While sorting out some old piles of paper, I recently came across some of the old xeroxes. It was quite jarring. Many of the works are personal and, like most all of my work, autobiographical but with the urgency and immediacy of youth, reflexive rather than reflective. These bits of wood and paint were the most important things in the world to me until they became monsters that had to be exorcised, they’d take so much out of me that selling them end even giving them away to friends, family, acquaintances and in some instances strangers was a cathartic experience.
These ghosts, these brittle bits of paper now work for me in a different way. They are like contact prints (my favorite type of photograph), a direct positive that reconnects me to the original image, no longer icons but relics with the same primacy like the toe bone of a saint or a lock of a lovers hair. I still have the visceral experience of those works in a way that a high definition digital image or slide could ever provide.