How do you document a meditative practice if not for moments of bright lucidity? My practice of painting doesn’t not exist in the cerebral space, often. Perhaps it might start there, but the journey always takes me somewhere else entirely. It is a practice rooted deep in my bones; a memory, often revisited. A threshold through which I walk — on one side (quite literally) is my day-to-day stuff — on the other, is my studio and then just space. Space to sit and reflect and practice art. The moment that I try to control my work — that I take a plan and attempt to apply it — is the moment the fuzziness fades and I become aware. Disconnected. Shaken awake.
I’ve documented this specific piece with all of its various stages of construction. It was revealing and at times, disruptive. I’ve always been fairly protective of my process, so it was interesting to reveal all of the steps along the way. Everything that follows after I’ve gessoed a surface stark white. The luminous, watery underpainting. The confident moments punctuated by the mistakes — oh, the mistakes. The layers on top of layers. The aimless wandering that so often takes hold of my studio time.
I hope you enjoy. And if you would like to see this piece in person, it will be on display in the upcoming show, De/Constructing Landscapes at Sandra Phillips Gallery in Denver from September 8-October 14, 2017