Vantage Point, 34 x 58in, Acrylic and Paper on Linen, 2011
As a painter living in New York City for almost 20 years, I often stop and ask myself, “What the hell am I doing?” It’s not the high cost of living, the small spaces, or the relentless sensory bombardment that give me pause. These aspects of daily life in New York are the price to pay for the unique cultural bonanza that is the city’s pay off. But literally, if I am spending nearly every day alone in a room making paintings, what the hell am I doing? What are these things I care so much about? Where do they come from?
Pressed, I would say I paint rooms. Even when the paintings are merely planes of color arranged in space, they are rooms. They are rooms real and imagined, rooms I have inhabited, and rooms that never existed. By layering geometric forms of vivid color, structures assemble into familiar arrangements to suggest dwellings. Planes crop up to create floors, wall-like surfaces, eaves and overhangs. However, these architectural notions are never allowed to remain whole. They fracture, split apart, and fall away to reveal other chambers or glimpses of the outside world. But why rooms? Where do these rooms come from?