Writing a statement to describe one’s own art which is purely an expression of one’s emotions and thoughts is similar to trying to recall a dream upon waking, full of abstract experiences and figures. The further I can get into these dreamlike expressions through my use of different mediums and media fill me with joy.  I’ve always had a strange sense of humor which pulls me through darkness like a manic nightmare as one who tries to escape some sort of impending end.  When I create a piece I often have dull visions as if meditating into a delusional state where I find shapes and colors that both please me and frighten me.  I often stare at my paintings, the ones which can achieve a calming effect but at the same time are a complete mystery which I can forever attempt to solve.  I search for meaning in the chaos I create and sometimes I find it,  if even just for a moment.  The short sense of peace as I complete a work after diving in with a frenzy of brush strokes or cutting into a stone looking for a form I only see vaguely in my mind.  It comes out almost as if it found me instead of I creating it, and I do not try to make it something that it isn’t, it simply appears out of nowhere on paper or in my hands as I play with things in the world around me.  On occasion a piece will look me in the face and tell me it’s done, it’s time to stop, it is what it was meant to be, maybe for now or maybe in its entirety but it will speak to me, I just need to listen. I create because it’s what brings me joy and peace.