Gouache water color and colored pencil collage on acid-free fine art paper. If you want the frame I currently have it in, I'll throw it in for free (size will then be 24x30 inches framed), but I'm not advertising it as framed (or adding cost) because it's a plexiglass (not glass) frame that may have small scratches and the blonde wood frame may have small dings, etc. Again, it's being offered at the without-a-frame price.
True story: one day I woke up from sleep and realized I had been dreaming of flying. Then I realized, in the form of a kind of dream memory suddenly made conscious, that I'd been flying in my dreams for years, maybe decades but I'd never realized it in my waking life. On an irrational level (I guess) I still catch myself thinking that I can fly if I just concentrate hard enough. Maybe I'm not concentrating hard enough? In the meantime I made this image.
In my FIRST-PERSON PLURAL series I explore the idea that the self is relational and plural as well as fluid and mercurial. I like the idea that people are both individual and multiple, that differences in context bring forth variations of self and that these changes happen across time. Gouache (on paper) is a favorable medium for depicting change because it can be worked over and over again, heaps of solid opacity blocking out what was underneath it, or more transparent washes with less pigment inviting glimpses into the under layers. The cutting out and collaging of painted paper to reposition figures or painting over areas of oil painting speaks to my sense of life as revision, this process that happens in time and which never ends, but which still images can seem to “fix.” These paintings struggle against this sense of fixity, such that arguably beautiful passages are sometimes sacrificed in favor of painting over them or scratching them out. If painting is a kind of conversation wherein physical gestures merge ideas with materials, I’m interested here in keeping the conversation going, with how to render “ongoing-ness” in a way that isn’t just a mess. But the process involves risking messiness because the paintings typically only feel “right” or finished when they’ve been worked up to a great extent first. When they work, some leap of faith into further conversation (more painting, more cutting, more pasting, more doing) eventually yields a new order I couldn’t have planned or known.