To characterize the visual experience of a painting is to determine the distance between sensations embodied through the process of its making, and the sensations it later seeks to provoke. A minor explosion in the brain: this is the birth of the painting. It is a moment wrapping the painter in noise and collision.

We realize that a collision understands nothing (when questioned: was the burgeoning painful - will hindsight disclose the seeds of chance…whisperings). It is abrupt and inarticulate: an occurrence that exceeds the act of retrieval. And so, amid the company of unsaid and unknown things, the painting becomes the motive for seeking articulation: for reasoning a response. It is found as though finding itself for the first time - like the birth of a language.

As a painter, I gauge my reflexes in relation to the energy of things that spawn out of the initial explosion. In many ways, these things have their own velocity: are already beyond my own ability to reason with them. My activity is that of recapturing. Of forming location and gravity; of making a place and a time: an entire and necessary world for this newness to inhabit and take root in.