acrylic and graphite on paper, 20″ x 28″, 2026
I suppose walking paths has always been my thing. Drawing, as it were – making lines on surfaces. But the line is never the thing. It is the making of the line. I guess movement is my thing—it’s the not-knowing where the line will go. We have some control over the movement of the line, but the surface is determined – it has a ground, and an edge (like a piece of paper, or a landscape). I think ultimately, I’ve never liked that edge.
These mountains have been a kind of self-portrait. Not completely ungrounded but certainly fragmented, assembled in parts. Still a familiar form of a mountain and sky—not because it is a mountain, but because we need an orientation – here is a ground, a horizon, a sense of scale. An alpine meadow upon which we can (carefully! They are fragile places) sit and breathe for a moment. And a challenge to climb. If you get to the top, a moment at the summit. But you always have to come back down.
I like that it’s a construction—trying to hold together many parts at once. Some visible. Some hidden. Much unknown. One that can be infinitely disassembled and reassembled. Finding new surfaces, discerning the horizon for the edges, and beginning again. Like a puzzle that once one had assembled just enough pieces to start to make some sense, would disassemble itself, magically change into a new image, and force one to begin anew. Does this sound like torture? Or, would your curiosity compel you to try again?
There is no such thing as a horizon!
