what these paintings present is a haphazard chronicle of a self-making history, a history that has the ability to steal from us as makers, to resent us our intentions, to turn us against each other. it flees, and the responsible course of action appears to be to follow and record as possible.

we are situated at a seemingly arbitrary crossroads between opposing forms of disappearance, carried forward as hostages to stories whose meanings remain unclear.

we are gardeners tending to a strange clearing in the forest, aware of unknown and multiform items lurking at the edge of the trees. these items want to encroach on the landscaping our labors intend to project. the efforts of our attempts, left to their own devices, would like nothing more than a return to their feral state. who’s kidding whom?