Biography
I have worked with political refugees, abused children, and the mentally disabled
At the root of my experience is the wound.
The wound is everything. It is the ashes of the world, the residual zone of wreckage.
Painting for me is the act of repairing.
It is the incessant act of stitching and restitching the wound. It is to converse with disaster in a continuous, secret and vain attempt at order. Tensions spring from this necessity.
I choose bed sheets for their ambiguous meaning.
The sheet is a “safe haven” (when one surrenders oneself to sleep in one’s own bed) but it is also a “ constraint” (when one is confined to the strange beds of asylums, prisons, hospitals, or familial abuse). Torn, taut, twisted, sewn, as if it were living material, as if it were living flesh. In this doing and undoing, this striving and waiting, the wounds open and close. I choose plaster because it is a simple material, as it is simple to acquire wounds I choose white because it is like a theatre stage, an ostensibly comforting facade behind which anything can be hidden, even the darkest desperation. White recalls the shadow, the hidden realm of the psyche.
