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Every season except usually summer (when the bones of things get trounced by green and leaves), I see things while walking in the woods.
My Painted Wall Sculpture does not feel abstract to me, it feels like the things I see when I walk. That is, the elements that collect where things fall on, across and against each other, rot, pile up, have holes, break and entwine.
The woods show me accidental structures that delight my mind and force the beauty of the haphazard on me.
So I go into the studio with cardboard, water, clamps and paint and using the most basic tools, slop around until something of the puzzle begins to emerge as fact.
I don’t know how the humor occurs, yes, it’s partly the color, but it helps that I don’t feel the weighty importance of what I’m making. Instead my vision is personal, eccentric and filled with the delight that I find in the Wissahickon Valley.
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