I’ve always loved evanescence: that fleeting moment when something is animated by light. Whether it be light seeping surreptitiously through a shutter; the shadow of wires on a wall; flickering through a forest onto a tree trunk or a sidewalk. Or the way light and wind shift and drift the shapes and edges of clouds.
For many years I predominantly made etchings. Like many printmakers, I am passionate about the shouts and whispers of black and white: the way white bounces (shouts) off the page. The infinite range of grays from a whisper of a tint, to the saturation and echo of dusk. And then black, which pulls you in to a deeper space where what is there is hidden in darkness. Or the opposite, where it jumps out from the surface impatiently calling attention to itself like a shout. In printmaking (no matter one’s expertise), there is often an unexpected glitch that you have to figure out how to rectify. That process taught me that it is always important to leave myself open to reactive change and to remember that a detour may in fact lead you to something more interesting than what you had originally intended.