Snapshots found in a box, photos I take, magazine cutouts, laser prints, a torn paper plate picked up on the street—these have all become grounds for my work. These elements might get buried in the paint, but I'm always aware of them as they create a pulse under the overarching composition, a call-and-response between paint and pre-existing image. The picture plane is frequently in flux, and the imagery is generally a slow burn—color and movement, then images: a car junkyard ("The History of the World"), reflections in a grocery store ("Upstream"), a space capsule ("Rocket Family/Soyuz"), bottles pouring frozen beer into an urban hedge ("Down Pour"), endangered birds and magazines ("Endangered Species"). 

The works on paper explore hybrids of form and material, often using both sides of vellum tracing paper, exploiting its transparency and the response of the crunchy paper to the mediums. The individual parts reassemble into a more fantastical form. 

The “Books” series is intermittent, reflecting my attraction to found materials as well as thoughts about the book as record. These pieces have become an on-and-off journal of time in the studio—the fired clay dates back to classes at a Philadelphia clay studio, some of the found wood is from my early NYC days scrounging around the Lower East Side. The titles play with my affection for years of paperbacks I cannot part with.

“The Corpses” is an ongoing collaborative-collage project with poet Ian Ganassi, who I met at the Millay Colony. The series is a convergence of text, drawing, painting, and found objects, which we've been mailing back and forth between NYC and New Haven, CT, since 2005, with more than 300 finished pieces and work-in-progress in transit. 
(Website link in categories list.)

Working in the studio in tandem with pre-existing images and found objects transforms the world into material. Always in view—no matter the media—is that click of significance: Richard Dreyfuss shaping mashed potatoes in Close Encounters, insisting, “This means something.”