Sometimes people ask me how I decide what to create when I go into my studio.  I try to answer the question by saying that I begin by satisfying my impulses, like getting something out of my system, and I haven’t much of a plan. 

And then (this is the harder part to explain), I watch.  As I apply paint, attach collage elements, and edit portions of the results, a passage inevitably appears that allures me beyond my ability to analyze and comprehend rationally.  It is like stumbling upon a glimpse into a secret world that lies beyond the material surface.  Following this discovery, I then work, if not wrestle, to bring it all together. 

So I find myself operating as both creator and observer, somehow in charge of the painting’s orchestration, but never more than a step ahead of the painting itself.  The painting has a life of its own, and I feel like only a catalyst at key moments during its development.  When I am satisfied with a piece and consider it complete, I find myself more as witness than owner, as though the spirit of the image continues to pulse just beyond grasp.