Click on each folder to open. Then click on each small picture to enlarge.
The process of obliteration of formerly crucial elements, replacement, and then further eradication has long been my method of painting. I start with a normal painting but once the picture gets rolling, I build up layers of confusion and conflict until the surface begins to resemble cracked linoleum. On top of this, some innocent cartoon like images may or may not set up housekeeping. At some point, if I am lucky, I am filled by a lovely warm conviction that it is done. Then, except in rare instances, I dont work on it again.
For decades I focused completely on making small clay whistles, a craft in which my mother excelled. The whistles won awards, are in collections world wide, and have been in numerous national and international exhibits and solo shows. I made millions of them and taught way too many workshops.
When my mother died, I not only felt the need to step back from making whistles, I could not bring myself to even enter my workroom. I was oppressed by the thought that I might never again experience the joy this work had always brought me. Life wasnt entirely flat, but I was literally unable to work in clay. I continued doing sculpture, mostly large public works, and decided to bring forward my lifelong interest in painting. The paintings, for which I felt so ashamed in my youth, now delight and amuse me. They provide an alternate view into the landscapes of the human spirit.
In all my creative work, I attempt to express lifes complexity. Even the smallest whistle is burdened with meanings and symbols. In painting, this is approached through layered, cross-referenced, overlapped and sometimes obliterated images. To some this seems messy and chaotic, to others, especially those comfortable with the stacked screens of computer monitors, perfectly sensible. It affords an idiosyncratic view of the mind, bursting with information, stories, color, and images.