Once again I find my artwork and my spiritual life running parallel. Since I strive to create work which is a true representation of myself, I cannot understand why I am so often surprised to discover the reflection of my spiritual walk glaring back at me from a graphite smeared page.
In my work, it is my sincerest desire to discover truth of form as expressed primarily by light. At numerous junctions in this never ending search for truth I discover an intricacy far too delicate to comprehend fully. Once confronted by the fragile weave of reality, my goal as an artist must shift to evoking merely a sense of truth by depicting as much of it as I can possibly understand, without destroying or neglecting to indicate that which I do not.
I find myself increasingly wary of the dangerous, overzealous, and analytical breakdown of truth – which could inadvertently create a composition void of the magic, essence, and childlike wonder of the very reality I have worked so long to render. Yet, I cannot ignore in my work that which I do not understand, nor can I arrogantly misrepresent it, for I fear I would be at an even greater risk and Plato would most certainly label me a liar.