My work desires at first to entrap, admittedly myself, via the least threatening imagery I can conjure. Repeated images and symbols are reconfigured to continually outwit my own mental barriers against the world, and trick me into a state of helpless emotional openness.
I begin from the most personal, most intimate, most embarrassing, most naïve, and from the assumption that these feelings are contained but ubiquitous. If I can find a voice, not necessarily my own, might not I be able to learn to see and feel to a greater degree? Might I attend to social and political issues of my time while eluding political entanglement, cultural appropriation and historical cliché? Will I be able to achieve innocence through the revelation of my implicit connection to even the most cruel or insincere things?
There is a purposefully indistinct, transparent, and reflective emptiness in my work, and I consider the underlying paranoias [sic] and mistakes as beautiful and illuminating. I regard the individual as a contained vessel, with the aspirations to out evolve its own limits. I am afraid. I want to hide from this progress of consciousness that is dissolving my personal identity even as I invite others to escape the solitary.