Walking into my studio you'll notice many canvases in progress. I get restless and move from one to another, sometimes setting one aside for months, until I feel like I have a grasp of direction to go in.

Metaphors come up and I enjoy molding them but just as likely is a sense of mystery that clings, not wanting to reveal itself. It's a struggle to find the ideas buried deep in the canvas. Staring it down won't bring it out, just work, lots of paint and some scraping and re-painting will tease the work to become itself.

But, then I stare at the canvas again, willing my understanding of what I need, to reveal. Childhood, mine in particular, crops up, notions of memory, loss and the passage of time. Did I have an invisible friend, if I don't remember it? Is time really linear or does it weave our collective experiences into communal memory? What about genetic memory, does it guide our minds and lives? Still I look for simplicity in life too, not too complicated, simple ideas of growth, awareness and truth. Sounds grand but it isn't, it is plain and just requires some honesty and of course, work.