My work searches for that point that totters between ways of looking, creating a kind of tension between abstraction and observation. In my latest series, I am using water and the seascape to investigate abstraction and the indeterminacy of space.

In an effort to preserve the austerity of minimalism and simultaneously merge it with the freedom of abstract expression, I use quick wet-into-wet and dry brush painting techniques, to create depth and subtlety in every stroke. Through this, I want my paintings to elicit a sense of constant motion and shifting space, creating a kind of ambiguity that suggests meaning behind the image.

My work is not a quick read. Rather, I want the paintings to create a strange place of indeterminacy. Abstraction enables the work to exploit this uncertainty, allowing the viewer to float through the possibilities of painting, to discover new meanings. Through this process of close-looking, I invite the viewer to enter into a contemplative, ambiguous state as they reflect upon each painting.

Something solid, write it down.
Quick, before the thought bolts, or turns into a new one. I can not remember much these days, I do not remember much these days.
On the move, running in a circle, again and again, driving to the destination and having to return to the last.

I am concerned with the dizziness of repetition, and the obsoleteness that can occur within consistent movement. The solitude of a moving body; seeing so much and retaining only a little.

Consistent movement, a migration to and from, but mostly from. Movement confirmed by road stops and confined by thought
Small writings and particular drawings, mark it all down.

The obsolete, an interest in things that can and do dissipate; it’s personal documentation for later inspection. Maybe a keepsake, maybe a way to slow down time.

Within the past year I have driven over 13,000 miles travelling between Colorado, Texas, Washington and all the states in between. These were trips with destinations, reasons, and time constraints. Most times, all of my worldly possessions made the trips with me. In August, I got my own car and moved to Spokane, WA. My car has been my transportation, my escape, and my sanctuary. In February my car also became my studio.

Since leaving New York in March 2020, I’ve lived in 3 different states and 6 different houses. With each move I’ve struggled to build a productive studio practice. I needed something of my own, separate from my living environment and a reason to leave the house. My car was the answer to most of my problems. I’d leave the house with a simple table easel, modest palette, and a few pieces of paper. I drove through Spokane and the surrounding areas, familiarizing myself and falling in love with the landscape. An island of a city surrounded by a sea of forests and wheatfields, Spokane had everything I could want as a landscape painter. The paintings became evidence of the drives. Each painting documents my place on the land and my place in time. Views dictated by the road and the windshield. The accompanying audio shares thoughts and events in between the paintings, documentation of what I could not paint.

At the beginning of March, I suddenly and unexpectedly had to leave Spokane. I spent the next week winding my way south to Colorado. Taking my time and avoiding the interstates, I painted along the road. The paintings from February are both the first and the last paintings of Spokane. Paintings from March show pieces of my drive to Colorado. This body of work carries broader themes from the last year of my life. I have not sat still long enough to find a place to plant roots. Leaving one place and forced to find another. The only constant being miles of road and landscape in between momentary destinations.