Peeling, flipping, and gashing are in the spectrum of actions
I practice in an endless effort to digest my doubts about artmaking.
In order to swallow the pleasure, I flip, tear, and dig. The
deception of everyday objects having a particular function in the
world calms my anxieties while I am out in the open, though it
stirs them again when I am in the studio. I gouge, cut, and reorder;
it grounds me, reminds me that objects are not sacred. Labor is.
When it comes to color, my doubts seem to disappear. Above all
else, I see myself as a colorist: I use color to trace the relations