Multiple canvases worked on at once. Process and practicality merge. The materials surrender to each surface independently; the kilter of the ground, the shade from the sun, the previous layers of tone transferring their narratives on the new encounter. My weight is present, my fingers move the pigments, my hands flush their density with water and draw the liquids away with tissue. These pieces are not about me but I am contained within them.

This pieces surrenders itself once more. Layers mesh, masking the previous tales; the events to be forgotten, sneaking through gaps like aged memories flashing by with hints of fragrance or tastes on the tongue.

We sometimes make awful work demands to be revisited. Its shame screams so loud from the edge of my desk I can't take it any longer and ply it with acrylic, locking down its torment in tonal grids of fractured patterns.