"I make my own canvases and panels and prepare them with gesso or plaster. The surface is smooth and absorbs the first paint washes quickly. I scratch off whole segments if they are not fitting in with the rest of the painting. The plaster is thick enough to dig deeply into it, giving the work an extra dimension and allowing me to express my more aggressive side. I mix wax, sand and sawdust into the paint. At various points I glaze portions of the painting with alkyd resin , wood stain, or clear acrylic gel. These layers are all “automatically” applied as I wait for an image to emerge. Anxiety and frustration drive me to paint as much as curiosity does in the early phases of a piece. Random strokes and slashes fill up the whole picture plane after a few days of painting. Faith in spontaneous acts gives the process fresh energy every time I work. At the turning point a small segment of the surface reminds me of something real. There is an identification of my reality reflected in the paint. My body responds to this spot. A grouping of marks evokes a memory of emotions and environment -- how I felt at an exact moment, how the light was shining, how the space around me felt. This is the area where I begin excavation.The struggle starts when I attempt to discover the hidden scene. This involves a careful series of actions that bring out a complete thought. I recognize a face forming, or a castle, or a pear, but the subject matter is just the surface. The subject is the facade I use to hold my color and line. These abstract properties evoke a visceral memory. This memory is elusive and fleeting. It is the heart of my expression. If I attempt to outline the image firmly, it slips away. The process is a magic trick, a high wire act. When it’s successful, the image is more truthful and real than I could have originally conceived. The surprise of a unique image only comes when I invite chaos."