For several years, I have been building up the surface of my paintings using cheesecloth and glass beads, which are embedded directly into the gesso. The extra tooth of the ground gives the subjects a physical presence; they can be sensed through their tactility. This method also allows for a looseness when I am constructing the composition. I often sketch with the cheesecloth directly onto the wet gesso, which does not allow for a lot of control over its form. The construction of my paintings is a direct response to ideas I’m thinking about—subjects are instantly recognizable, but not rendered to the degree that they lose their spontaneity.
While painting arabesques found in gates around my neighborhood in Brooklyn, I learned that the modern-day heart symbol is likely referencing Silphium, an extinct plant which was a cash crop in the colony of Cyrene, and used as both an aphrodisiac and abortifacient. Its heart-shaped seeds were featured on a Greek currency, which is the only existing representation of its appearance. How symbols can gain and lose meaning over time has a direct effect on language and our experiences of interpreting the world.
Gate (Silphium), 2023
Casein, cheesecloth and oil on canvas
52 × 52 in. (132.08 × 132.08 cm)
Thales Well (American Eel), 2023
Oil and cheesecloth on canvas
34 × 24 in. (86.36 × 60.96 cm)
Gate (Pheasant), 2023
Casein and oil on canvas
33 × 23 in. (83.82 × 58.42 cm)
An antidote for hostile architecture (Greyhound), 2023
Oil and glass beads on canvas
29 × 25 in. (73.66 × 63.5 cm)
Gate (Felidae), 2023
Casein, cheesecloth and oil on canvas
52 × 52 in. (132.08 × 132.08 cm)
Gate (Sunflower), 2023
Oil and casein on canvas
23 × 20 in. (58.42 × 50.8 cm)
Seawall (Bioluminescence), 2023
Casein, cheesecloth and oil on canvas
52 × 52 in. (132.08 × 132.08 cm)