What Holds Us Together, series 2, no. 20. Graphite, ink, colored pencil and cotton floss on paper. 4.25x6”. 2020
Faith.
It is required when you spend 6 consecutive days painting images of crumbling bricks.
Walking outside gives the impression of slipping into another dimension, because the humidity is so thick it feels like a membrane in a sci-fi horror movie - the gelatinous kind you have to punch a hole through to save your loved one from being eaten or otherwise consumed by “the beast”.
So you stay inside in the crisp, cool air conditioning, staring at the half-finished painting, waiting for something other than yourself to finish it while you take hour-long Facebook breaks, or fix snacks, or snicker at Donald Trump’s latest asinine comment, or think about what someone else is doing on the other side of the world where you should be.
But you’re not there, you’re here. And those bricks, well.. they’re exactly where you left them. They begin to resemble everything else in the room..globules of unused watercolor paint.. scratches on the walls.. crumpled receipts.. dying cockroaches, legs still twitching in the air…
What Holds Us Together, series 1, no.23. Graphite, ink and cotton floss on paper. 6 x 4.25”. 2020
So I strap on my boots. Slide my arms into the armored jacket still stinking of sweat from the last time I freaked out like this. Plunge into the thick heat and ride to some place whose level of destitution and decay is so great that it forces my perspective back into place, reminding me just how sweet my own life is. Because I am doing my job. Making difficult paintings out of painful, vivid, rich memories that are sometimes like canker sores, the kind that bring about tears, but for whatever reason, you keep shoving your tongue into them anyway.