My work is about nature. Forms such as circles, spirals, and spheres play a crucial role in most of the subject matter, embodying the qualities of an infinite universe that is somehow contained. Unlike science, my findings consider the spiritual connotations of the physical such as the duality of a timeless self within a transitory body. In this light, common patterns found in nature are extracted and reconfigured formally in order to transcend the surface of their image to enter a place of sublimity.

I juxtapose random imagery from multiple sources, utilizing diverse and unrelated content in an attempt to capture the chaotic nature of data and information. In doing so, I question the legitimacy and relevance of this information both with regard to traditional belief systems and to our daily lives (especially my own).. Is information really quantifiable, classifiable and systematic as it first appears or is it really nonsensical and random?

Derek Walcott, the West-Indian poet and Nobel Laureate, refers to language as "a place for struggle". As soon as we begin to use language we begin to wrestle with its legacy. My upbringing on the Tijuana-San Diego border can attest to this. Each community has its own interpretation of history. Within my paintings, the use of collage helps to accentuate this process as it reiterates how language exists in layers, adding and subtracting to the bigger picture. The source of the materials is often ephemeral in nature. They range from magazine cutouts to flyers, as well as painting and stitching.

I'm not one to intellectualize about my pictures and try to explain what I do. If I were to think about it too much and try to nail down where it is that my pictures come from, or why, it would destroy the mystery that is in it for me, then they might not come to me anymore.

The things we internalize inevitably manifest themselves into our reality. Our thoughts replicate and travel greater distances more efficiently then any other organism. Like ripples on a pond our state of mind impacts a greater body then our own. However many of us never recognize the influence our perceptions have in shaping our experiences. As a result many of us feel helpless in affecting what we see going on around us - that is if we even choose to pay attention at all.

The first comic book I can remember reading was a Donald Duck Adventures comic when I was about four years old. A year ago I stumbled across this particular comic while rummaging through boxes at my parents home in Ohio. While skimming through it, one story struck me with a strange sense of recollection. The story itself cast Donald Duck as an undercover detective trying to bust a diamond smuggling operation.

To put it simply, what I love most is the sheer act of painting. It's the transfer of paint from a large glass pallet to a beautiful white canvas that excites me most. While I always control the touch, I am amazed at the mark I make. For the past two years, I have been investigating the animal form. It is a figure that has intrigued me since I was young. To watch an animal walk, eat, or play is a luxury in life whether it is domestic or wild. The animals I use allow me to talk about beastly doings, time and chaos, the environment and its effects on them.

In my work, I transform elements from my surroundings into interconnected, fantastical landscapes. By removing these structures and objects from their familiar contexts and making them interact, I redefine their roles and relationships. I assemble these objects-individually enlivened by imagination and focused research-into a variety of scenes. There, the real and unreal resemble and reflect one another.

In this current body of work, the portraits are part of a self realization that we are, in the end, and currently, the manifestation of what we've done, where we've been, and how we've lived. Each black and white image is an interview, a memory which gives some hint at the light and or dark murkiness that lurks behind each of the self portraits.

Upon viewing my work, one may think of complex microscopic patterning, regurgitating rainbows, and mysterious organic structures. With each new drawing, I start with a simple process that slowly grows into an intricate system of loops, lines and colors. I rarely know the outcome of a piece of work when I begin. Many of the drawings mimic mysterious organisms writhing and interacting with one another. These organisms I create thrive with color and movement and often become tangled within themselves.