STATEMENT:
I warm up every painting with a barrage of splashes, sprays, and drips of watercolor and ink. My initial concept for the piece is always in mind, but this spontaneous attack frees me from the perfectionist prison I often find myself in. The random shapes and shocks of color on a blank page loosen up my brain and gets it working faster than usual. I also work on a series of 15-30 paintings at a time, to get a sense of freedom. This allows me to jump from one piece to another while staying at the same level of energy. I’m able to work more intuitively for the entirety of the series, even when my rational side continually tries to step in and take over. After an ample amount of chaos has been done, in splatter-form, I take a step back and start investigating the mess I’ve created. The result is never quite what I’m expecting. Looking at the way the watercolor has dried on the paper for the first time is like looking into the clouds and making images out of the shapes. Once I get a feel for what I want to happen in the composition, I slowly start to tighten up areas and draw details using other media. Working this way is extremely meditative for me. I still have a final goal, but the pressure to get there is gone. After a fair amount of work, my next round of paint and ink thrashing can begin. As the process progresses, bizarre landscapes, or freaky tunnels that lie underneath the landscapes, begin to take shape. It’s only until I’m really satisfied with the composition that I let my controlling self take over and finish up the final details of the piece.
Since childhood my subject matter has not changed much. I’ve always cared about nature, ecosystems, and absurd creatures. I like revisiting these old themes and mixing them with my new favorites topics. I have an ever-growing curiosity of deserts, sea life, microorganisms, and (still) absurd creatures. I’ll often turn the murky “accidents,” of the splatters, into beasts and monsters. They become squirming inhabitants of a tunnel system or winged and soaring past an abstract rock structure. Working in this process has helped me remember that all mistakes are fixable and welcome them with open arms.
My work has become a melting pot of work from the past and present. It’s evolving while devolving, maturing while reverting. It’s maybe even a form of therapeutic turmoil. My mind, and my work, is an ever-changing oxymoron. The opposite ends of my creative mind are very self-aware and constantly pulling away from each other. I’ve learned to stop fighting and accept both sides of my work techniques. The ultimate goal is finding a comfortable mesh for my perfectionist side that can’t stand spontaneity and for my childish side that’s carefree and can’t stand rules or control.
I warm up every painting with a barrage of splashes, sprays, and drips of watercolor and ink. My initial concept for the piece is always in mind, but this spontaneous attack frees me from the perfectionist prison I often find myself in. The random shapes and shocks of color on a blank page loosen up my brain and gets it working faster than usual. I also work on a series of 15-30 paintings at a time, to get a sense of freedom. This allows me to jump from one piece to another while staying at the same level of energy. I’m able to work more intuitively for the entirety of the series, even when my rational side continually tries to step in and take over. After an ample amount of chaos has been done, in splatter-form, I take a step back and start investigating the mess I’ve created. The result is never quite what I’m expecting. Looking at the way the watercolor has dried on the paper for the first time is like looking into the clouds and making images out of the shapes. Once I get a feel for what I want to happen in the composition, I slowly start to tighten up areas and draw details using other media. Working this way is extremely meditative for me. I still have a final goal, but the pressure to get there is gone. After a fair amount of work, my next round of paint and ink thrashing can begin. As the process progresses, bizarre landscapes, or freaky tunnels that lie underneath the landscapes, begin to take shape. It’s only until I’m really satisfied with the composition that I let my controlling self take over and finish up the final details of the piece.
Since childhood my subject matter has not changed much. I’ve always cared about nature, ecosystems, and absurd creatures. I like revisiting these old themes and mixing them with my new favorites topics. I have an ever-growing curiosity of deserts, sea life, microorganisms, and (still) absurd creatures. I’ll often turn the murky “accidents,” of the splatters, into beasts and monsters. They become squirming inhabitants of a tunnel system or winged and soaring past an abstract rock structure. Working in this process has helped me remember that all mistakes are fixable and welcome them with open arms.
My work has become a melting pot of work from the past and present. It’s evolving while devolving, maturing while reverting. It’s maybe even a form of therapeutic turmoil. My mind, and my work, is an ever-changing oxymoron. The opposite ends of my creative mind are very self-aware and constantly pulling away from each other. I’ve learned to stop fighting and accept both sides of my work techniques. The ultimate goal is finding a comfortable mesh for my perfectionist side that can’t stand spontaneity and for my childish side that’s carefree and can’t stand rules or control.
