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.