Strictly Abstraction

I make paintings, videos, and sound pieces that explore the boundary between the physical and the transcendent, and investigate the nature of dualities by exploiting the effects of contextual perception. My paintings in this exhibition suggest air and space—imagery that is devoid of solid form. These spaces of “nothingness” are framed within subtle geometric divisions and contradictory passages of color. Through translucence and refraction, the shimmering surfaces presented here convey a sense of atmosphere and explore the mysteries of light,matter, and space. These works are an acknowledgment of our constantly changing state of existence where nothing is fixed.

These works are influenced by climate change and its practical impact on landscapes. They evoke the tangible reality of our planet’s fragility and instability. While I focus on aesthetics, representation, and formal parallels in my work, I also address the documentation of events. In 2017, A68a—an enormous 2,300-square-mile iceberg— broke off of Antarctica’s Larson C Iceshelf. For over a year it hardly moved until currents, wind speeds, and warming waters accelerated its journey. On a collision course with South Georgia Island, A68a itself became a threat to endangered species living there. In the end, the iceberg was consumed by warming waters and higher air temperatures before it made landfall. This series of paintings correlates to A68a’s travels over a period of several years.

I make muscular abstractions. I work large so I can fully extend my physical reach and tackle a piece from all angles. I’m a stalker, not a talker. It’s from the action not the analysis— that’s where I get my kicks. It takes exhaustive weeks and bonfires of sketchbooks to hunt down the rhythms and roots of forms, to be ready for the act. I pursue pure abstraction, but when figurative elements surface, it’s because their roots tap into rhythms of a familiar landscape where archetypal animals roam and our ancestors craft stories around questions we can’t answer.

During the twenty-five-mile drive from Austin to my studio in Elgin, I often see flocks of blackbirds forming unpredictable shapes, which
appear as dark, solid forms against the sky. In reality, the birds are swarming in every direction. Scientists call this phenomenon “murmuration.” In a process that remains a mystery, the birds, numbering in the thousands, rapidly transmit directional changes. I’m attracted to the stark contrast between the interior turbulence created by the flock’s motions and the more defined edges of the overall form. The shape soars and alters in the sky as a single unit while within it, each bird flies on its own independent trajectory. Order is constantly poised on the brink of chaos. This moment of instability is what drives my paintings.