Most artist statements feel so contrived to me, abstract and often flowery words to describe inspiration and processes that sometimes defy imagination. I have none of that. I can’t tell you there is “meaning” in my work or that I’m trying to capture the essence of anything. All I can tell you is that I think about it almost constantly, writing notes to myself on new ideas (that are mostly never carried out), cutting leaf or petal shapes of out magazines then sorting them by tone and color, doodling in the margins of my office note-pads during meetings. Sometimes I obsess on a theme (like female faces peeling away) and then a few years later look back and say, “Wow, something was going on with me then!” But mostly I find shapes, tones and patterns that draw me in and then I have to spit them back out in some semblance of order. I think it was Michelangelo who said of his sculpting that he was just releasing the image that was already inside the block of marble. I just rearrange what I’ve already found in my world. I distill it down to a few pieces of paper, some lines, or an instant image of light and dark.