I seek to blur the line between inside and out and find expansive moments in this ambiguity. Windows become outlets to a space as restrictive as the one within. Physical space is reexamined and I negotiate a new way of seeing. I am navigating the complexities of motherhood, the demands of professional work, and the intricacies of love and friendship. I am at once both confined and free. I find an unexpected freedom in my work. I push up against the limits of my space and then pull back within its safety.
I’m always drawn to architecture and how it intersects with the environment. I’m trying to capture a sensation – the way light moves across a doorway, or how the shadow of a tree makes the shape of a hand across the front of a house, or how one lit window at night illuminates the surrounding landscape. These things elicit an emotional response and I’m always trying to capture that in my work. I grew up loving the masters of American Paintings: Andrew Wyeth and Edward Hopper influenced my artistic interests at a very early age. There was a time in art school where I wanted to move away from these influences completely and I started becoming more interested in figural work. I became influenced by Francesca Woodman and Jenny Saville and loved how these artists placed the figure in space. Woodman’s figures become entirely enmeshed in the natural environment. When I look back at my body of work I can see a sort of reconciliation between the environment and the body and architecture.
I like to start a piece and work on it compulsively until it’s finished in one sitting. I very rarely work on a piece for an extended period of weeks or months, instead I work on a painting for 12 hours straight. I’m trying to capture a sensation that’s so fleeting, and I can’t seem to get into the same headspace when I put something down and pick it back up later. For this same reason I’ll usually listen to the same five or six songs on repeat while I’m working. I have to be in this meditative state to make and finish a piece that I’m satisfied with. I know when it’s finished when I feel like I’ve captured the sensation. Sometimes this can manifest a very unfinished-looking piece, but to me it’s done. I need to move on. Otherwise it gets stale.
I paint mostly on paper. There’s something about paper that takes away the perfectionism in me and allows me to freely play and let go of the outcome. If I hate it or lose a sensation in the middle of working, I can walk away without commitment. You can’t be precious on paper; the surface won’t support it.
