The canvas appears raw, naked, a fertile ground where phenomena arises and dissolves. I spill layers of water and medium with pigment from tin cans, dragging it across the surface with unconventional tools and brushes. Sometimes I smudge with coffee or dirt to get affects, but it's mostly just paint, ink, and acrylic resins. I paint flat, resting the room size canvases on milk crates. I don't do preparatory drawings. I have no concept of the blossoming forms that will come from the process of spilling and mixing and a dance of spontaneous representations. There is no top or bottom, walking around the canvas, allowing the form and color to be free, my inspiration to be free, unencumbered by concepts. The concepts will come, inevitably, when they're considered after the fact. These painting methods help to enhance my engagement with painting, discovering, the world that is invisible but still there, inside and out, it slows down, and even obscures labeling interpretation of the painting while simultaneously attempting to seduce the viewer with fusions of color and representations. My paintings embody the texture of meaning, not the illustration of meaning, which gets closer to the expression of heart of Truth.

I imagine the events in my paintings are in-between moments that we may not be aware of but are still happening. I’m consumed with the idea that the spirit of who we are as individuals, which I romantically call “the creative imagination,” oozes out of us all the time like a vapor or pours out like a river, explodes. My pictures try to portray this event in contrast to the reality of our bodies as meat, a fleshy shell, temporary, but sensual and evocative as such. Some people have said the paintings seem like operatic images of “being,” which I quite liked. Each painting is a different stage for some alchemy, some unqualified sensational change or becoming.