Making art for me is like singing the blues. While I’m working, I lose my blues. My art objects remain to offer my fellows visceral pleasure and subversive joy. Oppression, desolation, and angst—both personal and collective—are my inspiration. I make work art to meet these forces and moods with freedom and vitality.
I make sprawling installations of drawings, paintings, sculptures, altered objects, videos and books linked more by an anarchic attitude and aesthetic than by common materials. Using improvisation and play, I try to subvert oppressive elements, both external and internalized. I satirize our conditioned notions of power, success and beauty. I tease and parody personal and cultural narratives, clowning everything from Jesus as handsome white savior to new age utopianism to media-fueled dreams of romantic love. With the tragicomic sense of one who sees individual suffering in a larger context, I laugh at the seriousness of my own emotional experience. My joy is always tempered by irony. But then, so is my despair. This sensibility takes form in work that is both expressionistic and ironic.
I want to create an intimate interchange with my viewer. An informal, raw aesthetic conveys emotional honesty and I consistently rely on the cathartic and humanizing effect of humor. I laugh at myself, outlining my insecurities, incompetencies and failures, making them occasions for art rather than shame. My surfaces are most often made of crossed-out mistakes. My drawing style is awkward but earnestly still trying. I write titles on my paintings in the manner of outsider artists who never imagine a wall plate next to their pictures. My work is populated by heroic derelicts, awkward lovers, and dignified losers. This work speaks joyfully from and to the marginalized parts of ourselves—the repressed, denied or disowned parts that round out our humanity and keep us humbly connected to each other.