I make paintings. It's as simple as that. I love to paint. It's visceral. It's fluid. It's earth, quite literally. The viscosity and color of the paint is a very physical and deeply emotional experience for me. Just moving it around is very satisfying. When I am making paintings I am engaged in an exploration of the materials themselves, of my state of mind, of the things that have made impressions on me. Whether there is what you would call recognizable imagery or not, everything I experience goes into the work. These things, what I see in the world, the sky and the sidewalk, snow and shadows, water and trees, trains and graffiti, my dreams, my losses, my heart when it's broken and when  it's overflowing with love, the art I look at all day on my phone, what I see and experience with my little son, the things I have squirreled away for later use or have tucked away never intending to revisit again, all these things make it into my work. They are distilled to essence, absracted from their usual from, and usually not consciously. Most of my decisions while painting are of a formal nature, deciding what comes next, what mark, what color, where it's placed, observing what's come into existence so far. There is no spoken language, no words in these paintings. These are purely a physical and visual experience for me. And often, the secret things that slip into them only reveal themselves to me much later, if at all.