My paint is a chimeric substance that is both living and artificial. The paintings are endowed with buried romantic notions, but have begun to take on more tactile human qualities. They heave and sigh. The liquid surfaces form a film, like the skin on warm milk. This skin makes the site beneath hazy. Entire worlds of paint where some things seem more real then others, but the former never supersede the later. The marks struggle; at times they render while simultaneously, they disassemble. In an endless tussle where nothing is certain, villain and victim are one and the same. A dance on the razor’s edge, where the paintings are neither abstract nor mimetic.