I cannot remember a time when my mind was not filled with images . . . the quality of light in a room, the shape of an object in my hands, the color of the linoleum floor, the horizon line delicately separating ocean from sky, a beach in fog.
Color is woven into my memory.
What was green, is green, what was blue, is still blue. Dark and light are often predetermined.
As I work, a reverie of drifting remembrance encourages the harmony and dissonance of relative shapes and colors. Images come to life again in the layered painted paper.
The results are the abstractions of my life.