Working Bio

I remember the afternoon I knew I was an artist.  I was nineteen, homeless and broke and probably stoned, laying in the grass staring up at the palm trees near the beach in Santa Barbara.  It was getting dark and the trees had darkened into silhouettes swaying and dancing in the wind.  They looked like something from a Dr. Sues book: magical, ominous and beautiful.  Somehow both silly and important at the same time.  I drew them while the shadows reached out to drink in the mountains, and art helped keep the darkness at bay.

I like the rhythm of making artwork.  The way image and mark, material and support, concept and intuition all relate and connect reminds me of mythology.  I often mine mythological narratives for content in my work.  My goal is for people to be able to look at my art after living with it for years and still feel as if they are discovering new meanings and experiences through it.

Sometimes my work turns out ugly or dark.  I like that.  It's important to let darkness into painting, because painting is about how we understand what we see.  To ignore darkness is to deny light its truth.  And art is about truth, or it is only an instrument of slavery to serve our frailties and appetites.