I like to draw.
Actually, I love to draw.
I can't remember a time when I wasn't drawing.
When I was in fourth grade, my friend Peter and I drew entire worlds that existed under the ground. Our teacher, Mrs. Powell, would give us a roll of paper that was eighteen inches wide and infinitely long. She'd roll it out onto a really big table and we'd just draw, and draw and draw. We filled an entire roll of those strange drawings and I can still see them now, in my mind, so many years later.
Every year for Christmas my grandmother, Nana, would give me some new art supplies. When I was young, she gave me new crayons, constructions paper, and a pair of safety scissors. As I got older, she gave me markers, watercolors, and my first paintbrush. It was red. It was cool. I had a real paintbrush.
My other grandmother, Mama, taught me how to cut a perfect square. She made all sorts of things. She'd take her leftover scraps of fabric and cut them into squares. With her steady hand and keen eyes, they were perfect every time. She would often take these squares and re-arrange them into a gridded quilt. I credit her for my appreciation of The Square and The Grid.
These days, I tend to mix things up a bit. I integrate text + photography + drawing + painting with all sorts of stuff. I collect postcards, old photographs, and remnants off the street; fragments from other people's lives that live on within my paintings.
Thanks for taking the time to look at my stuff!