This new series I’m working on is a struggle but it is a formal one. Translating thoughts into imagery is always tricky because it can never really measure up. When you’re trying to peer at the cracks between disparate realities, then the idea you have about what it looks like necessarily compete with reality, or perception, itself.

Someone asked me if I ever get depressed when I paint. I suppose because of the imagery and concepts I want to talk about. I answered that I don’t. The act of painting is cathartic and when I’m working, I’m thinking of how it all fits together, not about the specifics of the images in front of me. To me, a bloodied body is as sacred as a a saint. I simply want to do the most justice to the idea that it is so. These paintings are altars to that truth.


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