objects

I’m really big on how the materials and processes artists use in their work can evoke a subconscious experience that communicates their intention/idea in a non-verbal, non-cognitive way.

It’s when what is made crosses over into the poetic.

Most every artist has made a piece that comes together in every way imaginable, whether it’s a tea bowl or drawing or sculpture…

I am interested in the universal qualities of made objects. What do objects evoke in others beyond what we can access with our rational minds? For example, why are the Greek Lekythos (oil flasks) still so moving, over 15 centuries later? Something gets passed from the hands (and mind) of the artist through the objects they make. It all comes back to the decisions made in the work whether they are conscious or unconscious.

I really think this is the gift we give and the greatest role we play as artists by showing up and making our work.

from the intro page...

What we do as artists is not always linear, simple or clear. It’s more of an unfolding. You move forward, pause; circle back; pick up a thread, move forward, or is it up? or down? Following the work. Always following the work that has no resting place.

The question of truth is what lies at the center of my curiosity. It’s what connects everything I do.

What does truth look like? How do you know the truth when you see or hear it? What is true? Why do we fear truth? How is truth revealed or concealed by what we choose to show or express? Is there truth without vulnerability? What obscures truth? Are these words true?

These are just some of the questions at the heart of my practice. My process is active inquiry. The variety in the media I use broadens the ways I’m able to explore these questions. They satisfy my interest in the nature of materials and reflect the multiplicity of my experience in this world. Alone, each medium seems to only tell part of the story. I am constantly seeking the places they intersect.

An edited artist statement

Here is another edition of my statement. What is lost from the longer version to the shorter version? Is a similar image of what I do come through both? I will continue to question this and most likely there will be, yet, another.

Through process not product.

I create things that are a result of exploration and process. It begins with an urge, a question, a curiosity, an observation, something visceral – the initial spark. A medium is chosen. The work begins. It feels like a slow conversation. I wonder, “What is true?” “What is it that connects us to each other?” Bending wire, cutting apart an image, reconfiguring a shape, a line is written. Every following action is a response to the first. I print another layer, make another bend in the wire, pinch or cut here, add a cutting word; create space. There is truth in process. The activity is right here, right now. I am present with the tools of my trade. An inquiry into structure leads me to the intangible. I’m discovering something. I’m searching. I’m finding form. I’m finding myself. What I make doesn’t really matter. It’s a surprise.  The image is unfamiliar. The work relates to my curiosity about the strangeness of being human, the inner landscape.   There is tension in the work that resonates with an internal sensation. The image, poem or object is alive. It engages with space. “Is that an inner space or physical space?” What I’ve created is a bridge between the tangible and the intangible; between the world of matter and a felt sense. Meaning resides in the subtle details, in possibility, in the viewer, the recipient, the unknown.

an unedited version of my artist statement

I am interested in process. What process is involved in crafting an artist statement? How do you weed through the intimate, the intuitive and the conditioned in order to help others get closer to what you do? My curiosity about this is why I’m sharing a couple versions of my statement. Writing, like all art forms is a process. Write, share, edit; read, write, edit. Repeat. What emerges? What kind of an image is formed? We are all so darn attached to perfection, to getting it right, to coming across as fully formed and having it all together. I like to think of it as more of an emergence and evolution. With every action we take we evolve…

Through process not product, it begins with an urge, a question, a curiosity, an observation, something visceral – the initial spark. A medium is chosen. The dance begins. It feels like a slow conversation; bending wire, cutting apart an image, a line is written. The next action is always a response to the first; printing another layer, another bend in the wire, pinching or cutting here, adding there, a cutting word; space. The initial spark is still there lingering in the background. It never goes away really, but the play between the material and myself has begun. The activity is now. I am present with tools of the trade. I’m discovering something. Through process I’m searching; I’m finding form. What is it? It doesn’t really matter. It will be a surprise, unfamiliar and almost always organic with a kind of tension. If it works it will resonate with an internal sensation. The image, poem or object will be alive. It will have an energy that engages with me and the space around me. A poem will create a gap, a space. What I’ve created is a bridge between the tangible and the intangible; between the world of material and matter and something felt and mysterious. Its meaning resides in possibility, the viewer, the recipient, the unknown.

My work is an investigation into truth and the nature of this human experience. Insatiable curiosity fuels me. What is true? Who or what are we? How is truth revealed or concealed by what you choose to show or express? What obscures truth? How do you weed through the layers of accumulated debris in order to see what’s really there without embellishment, judgement, or hiding? Where is that line between happiness and pain? What is it that connects us to each other, to this planet?

