drips and swirls

2003-2004

I don’t know what I was doing. That’s probably always true—but here, especially, it felt like the point. I’d pour housepaint straight from the can onto a piece of wood and tilt it, watching it run, pool, thicken. The way it dried became part of the surface, like the painting was making itself.

Some of these began with lines of black poured onto a white background, the movement of the board carving out enclosed shapes I’d then fill in with color. Others swirl more freely, looping in vivid strokes that verge on psychedelic.

Looking back, I think this series bridges what came before—Words, I Ching—and what followed, like Encryptions. A movement away from legibility, toward flow, rhythm, and physicality. But really, I just liked the way it looked and felt. So I kept going until I didn’t.