Why I do what I do

For years I’ve been told I have to write a mission statement. Not caring much about ‘musts’ I’ve never really sat down to do that. And to be frank, I think it took me this long to start to figure this out for myself.

When I designed my current website I wrote an informal biography that I titled ‘a glimpse of my story’. Due to the personal nature of my work, I struggled to walk the delicate line between being authentic and brutally honest vs. oversharing or sounding pretentious. As I hope to do here, I included only what I felt was essential.


Figurative
Early in my career I was drawn to the human figure as my world came crashing down amid my struggle with severe depression. I found exploring the complexities of human emotion freeing and used the subject of the figure as a means of expression. While I felt emotionally and physically out of control, my work became autobiographical and gave me much needed relief. Philosopher Alain de Botton said that art can ‘help us to be less lonely’ and that is exactly the role it played in my life. My figures are nude as that is the most honest and vulnerable we can be. They are usually anonymous to help empathize on the emotion captured rather than the identity of the subject. But ultimately, as William Kentridge aptly noted, no matter what subject you choose, it will always ultimately be a self-portrait.



Abstract
Through the years I’ve repeatedly played with abstraction but didn’t consider making these works public. Perhaps it was my inner Gemini’s other side. It was freeing to let go of reason and allow myself to work intuitively with little attachment to the outcome. As the Covid pandemic hit, representational work was no longer equipped to express my state of mind. For several months I allowed myself to get lost in a non-representational world. I aim at focusing on what is essential and leaving out all that is not. I experienced the works like little meditations and felt a sense of relief when they reflect my state of mind. I also decided to dip into my courage and put them out there.


My abilities haven’t caught up with my taste and I suspect they never will. Every completed piece gives me simultaneously a sense of loss and hope. Loss that all other imagined forms it could have taken can no longer be. Inevitably there will be the moment I realize my abilities are just not there yet, but that is where that glimmer of hope comes in. Maybe the next piece will be the one.


The process of creation often leaves me feeling naked and vulnerable. I create as a means of self-therapy, but it is my hope that the viewer may also be able to feel they are involved in something personal while co-producing the narrative based on their own experiences.


To get back to my original question, why do I do what I do. Simple, I have to.