Painting for me is a mysterious process. I can never put into words what I am trying to achieve. I don’t know and I don’t want to know. I go by a feeling where I let go completely and allow the paint to speak. I have to allow somewhere inside my brain to dictate what my arm is doing. I figure out what doesn’t work nine times out of ten. Scraping off paint has become a part of my process. But it allows the freedom to always be in the moment. It is not an willy-nilly act of putting paint on the canvas.. some truth must arise.  However, the paradox is that it feels arbitrary when I am doing it.

My family moved to Hawaii when i was 11 years old. I remember falling in love with this place that was so new.  I wanted to learn the slang and the games of the neighborhood kids. Haole is the Hawaiian word for white person or literally foreigner. For some reason I felt oddly comfortable with this term and spent subsequent years being a Haole in other parts of the world. I have spent extended periods in Germany, London, Greece and even the East Coast and now California. Living in a foreign country means emptying yourself and being open and listening to others.  I spent a lot of time observing.  I have recently begun to think that all that listening has made its way into painting. It has created a silence within me and I want to fill it with paint. I love the paint itself. Its sensuousness has developed into a personal language. I want to allow it to speak.  My work is largely figurative. I feel I am now a bystander to this internal world.