Victory Banner (West Gate) 1

My eight-year-old daughter asked me if I could paint anything other than stripes… and she has a good point. Brilliant minds that I respect in the art world have asked me the same thing. Yesterday, over breakfast, I sketched a bagel for my family. I exclaimed, “There! See, I can draw something!” We had a good laugh, but this pressing issue will not go away.

So why this? Why stripes?

By the way – they aren’t actually stripes.

Two decades ago, I began my journey, understanding only faintly that what I need, and what the world needs, are consistency and quietude. I decided to try to make art that had staying power. To do this, I married myself to a single mode of working. My paintings recognize the power of gravity, which forces all objects and liquids to fall towards the center of the earth – and which anchors each of us to this planet. The strokes I paint blur and travel beyond the canvas, and then return.

Tethered to the ground, anchored by gravity, my aspirations to create lasting, meaningful, primal art take root. Diligence, patience, and a willingness to grow and mature are the values that guide me. I recognize that pursuing a meaningful commitment is a rare and precious opportunity, since our culture seems always to be conspiring to change out the old for the new.

Informed by history, rooted in the craft of traditional glaze layers, and inspired by the vast and colorful landscapes around me, I surrender as my brush hits the canvas. I see vertical strokes as my launch pad. I love the tension of knowing that freedom is possible within the laws of gravity, color, and compositional structures. When I paint, I am aware of my condition as a human, an artist, a New Mexican, a partner, and a father. My paintings will not be perfect, nor will anything else in this world we share, but I strive towards perfection, which I define as freedom itself.