I once came across an interview between Francis Bacon and the late British art critic David Sylvester, in which Bacon stated that art is an obsession with life. Those words struck me as both familiar and new—like seeing my own reflection.
As a child, I would stare at the square grey tiles of the room, drawn to them with the same habitual pull as a cow to its salt lick. I would watch and wait for the moment when visual fatigue would set in—when the tiles would shift and pulse, and appear to move in rhythmic waves. This early fascination with how perception alters reality, how thresholds reveal new dimensions—that reality can be internal—is at the core of my practice.
Our experience of the world is shaped by opposites, whether jarringly overt or meditatively subtle. Using a vocabulary of opposites—squared circles, cubed spheres, or hybridized quatrefoil shapes—I engage painting’s dual nature as both illusion and object.
Much like choosing from a box of chocolates, where codified shape and design suggest flavor, or following the fated arc of an “afternoon TV” narrative, we engage with constructed realities through familiar cues. Similarly, my paintings function as prompts—metaphorical, narrative, and formal—activated through observation. In essence, the “painting,” exists in the space between its surface and the receptive viewer.
As painted prompts and fictive figments, my work spans the obvious to the ineffable. Their reach is meant to be realized as felt experience, fictive realities made manifest.