I love what I paint. The distinct feel of my imagery stems from a lifetime romance with grotesque beauty. I am above all things a people watcher. Throughout my young years and into adulthood I have been distinctly aware that there was a secret world to everyone, I crave entry to those worlds, I pursue it daily, snatching hidden moments with a visual butterfly net and understanding the grace and vitality in even the most awkward of life. I draw from scientific abnormalities, sexual deviations, fetish models, belly dancers, circus freaks, religious tradition, cult leaders, the fetal, notorious criminals, family, the exorcised, the eternal battle of the sexes, and at times the line between the sane and not so sane. I feel that we live in a society where one of the most basic driving forces, Sex, is only trivialized, demonized, or used to sell soda pop. Heaven forbid we ask more of it. My art is about realizing that we a re creatures connected mentally, physically, and sexually to everything in this world. I hold things up for people and and say here too is humor, irony, beauty, freedom, and a chance to grow.
The imagery in my paintings is not always pretty, or quiet, or peaceful. Chances are that they won't match the color scheme in a living room or coordinate with the furniture. Often when the viewer first approaches my work I observe a moment of discomfort. There is too much hanging out in the open. they laugh, they joke, they shuffle their feet and question my sanity. They disregard it as smut made to shock and repulse. It is then that I wait, I watch for the change, the moment when they reevaluate their feelings and halt the initial backwards momentum and allow themselves to look closer, without shame or judgment and see the beauty. Suddenly they get the message, or remember something that connects them with it. There is no longer discomfort, there is a bond, there is appreciation. Because there is always beauty. It's in the crooked nipples, or the swollen genitalia, there is beauty in the sharp curve of the hips or the stray pubic hairs, the malformed, the imperfections that make us one with the snowflakes in our own fleshy, marvelous, human way.