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Encasutic Gallery 4



Carried by the Wind, 20"x15"





Dance of Many, 20"x15"





I Found You My Love, 20"x30"





In the Thick, 15"x20"





Serendipity, 20"x30"





Swept Away, 20"x30"





In the Company of Clouds, 30"x20"





Love is Belonging, 20"x15"



       

The Longing Trees, 15"x20"  SOLD




Murmuration

Artist's Statement

A little over a year ago, I saw a video of thousands of starlings taking flight over River Shannon in Ireland. These flocks are aptly and beautifully named a murmuration. The image was mesmerizing. My mind fell silent. The mass of birds swirled and twisted in the sky. The flocks expanded and contracted like sentient plumes of smoke. It was as if I was seeing a previously undiscovered species. At their most basic level, the birds are simply reacting to each other. A more fascinating level is how scientists describe the birds' motion as a phase transition, as when metals become magnetized or liquid turns to gas. This makes sense for seemingly lifeless things, but how could this describe a group of birds? That question is what intrigues me. Are the molecules in metal and liquid individual beings as well? Maybe all things are alive, sentient, and acting as one? Maybe…


Hodgepodge

Artist's Statement


Making art demands a level of concentration beyond anything I've ever experienced. My surroundings disappear, the stereo is silent, I don't feel hunger, my aching muscles go unheard, and an alarm clock tells me when it's time to stop. When I put down my torches the world comes crashing in; I'm starving, my music is too loud, and my body aches. Before I started using an alarm, I would keep going until my body gave out. I'd be laid up for days, unable to do much of anything other than thank god for heating pads and muscle relaxants.

Why do I do it? That's not an easy question to answer. It leaves me emotionally and physically drained. I can't afford much of anything. I refuse to comprise in other areas of my life, and in comparison, the rest world doesn't make much sense. But I do it; because it gives my higher self a voice, and it sings so sweetly.

I think the hardest part of being an artist is offering the best of myself to an audience, that for the most part, doesn't much care. I get that: it's not your kid on stage. The sad thing is, the people who truly love my work, can't afford to buy it. As a result, some of my best work has been residing in the waiting place for far too long. I need my work to be seen, and want it to become a valued part of another person's life. That said, I have adjusted my pricing. I lowered the numbers until it began to feel like a sacrifice. I did this in the hopes that my work would become accessible to a broader audience. 

Let's hope I'm right.