I am a self-taught painter. 
     I work mostly with media and supports supplied by charity and chance: scrap wood, old
mirrors and photographs, abandoned furniture and appliances, postcards, and mis-mixed house paints.
     I enjoy colors, shapes, textures, and the physical sensations of painting:  the sounds and feel of brush or roller on the wood, the sight of paint gradually taking over the surface of a piece of wood, or of one color mixing into another, of a drip or growing spill. I like the unexpected textures created by layers of paint or by paint going on top of pieces of paper or postcards.  I enjoy discovering new motions of my body, arms, wrists and hands and the effects they have on a picture.  I like the smell of paint, even of spray paint.  I like to clean my brushes and put them away. 
     I also enjoy the surprises, the absorption in and flow of the activity.  I enjoy the lightness of not worrying how it is going to come out.  I like that the old, forgotten, and tired objects I use acquire a fresh and different life when I stick them on a painting.  But I also like the complete innocence of the occasional new tube of paint, oil stick, or piece of canvas.  And I like the way old and new play together.   I love the ways in which chance works on small and large scale to show me doors that intention had not imagined.  And I love that intention can walk easily through those passages.  I love the feeling of wide-open possibility when I have a new (old) piece of wood.  I love the feeling of uncertainty in the middle of a painting.   I love the feeling of easy certainty when I just know - when I choose -- that a painting is done. 
     My pictures are the sediment washed-up by these passing waves of joy.