Memory, and time, both immaterial, are rivers with no banks,
and constantly merging. Both escape our will, though we depend on them.
Measured, but measured by whom or by what?
The one is inside, the other, outside, or so it seems, but is that true? Time seems also buried deep in us, but where? Memory is right here, in the head, but it can exit, abandon the head, leave it behind, disappear.
Memory, a sanctuary of infinite patience.
- Etel Adnan
I began this series of work in 2020 when time was no time. I had just finished a large body of work and all that was on the horizon was uncertainty. With no expectations for the studio except to make work, the truth of my practice was expressing itself plainly on the surface I painted. The fragility of the material and the precariousness of the mark-making imparted a preciousness, and with each successful mark a moment was celebrated. A ritualized act. A form of self-preservation. A personal cosmology.
The drive behind the work is the need to exist in the now. These paintings are a document and the residue of this experience. They represent what is left behind when you/I/we are here. Each square is a moment. An individual existence.
Collectively the marks become points of reference in a flowing river; a river of impermanence, a river with no banks.