I can be a bit of an anger aggression painter. The act of painting becomes a violent blur; sometimes I come out unscathed, and sometimes the canvas survives. It’s an act of chaos—a tragic, moody two-step on a dangerous line of destruction. What has survived is what you see here.

I call it gut painting. When everything around me causes my focus to dwindle, and my head to spin, I turn it all off and blindly paint. The more I think, the worse it goes, so it’s time to let it all go and just paint. My colors, bold as they usually are, become deeper, more saturated and dramatic. I tend to build things up simply to obliterate them, often throwing things at the canvas, slashing with palette knives, even tossing the canvas itself. Ironically in this time of chaos, I often pull something soothing, calm, and real out of the mess.

I’m a bit frustrated right now. There are so many distractions in my life that it’s difficult to focus: it’s like trying to thread a needle while rushing to catch the 8:30 subway on Monday morning in the city, and thinking of the last time you heard quiet. Consciously shutting down my head and painting by instinct is a great way to regroup, determine the front, and start down a new path.