Music was my first love, drawing my second, and acting my third. The three practices lend themselves to one another in a fluid conversational give and take. Several weeks spent meditatively drawing inevitably leads into an intense period of noise making- singing loudly, plunking badly on a piano, reading scripts out loud, speaking to friends and strangers that I have been withdrawn from for weeks. It feels at this point that I wouldn’t know how to have one without the others, that they influence each other so directly that a week spent making music feels sometimes like a warm up for the drawing that comes from whatever rhythm held me captive for that period.
Each drawing acts as a conversation, it becomes a story of reaction and response as each line/dot/dash is added. Working in pen I have to live with each choice I make on paper; it reflects life’s finality and pushes me to move forward through each new iteration. The forced permanence has allowed me to draw with less anxiety, shifting my focus to the making itself instead of a preconceived expectation of the end result. I’ve finally been able to make work without judging it before it’s done and I find myself endlessly smitten by the stark simplicity of black ink on paper.
My drawings are often memories translated into shape and pattern- the lines reflecting the density/intensity of moments that have shaped the building blocks of my personal history and that of my family.
I work from a wonderful studio at The Old American Can Factory in Gowanus, Brooklyn.
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