Artmaking is not a static endeavor. Why should my statement be carved in stone?
My work tends to oscillate between realism and symbolism, optimism and pessimism, and some combination of it all. Meticulous observation is important to me, and I realize my obsession with tiny detail is a prevailing constant as I explore different subjects. Time spent keenly looking and learning, especially outdoors, is essential to my process. I'm endlessly attracted to tiny critters, textures, contrasts – all the decay and growth found in the wild as well as mundane places like the Kroger parking lot. (I'm interested in efforts to obscure anthropocentric thinking altogether; ask me about the biodiversity of my tiny, concrete patio.) I value slowing down, dedicating spaces to recharge so that we may remain attentive to our communities. (Billionaires and politicians cannot save us. We Must Save Us.) Therefore, I approach artmaking both as an opportunity to appreciate quaint or amusing moments, and as a space to confront patterns – literal and figurative, internal and external – and complexities that may speak to something more universally human.
That said, my work is about me, often functioning as visual memoir. I don't claim to represent anyone else's experience. I arrange memories and musings from a vast personal archive into imagined spaces to create painted collages (sometimes calling the more absurd or emotional landscapes “moodscapes”), and use my own photographs for reference as often as possible.
I spend a lot of time thinking through the spiritual fragmentation induced by industrial capitalist life and feelings of isolation/disconnection – perhaps a consequence of being chronically online, or perhaps the result of [insert today’s atrocious news or absurd tidbit to complicate existing]. Though I'm an atheist, I am increasingly convinced that spiritual capacity is a gift. Creating our own magic – invented ritual, intentional magical thinking, and/or a decided indulgence in delightful delusions – is imperative to constructing identity and cultivating a sense of belonging, whatever that looks like. We must nurture our own imaginations at all costs. (In meme terms, we must “get whimsy.”) As an amateur naturalist, I am further convinced that our devotions ought to honor our immediate surroundings – the flora and fauna which sustain us, as well as the human and nonhuman kin who teach and inspire us. At individual and societal levels, those relationships require repair and sustained care.
