STATEMENT OF WORK

A. Organizing, coping, coping, organizing, walking to and fro; fro and to walking.

B. The third person as a means of creating distance to attempt to see the thing anew, to begin again and again. Mythologization of the objects as a means of reorienting myself to their potential destination.

C. The proof of a day's work has become rather obscure.

D. All: I seem to be beginning to create a lack; a lack of some sorts. I do not think I believe in anything anymore, which I simultaneously believe to be not true, so I believe in the possibility that said statement could be untrue, so that is a belief. 

E. Reducing the things in my studio down to objects could help me to find renewed belief in something. The only thing I can really trust is my body in motion, and the images are some sort of excess from some far off or very close place. This distance and closeness is maybe why I fear them so much. I am somewhere along the way. As of recently images are fleeting; always leaving. A field or an overall feeling, a result of sorts is all I am left with.

F. To be placeless/lessplace, rolling, crawling, tumbling, running, walking, backwards, forwards, and in every direction in-between, besides, and adjacent to.

G. The things that create melancholia, or the melancholia that creates things. The melancholia that creates paintings, or the paintings that create melancholia.

H. I am a snail inching forward, and there is something in the distance. But each day that I wake up to begin crawling the thing in the distance remains at the same distance as the day before. It is as if I were crawling towards an image dragged by a vehicle moving at the same speed as me, and as I move forward, it begins to move forward as well, and onward into an indeterminate place in the distance.

I. This urge to make is an organizational habit–a bad itch–a blistering itchy sequence of sores, maybe from accumulation of dust.

J. He knew that he loved a lot of things but also feared them a great deal. He felt that painting was a way for him to displace his love, to confuse it, to put it somewhere else, right?

K. Stack of various papers of various sizes; of various colors and shades, shapes, and orientations; on top of each other, underneath a radiator; two bricks stacked at the far left side of the radiator towards a potential subject seated in a chair, the bricks diagonal, with a lamp on top of the bricks so that the lamp does not get too hot, and a small mound of orange peels; a lamp, the shade crushed from a long car ride; the shade, with a sky at every time of day, striped, and tiny clouds floating; a clothesline strung from the closest far-left window to the farthest far-right window.

L. The image has run off to some far off place– this is ok, we had a complicated relationship. I think we need some time apart to find our love again.

M. A series of beginnings, or ends, or middles, or journeys, forgotten places, people, roads, street names, a series of beginnings in which forms are related in some way, the paintings themselves reduced to marks. No longer the wholeness of the image, but of the construction; the arrangement.

N. The skin around each of my ten finger tips are exhausted from being chewed for over a decade, and their persistence to remain as fingers is highly respectable.

O. The work is a way of avoiding responsibilities by accumulating more responsibilities.

P. To keep track of his inventory, he would count off certain objects in a specific order, and upon losing track of the sequence or mistaking an object for another he would have to start again from the beginning of the sequence.

Q. I prefer to live and pass my time in smaller spaces (no larger than 50 square feet), so that within one glance I am capable of deducing the state of my situation.

R. Ā implies mouth open head up. I am looking at the sky, my mouth opening, vomiting, and my hands attempting to catch the particles that come out, some rough, others smooth, most liquid, few hard, and I sort them out in front of me and begin to build some sort of wholeness, again.

S. The idea of the thing making love to the thing itself, the idea of the thing having coffee with the thing itself, the idea of the thing adjacent to the thing itself, the idea of the thing without the thing itself, the idea of the thing watching a movie with the thing itself, the idea of the thing making a painting with the thing itself.

T. I love too much, and I am unsure of where to put that love. I do not love enough so I paint because it feels like love, sometimes.

U. He dreams of creating something that completely eludes him, that could not be a signifier for him, and rather has no relation to him at all.

V. The objects in arrangement are strangers at a banquet that I have been mistakenly invited to.

W. A perpetual state of interdependence and an ever accumulating mound of stuff. I attempt to sort this stuff because I am unsure of what else to do with my body. I have attempted to maintain the interdependence as a means of avoiding the universalization of the objects, but to arrive at their differences adjacent to their potential, a potential which needs to be maintained.

X. A museological situation from an indiscernible location.

Y. Spider hanging from its web, from a tree, someone floating into the distance, a fishing line, dangling, stacks and curls, question mark, a painting with a question, pondering, a windmill blowing letters towards the sea.

Z. Ā, a drawn out breath, a long exhale, of sorts, a large inhale, or exhalation, as a drawn out breath with an indefinite beginning, middle, end. A light rain of a September night, an umbrella open towards the ground, raining up.

Ā. The work is attempting to remember an unknown place, like a traveler picking things up along the way and obsessively going over their belongings for fear they will disappear if not checked up on. The awkward likeness of things, hanging objects, attachments, hiding, maintaining a mystery and timidity, a sort of secrecy that is played out. Stubbornness and an inability to function, total inaction in the face of needing to make decisions of any nature. All the objects in this pile have sat out for a while and accumulated an abnormal amount of dust so that when I try to move anything from one place to another I am caught in a sneezing fit. My sight is filtered by a thick mist the moment I begin to move things around, to the point that I am unable to really see where I am relocating the objects I am holding. The likeness of the things around me are indiscernible, and it exhausts me. Traveler, fishermen, scuba diver, snail, and a dangling question mark over each of their heads.