I would like people to know how I think. This is best left for my work to explain. My painting is a release for me—cheap therapy. It is the all-attentive listener to the things that consume me. When I finish a painting, I feel like I have finally written down a thought that would have killed me if I let it stew any longer in my mind. I realize that I may not become rich and famous but I continue to paint simply because I can’t not paint.
There is a pattern in the selection of materials in my work and I continue to use the materials because I have grown familiar with them. I like the brush and oil paint because of its natural fluidity that demands empathy to its nature—brushes are not commanded they are asked to dance. I prefer to work with stretched canvas; it has a bit of give almost as if it is alive. Like all other relationships, a brush and canvas compromise with your intention rather then obeys. I love the tango of muted hues that I think best describes life and bright hues that I think best describes dreams. I love color. I experiment with color passionately. I am classically trained as a painter. I am also trained as a graphic designer and tattoo artist and am employed in both these occupations. They have an enormous influence on my work. This influence I embrace and feel has only improved my work. The strongest feeling I have when finished with a piece is a simple and deep relief.
In my work I try to express a feeling—as artwork typically does. Attempting to explain these feelings with words for me are as effective as playing a violin with a carpenters saw. This is mainly due to the fact that the feelings I linger on in a painting are originally the type I can’t explain. My paintings are stories of empathy and personal revelation told exclusively through a visual medium, because no other medium can tell the story as effectively.