There is truth in process; in making. How does structure I impose engage with matter to create an image capable of communicating the ineffable, the mysterious? I work in many different materials and media. Writing, sculpting, drawing, printing and collaging all play a part in this inquiry. Alone, each medium only tells part of the story. The variety in the media I use broadens the ways I’m able to explore these questions. They satisfy my curiosity about the nature of materials and reflect the multiplicity of my experience in this world. Collectively they create associations so a clearer understanding can emerge. I am constantly seeking to understand where they intersect and what they reveal. It is through a practice of making that I am able explore this murky landscape. Through the process I am changed and the truth of my own nature is revealed to the world and myself.

Creating a connection to others is important. I try to leave enough tangible points so that anyone can find a way to connect with the work. What will you find for yourself in the ambiguities, in the unfamiliar clues? Do we feel the same things? Is this a journey I must take on my own? How are we the same? How are we different? A common thread links us. I love to hear other people’s stories. If slowing down and listening is allowed, creativity can flourish in everyone. It is elemental. Can what I make invite you to think, to investigate, to look and see for yourself? Can I make you feel less alone? Can I show you how to be brave and look at the sediment you have stashed away in the shadows of your everyday life? Can I be brave enough to face my own dusty corners? Can I help you see your inherent magnificence?

November 19, 2021

Many thoughts come and go. I witness this on a regular basis. All sorts of thoughts ranging from what I think is profound to the utterly mundane. The ones that interest me most are the ones that seem to linger between the conscious and the unconscious. The ones that if I try to look at them directly fade and disappear. They vanish as if they never happened. But, if I hold them in a peripheral field and allow them to linger, they infuse my perception - like something that can’t quite be grasped but you know it’s there. It’s like a dream you just had and can’t quite recall. Though you recognize it, you can’t see it; and yet, you have a feeling sense of it.

November 12, 2021

2021. My current obsession is investigating how I see. Not from a phyisological or neurological point of view but from a perceptual, awareness perspective. I am constantly bombarded by visual stimulus. I live in a very congested part of the country, the New York/New Jersey Metropolitan area. In this little corner of the world there is no open space and my own backyard of approximately 1,250 square feet could be considered a luxury. Houses are densely packed and filled to their brim with residents. Businesses next to homes and apartments, and cars and trucks are everywhere. (Not to mention the all the litter and wear and tear so many people have on the towns and streets). These days I spend a lot of time indoors. I look out through windows, screens; line of sight obscured by trees and buildings. This layer upon layer of imagery has somehow affected my interaction with the world. It influences my perceptions and what and how I see; how I process information. Fragmented and overloaded, what am I seeing?

I’m certain that if I lived somewhere else, my work, in some way, would look different. Some differences may be obvious while others are far more subtle and mysterious, even ineffable. Yet, that’s quite immaterial. What matters is my sensitivity to my environment and the world; my desire to record it as I experience it, and the exploration of a visual and written language to capture it.

today's insight

The work I make is always about examining/exploring my experience of the world. Does this make it autobiographical? I’d say not necessarily since I am not always the subject of my examination. It is an attempt to record my direct contact with the world, and this covers a wide range of events and encounters.

This one thing links all the work I have made over the years. What has changed is the subject, material, process and perhaps my point of view. In this way my work is a record of my own evolution.

Life Studies

What I see informs my work.

It was my great fortune to have been exposed to a strong foundation in seeing at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro, where I earned my MFA. During my early years there I was part of weekly life drawing and sculpting sessions with Patricia Wasserboehr, Andrew Martin and a couple other grad students. The work I was making at the time wasn’t about making perfect pictures or sculptures; it was about investigating form and structure. It was only recently that I really understood how deep-seated this practice was and what I inherited through my participation. This group with Andrew was a continuation of his time there in the 60’s when he, Peter Agostini, Jonathan Silver and Bruce Gagnier would work from the model in a similar fashion. Even though I never worked with them myself, I can feel the link that was made in the way understanding is passed from teacher to student. When I see their work I know I am connected to it through my own experience.

The work I did in those sessions as well as the instruction and guidance I received has had a profound and lasting impact on my life, my work and my teaching. There is more to learning to see than may be imagined. The way I understand it today, years later, requires a slowing down, a willingness to withhold forming solid conclusions about what’s in front of me. It requires a willingness to investigate and explore; to ask questions and seek out relationships - in both tangible and intangible form; without interjecting judgement.

This is a founding principle of being an artist. Whether one is a writer, dancer, musician or visual artist. Seeing is listening. It’s being sensitive to what’s going on around you. What unarticulated stories lie in the details we can observe? What lingers in your memory after looking? What can we learn about something or someone without a formal explanation? The awareness of this began for me during life studies practice.