Snapshots found in a box, photos I take, magazine cut-outs, laser prints, a piece of paper plate picked up on the street—these have all become grounds for my work. Recently, it was aerial views shot during a cross-country flight. Sometimes these elements get buried in the paint, but I’m always aware of them as they create a pulse that leads to the overarching composition. A lot of what happens is the response between paint and pre-existing image; as the composition builds, the space tends to get distorted, the picture plane frequently in flux. The narrative tends toward the collision and collusion of our reach into land and sea, outer space, the relationship of gardens and junk, boardwalks sinking, trees growing out of abandoned carsYet the work is generally a slow burn—you wouldn’t look at a painting and say, That’s a bunch of our junk floating out in space. You'd see color and movement and then maybe notice astronauts in one corner ("Space Junk"). Or beer bottles enmeshed in a hedge ("Down Pour"). The composition as a whole overrules individual elements. 

The works on paper explore hybrids of form, 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” (website link in categories list) 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.

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

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