I don’t like moving. No one does, but there’s something inside me that makes it feel like an apocalypse. Likewise, transitions are not kind to painting—finished paintings live on the wall, wet paintings need space to dry, and the act of painting requires a room for my piles of rags, paint tubes, and glass jars. I want to mark a remembered time when home was in flux, a bit murky, and uncomfortable. I want painting to also be in transit.

Postcards, with images on the public side and personal messages on the back, carry fleeting moments to someone far away. They acknowledge two places—the origin and destination—and a longing to connect the present and the past. I spend extended time in the space of these postcard paintings, not only writing messages but also authoring the image on the front. And like moving, I let go of that place and all its memories when I drop them in the mailbox.