A PROCESS…

thoughts on approach…

For my work to feel finished, it should always appear to be in a state of flux - moving towards something - out of something. I’m inspired by things that are weathered and naturally imperfect. The wabi-sabi is what I’m after. It’s a harder thing than one might think to purposefully create something that looks a little disheveled or lived in. It’s the same concept of denim designers, creating jeans that have frays and holes in them. They cost just as much (or often more) because there’s a method to the madness. And if you’ve ever tried to diy them...you know. 

Even though my paintings are puzzles that only I can solve, I have a pretty straightforward approach to them. I’m not trying to create some forced didactic to suit the work and make it seem more important than it is. It is what it is: Paint on a panel or paper. How do you make it more important than that in the midst of the world we’re living in right now? In the grand scheme of things, it’s a luxury to be a maker of lovely paintings when people are struggling to pay bills or out there fighting for equality.

I feel very fortunate to be able to do what I do. I work most every day. But I’m not a slave to it. If I want to take a day to go explore my new city, then I do that. If I want to take a leisurely two-hour lunch with friends, I do that. But the work doesn’t make itself, so there’s a discipline to getting in the studio and working for hours at a time, uninterrupted. 

Like a cat, I do what I want.

INFLUENCE AND consistency…

I’m slightly annoyed by the idea that an artist has to find a ‘style’ and stick with it. I just don’t think I could make the same paintings year after year. I get it though, gallerists have the job of placing the work into collectors’ homes, and the work needs to be recognizable. I just don’t think I’ll ever be able to completely give up growth. I’d love to be able to paint portraits or still lifes or landscapes sometimes, but any time I’ve jumped away from abstraction, it confuses people… so I’m trying to stay in my lane.

Other than being a ‘sponge’ by nature and a visual memory collector of textures, patterns and colors, I’m not really seeking to be influenced by things outside of just getting in the studio and making the work. There are a certain amount of left turns and surprises that result from showing up, getting in there and simply doing the damn work, things that wouldn’t otherwise present themselves if I’m not in the studio regularly. 

While I know that my work tends to morph a bit everytime I change my studio location, I can’t really explain why. It may be that brief period of not working, because when the studio gets reset after a move, I’m like a baby that’s forgotten how to walk. It takes some time to get back into the swing of it. But change could also be weather, the light or even the palette of a place. I suppose it’s very similar to what  we all do with change of seasons: when the weather is warm we wear lighter, brighter colors. When it’s cold and damp, we snuggle up in darker, heavier clothing. So I guess atmosphere and location inherently informs, but doesn’t necessarily control the work. 

DOING The work…

Most of the time, the paintings I’m happiest with happen the most quickly and spontaneously. I still have to force myself to slow down and let them come together over time. That said, I have the need to edit them until they have enough mystery on the final layer to urge the viewer to wonder what is going on below the surface. Sometimes the strategy is to make a quick ugly painting and then come back to it the next day for editing. For them to feel complete, they need to have a certain level of history below the veils. Most paintings that hang around my studio for a while will be revisited, as I never truly feel like a painting is finished. 

Mostly I look at it like, “Well - it’s time for you to move on, so I’m going to give you a title and get you on your way.” Without having deadlines, I’d probably keep working on pieces for years. But reality doesn’t allow for that sort of time luxury. Still, after a show when work comes back to me, alterations may happen – and often do. I sometimes see work from my past that hangs in collectors’ homes and wish I could go back and edit them. It’s like looking at old yearbook photos and wishing you had better hair. 

Sometimes working in the vacuum of the studio can feel a bit lonely. I used to work in a shared studio space, but I don’t think I got as much done, or was able to focus as much on my work with all the extra noise. The thing I miss is having open dialogue about what’s working or not with a painting. That said, people mostly tell you what they think you want to hear. That’s why I have so many internal conversations with myself - but like all creatives, I’m my own worst critic. It’s probably a good thing we artists don’t hear all of the outside criticisms, it would make us all quit. 

For my latest works, follow me on my Instagram account, or contact me to discuss commissioning an original piece.