My paintings are about containment, and the round, bulging forms hold everything: my past, my burden of history, my sadness. These paintings blow through like storms, like Southerners, volatile and angry. I make paintings to feel like I am home again, in the South.
Southerners cling to age, with an appreciation for history that is in our bones. We try to maintain a past that no longer exists. I am trying to re-create a past. The layers of paint are layers of time, and I am building my own history.
Larger than life, labor-intensive, and decadent in their texture, the paintings are permanent, too heavy to leave. I am making something that is stronger than I am. Larger than I am. I am making them too heavy to be broken.