Location: the United States, on a highway headed east

I remember one morning driving in fog so thick I could not make out the car directly in front of me.

It was hard to tell my car was even moving forward—eventually I began to dance to what was playing inside on the radio.

When the fog eventually burned off, I realized I had traveled quite some distance.

I remembered this funny line that went “I tried to catch the fog. I mist,” and it made me laugh.

Another car passed with its radio blaring and I wished that I knew which station they had on.

The shorthand gestures in my recent paintings are repeated over and over, filling in space, filling time. The phrase “giving way” comes to mind. To give way is to collapse, to make a space for, to open up. Yet to collapse is not always destructive; things collapse into one another to create a new, previously unknown thing. I think about writing giving way to gesture, gestures giving way to space, spaces giving way to other yet-to-be-known forms. Dead air around a letterform, supporting yet also defining. Words function as an abstract. Letters merge and collapse into new

I am interested in giving structure to emotions that are specific and complex. Not simply an expression of my own feelings, but an unfamiliar formation of the ordinary, multiple layers that congeal over time. Like a type of sadness that smells of pineapple.

I make observational paintings of my dreams and what I see around me. Sleep coupled with reality produces beautiful yet irrational imagery. The only way I can interpret these experiences is by painting. My paintings are dream journals. These journals are increasingly loose and gestural. I conceive my work in one sitting, like an action painting. When I attain a certain resonance with a 1-foot-square painting, I blow it up to 6 by 6 feet, without using a projector. The justification for scale enhancement is simply to have my field of vision consumed by the painting.

I’m interested in the act of viewing, in finding a visual language by using the associative properties of color. I’m drawn to the materials surrounding the industry of image making and look for ways to subvert their prescribed uses. Through a mix of cutting, bleaching, shaping, and taping, color fields become canvases to be projected on—vehicles to jolt us temporarily out of visual indifference and into the psychological dimension of material.

My recent body of work is about commitment. I set out to paint the sunset every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for a year, resulting in 150 oil paintings. My inventive capacities were challenged as I worked at the same location looking in the same direction each day. My durational project follows in the footsteps of contemporary artists such as Jennifer Bartlett and Marina Abramovic, likewise pushing the limits of mind and body. My Inness, J. M. W. Turner, and members of the Hudson River School. Like the work of these great painters, my canvases convey the

I explore moments of transformation in physical and emotional states, marking rupture, anxiety, and opportunity. For me, color, geometric forms, and edges act as a hinge between real and imaginary conditions. Through various methods of transparency and overlap, I reflect on a ghostly, illusive, and nonrepresentational space of distance and longing. Memory and time inform my ideas, as I look back on moments when I have lost control. These episodes seem to be filled with a sense of loss and liberation simultaneously, a longing for what could have been and

I paint fictional landscapes. I create a luscious otherworld where the imagined is always entangled with the observed. In my work, I react to the ways in which mankind interacts with and transforms the natural world. I am particularly struck by the startling contrast between manmade constructs—pools, patios, golf courses, and endless amounts of human debris—and the natural environment. The constructs are interesting foreign additions to the landscape, and I enjoy working with the visual paradox they create. Through a collision of painterly styles, I question this unusual world we have

My paintings depict the natural organic world in relationship to the human architectonic influence.

In this series, I reexamine my own ideas about the nature of abstract painting. By cutting a variety of wooden blocks and presenting them on a two-dimensional panel support, I explore the boundaries between painting and sculpture. I separate the prepared blocks into different groups by size and these act as my palette. I then arrange pieces quickly and intuitively on the panel. This intuitive decision-making constructs the composition, while welcoming natural irregularities and subtle variations in the color of the wood. The purity of the material is not disguised