My paintings are derived from pictures. Photos, taken by me or those around me, hoarded on my phone, favorited until I find a satisfactory composition: diagonal, three corners activated, figures cut at the torso or sliced below the knees, giving the viewer just enough visual information. My paintings are derived from pictures and explored through color. Bright, loud, unforgiving, shameless color. Color forming stripes, polka dots, blades of grass in a mossy field. Color which twists itself across a shirt, creating form through wavy stripes, or down a shadowy leg, covered in colored pencil tattoos and long leg hairs. Color which has become a vital part of my artistic practice, the crux of my creative process as, no matter who I choose to paint - Rosa, smoking a cigarette on her fire escape, or Matias, leaning against a sports car - these situations that I want to remember, these faux events I want to create, these paintings are made through color.
My visual interest lies in the sharp corners of a canvas. The moment where you peel blue painters tape off a piece paper, revealing precise edges and smooth brushstrokes. A crisp bottle blue outline around a hand, or a leg, or a pair of pants. Sharpening a brown colored pencil with my X-ACTO knife, and using the pointed tip to sketch arm hairs down a long flesh-colored limb. Painting finger nails onto finger tips, watching as the hand comes to life. Filling empty takeout containers with precise amounts of yellow and blue, yellow and red, mixing until the perfect shade of green or orange appears. Applying silky, watered-down acrylic paint to the surface with a brand-new flat brush, watching as neat lines of color sit against each other. Painting stripes.