The essence of art lies in the eyes of the artist. Unrestrained and complex, it is the boundless process of how the mind chooses what is placed before the eye. This all relative to individual, all subject to impulse, and all manipulated by thought. The bee becomes the flower, the stone an ocean, or the sky an impenetrable kaleidoscope of shifting reflections. These are the rites of incision; they are the cutting away of the outer layers of prescribed conformity.
When I paint, I paint with my heart. What I see before me and what I feel are integrally intertwined, yet, can only be measured by their immense disparity. It is with this in mind that I find it is not always easy for me to describe what I paint. Mostly, if I had to pick one aspect, it would be motion, or better, it would be the emotion of movement and change. I find I often get lost in this world of upheaval and what I see is limited only by my own veiled range of perception. The pigment and the brush are but the tools I choose in this cast expression, yet they only tie a small portion of the pieces together. I am cognizant of these imperfections but am also released by their assertions. Slowly what is before me unfolds, the eye and the hand communicate, the brush and the canvas unite, and the rest is up to those that observe and construe.