When I was young, I equated the drawn image with the written word. As an adolescent, I retained the fusion – documenting a phantasmagoric, interior life through journals, sketchbooks and school notes. Now, in my more “mature” paintings, my calligraphic and graphic line-work evince my meld of these communicative mediums. Starting with vandalized school notes, my art rides the line of private contemplation and egocentric broadcast.
The images I make are large, oblique diaries. Their public scale and tarp-like substrate pay homage to sideshow paintings and medieval tapestries. Referencing freak shows and religious objects brings up the guilty thrill I get out of exhibiting and elevating my private world before strangers. Yet, holding fast to the animal and human figure runs the risk of recognition, which keeps me vulnerable, frantic, invested. Maintaining an irreverent timbre and indulging scatological humor is how I put the viewer and myself at ease.
I glean imagery from memories, cellphone pictures and toy-like dioramas. Veiling humans in hybridized animal bodies, populating scenes with the comforting, protective likenesses of family pets and only extracting patterns from familiar sites in my life obscures meaning. Stacking levels of perception in invented, diagrammatic realms unveils multiple layers of experience but at the same time confuses the subject matter with overwhelming busyness.
Obfuscation is my method. I need it.