Untitled, Oil on wood, 8″ x 8″, 2020
Untitled, Oil on canvas, 12″ x 52″, 2020
Untitled, Oil on wood, 8″ x 8″, 2020
Untitled, Oil on wood, 8″ x 8″, 2020
Untitled, Oil on wood, 8″ x 8″, 2020
Untitled, Oil on wood, 8″ x 8″, 2020
Untitled, Oil on wood, 8″ x 8″, 2020
Untitled, Oil on wood, 8″ x 8″, 2020
Untitled, Oil on wood, 8″ x 8″, 2020
Untitled, Gouache on paper, 9″ x 12″, 2020
Untitled, Oil on wood, 8″ x 8″, 2020
Untitled, Oil on canvads, 12″ x 52″, 2020 (in progress)
Untitled, Gouache on paper, 9″ x 12″, 2020
Untitled, Gouache on paper, 9″ x 24″, 2020
Wood on Wood (Lockdown 2020)
Repetition in the woods is a common sight – trees in a forest, leaves and needles on a branch, and the scales and seeds of a pine cone. Repetition creates patterns which then create rhythms – and these rhythms recall the beat of life cycles with their occasional syncopation. Repetition provides comfort and helps calm and focus the mind. Repetition can provide comfort.
There is a fine line between calming and sleep-inducing. Repetition becomes tedious. Every day I am inside of my apartment intermittently glancing at the individuals in the buildings across the way. Like the steady beat of a metronome, the numbing routines of my day and theirs are achingly familiar – on the bike, at the TV, or in the kitchen. In this soporific setting, random disruptions might be welcome. But random events are unpredictable. If one event is unpredictable, then the world must be unpredictable. A flock of mallards flies by my window. I am less bored but my anxiety continues to climb.