Texture becomes a way of communicating touch—my own touch held in my work, and what my viewer imagines feeling with their own hand. By not concealing my touch, I invite my viewer to be close with my thinking and process. Conflating an assortment of materials, those materials become less recognizable as their former selves, and new relationships are forged between disparate items. Bright colors convey a sense of optimism; after all, these are paintings that have been torn apart then stitched or plastered back together. Taking forms that seem to have order—a grid, a number, a hand, or a room—I deliberately lose accuracy and allow for imagination to run rampant. Negative space in my work is created not just through how I apply paint, but by cutting away at the work, resulting in paintings that have irregular sculptural qualities. I make images that have a logic that can only be held in painting, in pursuit of depicting wordless ideas and adding to the visual vocabulary of an ancient art practice.