My early drawings were mostly born of personal imagery, involving a complex process of re-imagining space, object and idea. It is an introverted
process, highly driven by curiosity. When the phrase "hair of the dog" came up in conversation a few years back, a vision emerged that could not
be ignored: a dog, a patch of hair shaved from its side, clumps of hair lying on the floor. And so it began. The drawings usually start as a visualization
of common phrases whose original meanings are now lost, altered, or evolved into a personal compilation of images involving memory, imagination,
and the memory of imagination.
Take the phrase "briar patch" for instance: a briar, lacking in vegetation, a viscous black substance dripping from its knotted branches to pool at
its base. Its origin comes from a specific memory of imagination when I was eight years old, involving the once popular children's storytelling record
Huckleberry Hound Tells Stories of Uncle Remus: Brer Rabbit and the Tar Baby. I remember elements of the record vividly. A previous owner had
scribbled purple crayon all over the grooves. I ran it through my record player over and over until the record ceased to skip, the grooves found
themselves, and the story emerged. In every recollection of this story the same image prevails: a tar soaked briar patch, weeping its thick black liquid
into a pool upon a barren ground. And so it was drawn.
My work has recently evolved into larger, more detailed pieces. The evolution began early 2011, when approached by Imagery Estate Winery
curator Bob Nugent, who said to me it was about time I made a piece for the winery. This new commissioned piece forced me to break my comfort
zone of small works, allowing me to really engage with my obsession of detail.