Move to the city:

Coming now from a more conventional use of a Uhaul truck, it seems  I've left one form of pattern behind (24 years in Florida and the art I made in that state) and am setting out for the lesser known...

To begin, I'm away from the press, a printmaker's home, allowing for a pressure without this means for progressive expression. This was my counterpoint to the urgency of those days, finding composure in that gradual process. Now, albeit a conscious choice, I'm bound to no particular place for the making... nor living. My time is not set, and I've attempted to leave as many extensions of self behind.

I remember moving and moving again while growing up. I remember a need to capture even the most mundane objects through paint and pencil in order to better know my surroundings... With each push or pull of the brush, I imagined I'd become more rooted. Here in New York, it's proven to be a further distance to ground. In sensations of so many fighting for so much, there's been little thus far for me to grab onto... Rather, I buy my inspiration. Taking delight in a familiar find of decorative papers (similar to those used in those final drawings I made in Florida), I've taken to what I consider to be another form of realism. Here I spend my days meticulously measuring, drawing, painting, and reacquainting myself to a gradual process with these marketed designs. To find a connection, I occasionally incorporate a few of my own, but even then I'm thinking only of those that, in their geometric simplicity, have undoubtedly been used by other individuals in other places and time. These are innate influences; this is some ground within: