There is something special about the moments I have to myself at home, my parents’ house in the suburbs. My most precious moments are perfectly quiet, astonishingly simple, and profoundly boring. The second hand moves, someone passes by outside and the dog barks a few times then lays back down. I’ll either have some tea or go to sleep.

My paintings are about the mind amidst this beautifully banal backdrop. There is a profound disparity between our experience of everyday life and the drama and excitement that our minds are capable of experiencing or generating. The manifestations of paint in my life are born from human psychological needs and impulses in the midst of routine and everyday existence. Sitting on the surface of the canvas, the paint—sometimes thick, fluid, drippy, misty, brush strokey, etc.—infuses the quiet, domestic space with mystique, horror, beauty, grace, drama, and anxiety. For better or worse, the painted figure is forced to reckon with her own (and my own) illusions and creations.