My approach to imagery is corporeal. Humored by the responsiveness of voluptuous forms to the obstacles that violate them, I anthropomorphize objects from nature and the human body. A tree appears to ooze over a barbed wire fence in the same way that a belly overflows a belt; soft swallows hard.
Like a cartoonist, I strive to depict manifestations of force action and reaction. As if complicit, objects become verbs: skin recoils, flesh droops, vines choke and fungi cling; tree bark scars leaving crusty scabs, orifices pucker and engulf. Walking through the forest, my world is incarnate.
Driftless: Can’t See the Forest for the Trees refers to the Driftless Area of the Midwest. Metaphorically, the title confesses the micro-centricity that drives my vision. Valuing imperfection, my attempts to mimic the landscape are deliberately crude. I liken the painstaking handiwork of human endeavor to the obsessive, teaming industry at work in the woodland.
Material exploration is central to my process, and finds expression in refined polish and abject crudeness. I juxtapose these qualities to contrast the synthetic flamboyance of artifice with nature, untamed. When epoxy resin coats pink Polystyrene, a flush blooms. My work is idiosyncratic, tempered by a sharp, sexual edge.
Excess is found in substance and action. Nature’s takeover of the manmade is as concrete as it is allegorical. I witness vegetation as it engulfs civilization. Thitpok trees tighten their muscly grip of Ta Prohm, that ancient temple. You can almost hear the cartilage pop.