“A creature that hides and withdraws into its shell, is preparing a way out.”

-Gaston Bachelard

We all spend our lives in homes. In other peoples' as well as our own. They are supposed to be safe, comforting, and deeply rooted to our sense of self. They are where we daydream and learn the ways of life. Homes are intrinsically linked to who we are as people and propose a rich subject to be explored.

Representations of the home invite the viewer into a place of privacy. Safety and warmth reside in the home but so does trauma. Growing up, I felt very emotionally isolated and passed over. As I compose my paintings, I feel myself drawn to the traditionally overlooked, broken and decaying surfaces and objects that have experienced injury. I wish to encourage the viewer to look at these instances and see them for more than just imperfections. Broken things are not inherently abject, and trauma does not necessarily reduce an object. I want the viewer to look at these moments of damage with prolonged consideration.

In the attempt to capture the details of everyday life, I find myself also contemplating time. Considering my painting Views from the Floors of Closets, 2020, I'm trying to suggest moments that occur in every childhood of finding small, safe spaces to hide. In capturing these moments, I want to create a record of what was. To make the main subject of my painting objects and details that typically live in the margins of our world. The painting becomes a fixed point in time. The vantage point gives the viewer a sense of childlike wonder where dramatic folds in the drapery create a Narnia-like landscape.