A year ago I started experimenting with how to reconcile randomness and intention on the screen. I was interested in the possibilities that emerge from contingency, the stories that unfold from messiness. The search for beauty was less my aim than the balance that could be struck in the process of creation: to lose it at one time and find it at another. Then to lose it again and find it again.
I was haunted by an ever-increasing ambition in my work, which promised new paths in the lostness. I paint to transcend my own thoughts and feelings. I felt happiness and satisfaction when I stepped back from the painting and surprised myself. When I was presented with an image or detail that was beyond my own imagination.
Everything happens on the canvas. I rarely mix colours on a palette and I don’t sketch at all. I try to make sure that what happens inside me is reflected in the paintings. I like to believe that my pictures are real stories. Even if the variations of colours, shapes and forms are nothing like realistic. I am slowly learning that to find the threads of my stories, something has to be lost, something has to be lost.
It would be nice to know that my stories have connections to the stories of others. But I can’t answer that alone…