For me to paint something, it has to break my heart.  An unbearable situation is what grabs me.  By painting it, I can engage with and change what is unchangeable.  True, a purely childish desire is there, denial, fantasy---to make terrible endings into good ones.  But for me, as these bright, cartoony paintings propose happy endings the truth is inevitably ghosted beside them.  This is not revisionist history; the absurdity of the revised assertions do not ask to be taken literally.  They take a hammer to common knowledge so we can look inside again and feel it.  Contrast between true and false is heightened more by distorting what happened than by futile struggling to get the facts exactly perfect--- which can never be accomplished even by those who were there.

Famous journal-keepers---Anne Frank, Meriwether Lewis, Mathew, Mark, Luke and John all have inspired me. Carbon pages of my own Grandfather's field messages scribbled under fire in the WW I trenches---(and the generations of fallout from his bravery and suffering)--- have more recently inspired my work.  And the look of a human scrawl shouldered onto a page---coherent or otherwise---are irresistable to me.

What  do storytellers have in common? They have faith that what happened to them is worth marking---that it means something. It matters.

They want someone else to know.