In my studio, I am in part seeking the simple refuge of making something, but I often don’t know where to start. For a long time in my life the lack of a starting point inhibited me from making work, but recently I’ve adopted a process of just taking a piece of canvas, putting it on top of an object in the room, putting it against the wall or a corner, a window edge, and just pressing that crayon or oil pastel down to let it be guided by the form of whatever object is on the other side. My well-worn tactics are no longer satisfactory. I let the arbitrary action on the canvas send me into new and surprising motion and I find a new purpose for my hard work. 

Working in the studio, I build a visual language rooted in process and populated by personal memories. The recurring image of the hand – marking, holding, pressing – becomes both subject and author. My works often reference themselves, creating recursive compositions in which images document their own making. 

I am the son of a farmer. During my childhood on the farm the dominant mantra was “work hard.” Working hard held the reverence of a religion, and one of the most complimentary things you could say about someone was that they are “a hard worker.” I don’t know if I still believe that there’s anything inherently commendable about working hard, but the pleasure of it is ingrained in me, and questions around the concept, value, and processes of ‘labor’ have become increasingly important to my studio practice. 

The material of the canvas becomes a site of the reassessment and re-association of personal experiences. The resulting pieces become an exploration of personal identities through hard work. I look at the product of this process similar to the way someone might look at a cloud in the sky as a dog running or two figures boxing. I’m not looking for something I intentionally put there. I am looking for the unintentional result, which might be the output of my subconscious.

Some of these associations seem obvious and unsurprising while others are more mysterious. After some time passes I’ll revisit earlier works and find mysteries where I previously found obvious imagery, clarity where I once found fog. 

The product of my labor has a knowledge that my mind does not. I keep working hard in my practice so that I can keep learning from this newly discovered self.