I don’t think too hard about my work. I often only spot patterns after the fact. Golds and reds. In November, what could possibly be the inspiration for such colour schemes? But maybe that’s not it at all. Maybe it’s the result of some seething anger bubbling below the my psychological surface. Maybe I just got lot of red and yellow paint (I have). Probably all the above. I remember making this artwork earlier today, but only vaguely. I’m only ever part there for the process. That’s kinda the point. As a result I don’t tend to think of artworks as individual entities, but more like markers on a continuum. Cells in a body. Each one can be considered individually, but they only really make sense as part of the whole.
A journey
