STATEMENT OF WORK

What makes us who we are is so much more than what is on the surface. 

I paint to know the truth, to create space and time for something more to emerge. Through painting, I trace the act of being human—coming to terms with what that means—and the fragility of time. 

I carry within me a chronic illness. It's sneaky; it stays quiet and hidden until it doesn't. And so, the subjects of my paintings are often the spaces in which I spend large portions of my time, mostly intimate interiors, or the places my mind escapes to, which are drawn from my imagination and devoid of other people. Sometimes I feel oddly at home in these spaces, as if they're the most familiar places I know, environments that takes care of me and where I feel safe and understood. Yet there's something I'm always obsessing about. I can’t quite put my finger on what exactly “it” is, but I tend to pass my time taking photos of it. Certain colors, textures, and materials appear repeatedly, for example, pink and blue striped cloth, gauzy blue pillowcases, boxes of latex gloves, long hallways, tiled flooring, stairwells, and small metal sinks. 

I paint primarily based on my memories of these experiences which are fairly gritty, as though I can feel their texture in my teeth. I use acrylic and scratch into the painted surface with color pencil or graphite. The tactile quality of image making—fading in and scrubbed out—is essential in my attempt to mimic memory, scarring, and mending. The smaller works are colorful, intimate scenes or portals framed by curtains, mostly made in a single-point perspective of looking in rather than out. The larger works are more gestural and prioritize the importance of drawing. 

All of my paintings are self-portraits, but rather than directly paint an image of myself, I instead trace my life with every mark, memory, or object I leave behind on my canvas. My artworks are embodied with and preserve my experience, and I trust them to tell my story.