A Frank Stella black painting from the early 1960's was the first contemporary painting my father introduced me to at the Museum of Modern Art in Manhattan. I was all of 12 or 13 years old but a light went on that is still burning bright.

Why his flat black surface with precision thin bone white lines was so powerful I can't explain. But line and marks and pattern have crept into my own work as long as I've been painting. Perhaps they held an architecture and structure to pin down the chaos of growing up in turbulent times.

Growing up the the 1960's when all the rituals of home, school, sexuality and media were blowing our lives up, we landed poorly sometimes. We were and still are bombarded by endless 'noise' as we yearn for quiet in the storm. Which is where the constructs of a painting can help bring the steadiness within the chaos. Line can be sketchy and agitated, color can be too hot and loud but to confine and control these elements within the picture plane is key for me.

Switching from the subconscious centers of my brain with abstract work to conscious centers with figurative work was a leap of faith. But I found it easy to go back and forth because the same balance and tensions apply to both.

It's my own journey of seventy six years.






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