Artist Statement
I begin in the world. Some enchanted slant of light, a gesture or a look sets off a resonance in me that is also an itch. Itch becomes demand. The demand finds fulfillment in form’s description. Description becomes a re-production that is not seeking duplication. If it is a bird that initially caught me, the painted thing will not be that bird. It will be another bird.
This other bird- or airplane, or fire- is made of materials that resist. Encaustic wax, cuttlefish ink and beet juice all have agendas of their own. I work with them. They are partners and tools. Working with stubborn art materials, and with the more conformist oil paint, is itself a quick and dirty magic; eventually the image comes awake and speaks.
I am more witness than agent. It happens: a little voice says: put this, here.
The quickening of inspiration happens also in the realm of ideas. About half of my pieces came to life in response to ideas found in wisdom literature. In this, the work of poets has as much weight as that of the Bible, and the Upanishads.
I struggle with optimism and worry constantly about naivete. The world is not a garden. Nevertheless, I’ve lost all patience with the prevailing cynicism in art circles and the larger sphere of society. It dominates, seemingly, everything it touches. There are some traditions that describe life as walking on the edge of a sword, and this is true. My wish for my work-for the bird I make that was touched off by a real bee (long gone)-is that it is at home in the world, the real world we all live in, the one that we love, even though it breaks our hearts.