible half-fictions. And it is grounded both physically and emotionally in secret, dream-like, late-evening pockets of our own. Like a slow rolling car crackling out of a gravel driveway, when its headlights throw a lined shadow across a dark bedroom. Or when the sun shines through a hole in a hot, hazy sky. In their simple and earnest and primordial modality, my paintings are conceived here. They have few ulterior motives.
