On My Paintings

Disease and Beauty
Sarcasm, Provocation, and Poetry

What does the pursuit of art -- making paintings -- mean to me? To escape the flood of images, and yet use them all the same. I try to see with precision, to see from within and without, to see anew. Do I see as a woman, as a human, or as a wounded being? I am astonished about what I have seen, make innumerable sketches, which I then forget. These become a kind of humus for my paintings.
I collect material,selected from the excess of garbage, and strip them of their original meaning. Letters are created -- word-pictures -- which I playfully and paradoxically assemble in new ways, and which I insert in paintings to create another visual language agreeable to me. I enjoy this assemblage and the sparks that arise throughout the process. Through my pictorial elements and colors, I plunge into what is already stored within me and retrieve it. Not that there would be clear pictures, no illustrations of ideas and yet strong testimonies which allow room for seeing things differently, for interpretations.
The disrespectful tearing to pieces and arbitrary assemblage often produces ironic or provocative content. I also provoke myself, extricate myself from the comfort of the familiar, escape from the numbness, the order, which is delegated power.
I am astonished by my own paintings, whose contents often come into existence unhoped and unplanned for. I am obsessed by experimentation with color, sketches and pieces of collages. It is a coincidence when I have declared a piece to be finished. I love materials that carry traces of time, workmanship or process. On one hand, the medical images which I use in my art signify the process of healing and recovery. On the other hand, they call attention to the sick skin of the world. I love images of skin with their gleaming surface. Images of skin bear testimony to being uncovered, openness, vigilance and vulnerability. I marvel at their beauty despite their diseased state.
I am enthused when absurd oddities, mysterious relationships between form and color, or echoes of poetry come into existence.

Not yet rated