Let's think of a river that meets a lake. The strength of the current supports all that it can carry, and it carries it downstream. The lake receives, and as it does, it grows sprawling in all directions. Life thrives in the new channels and energy ebbs through. Pigment and ink swirl around in water and sink into paper.
While I control the color and the water to an extent, the color and the water can do a great amount without me. When I take a step back for a moment, I almost cannot see my hand in it; however, the decisions I've made throughout the process retain a presence in the image.
I see myself as the river, and everything else at work are the lake, which is the physics and chemistry of the reactions between the materials: the paper, the water, the pigment, the ink.
And then I let it sleep, to seep in and soak into the paper. The water dries. The paper warps. What is left is a quiet space recording a history of movement, as well as space in which nothing happened: the negative space, which allows an important balance of weight in the pieces.
The ideas I enjoy exploring through physical and visual translation exist already in the world, such as modernism and minimalism. I like to view my approach similar to a rewrite of a good story. For example, if the “story” is the indexical quality of paint drips, I am creating it again my way.