I paint alone in a room… more an interrogation cell. I'm never sure if I'm being
tortured or this artist thing isn't taking all before me to the breaking point.
There is an instinctive need to take things through a dark distortion… it allows
the realization of life's frightful beauty… for life indeed lives on life… each second
is fraught with the onset of a necessary blood letting… your own or someone
else’s… at best this existence is violently fragile.
Each breath, each heart beat is teeming with sexuality and fear… confounded we
wait our lives away hoping for the explanation knowing it will never come.
My paintings have no meaning not unlike myself… they as I are simply the
experience.
