Echoes. Dreams. Elaborations.

"Faith is a means by which one resigns oneself to the present in order to invest in the abstract promise of the future."- Cuauhtemoc Medina Implied in this defining is the intolerable dimension of the present. The not-right-ness of now. In societies of plenty it is not the radical faith of Roman Catholic Europe and it's Conquests so much as the obstinate pagan rituals and ecstasies, like Burning Man, that displace the discontent of a people into a place of never coming to be. The ancient Egyptians, with their millennial Nile rhythms and ossified social structure, employed conservative religious narratives that functioned as continuance rites; their is no longing, no faith in them. But for the laboring masses? Which animal headed deity promised deliverance? Which was not a player in the annual pageant of sowing and flood, harvest and continuance, subservience and dominion? In this context, the monotheist impulse could be read as a proto-socialist uprising. Deliver

It's funny when, how, given enough time, and distance, ideas can just crystallize in the mind, they emerge, following a written (drawn) structure, ineffably certain; maddeningly clear. My paintings are about space. I am interested in space. In how it is constructed, in how we perceive it. And how shapes of it define what is and what is not. I am fascinated by the political implications of space, and the psychological. And it is this thing, this noun, this obtuse, effusive noun, that drives me to make my pictures the way I do. See I make records of movements. These records are always threatening, in my experience, to dissolve into unorganized conglomerations (re: my studio, truck, etc) of junk: meaningless. Detritus. Chaos. The human will, with it's disposable, no, opposable thumb and soaring visual capacity and preoccupation with the future (re: fear), cannot exist, has no reality, without them, these records of movements, but they must be actuated, they must mean. A