Abstraction is always derived from reality. It does not matter what the final outcome may be, its roots are in the real perceptual world. Intuition, in my perspective of its definition, is the coupling of knowledge with experience resulting in a world that is greater than either knowledge or experience alone. Intuition is related to abstraction, but it can also be used in more ‘recognizable’ works as a process. Works of art created with intuition by a knowledgeable and experienced artist are capable of transcending the unknowable. It is in a sense analogous to the saying that the whole is greater than the sum of it’s parts. As an artist I use my intuition coupling it with complexity science and emergence as a process when I create work. I use my intuition in a performative aspect as my hands and mind quickly create an idea into a visual experience.
In many ways I see my works as visual poetry that is not limited by words, but that exists beyond the confines of words by evoking an emotion or feeling.
Construction / Deconstruction / Reconstruction. Chaos, Intuition, and the Reassembly of Meaning
My use of construction, deconstruction, and reconstruction did not arise as a theoretical position. It emerged from lived practice. Before these works took form, I spent an over an entire year intentionally working consciously with chaos, allowing instability, uncertainty, and intuition to guide my decisions rather than resisting them. This was not an abandonment of rigor, but a deliberate suspension of control. I wanted to understand what might surface if I stopped protecting coherence and instead trusted the intelligence of disruption itself.
During that time, I worked without fixed outcomes. I allowed forms to collide, fragment, dissolve, and contradict one another. I paid close attention to what happened when images broke apart, when language failed, when structure could no longer hold meaning intact. Chaos, for me, was not destruction for its own sake. It was a generative condition, a way of revealing what remained alive beneath habit, expectation, and convention. Intuition became my compass, not as impulse alone, but as a form of embodied knowledge that operates faster than language.
Out of this sustained engagement with chaos, the process of construction, deconstruction, and reconstruction began to assert itself organically. I realized that I was no longer simply making images; I was working through cycles. Construction involved assembling forms, symbols, grids, and references drawn from memory, culture, and perception. Deconstruction followed naturally, not as an aggressive dismantling, but as a necessary unraveling. Images were scraped away, broken, obscured, layered over, and interrupted. What could not survive this process did not belong. What remained carried weight.
Reconstruction was not a return to the original image. It was something altogether different. The reconstructed painting held traces of what had been lost, ghosts of earlier decisions embedded in the surface. Meaning re-entered the work slowly, not as resolution, but as earned coherence. Reconstruction, for me, is an act of care. It is where fragments are allowed to coexist without being forced into false unity. It is where complexity is not simplified, but held.
This process mirrors how human understanding actually forms. We build identities, beliefs, and narratives. They fracture under pressure, through experience, trauma, contradiction, or growth. What follows is not a clean replacement, but a reassembly shaped by what has been learned. My paintings operate within this same logic. They are not illustrations of chaos; they are records of passage through it, and the gifts chaos can give us.
Materially, this methodology manifests through layering, erasure, grid disruption, repeated marks, embedded language, and shifting spatial systems. Media is applied, removed, reapplied. Surfaces accumulate history. The hand remains visible as evidence of decision, doubt, correction, and persistence. I am interested in how meaning emerges not from clarity alone, but from duration, from staying with uncertainty long enough for structure to re-form honestly.
Construction / Deconstruction / Reconstruction became a foundational way of thinking that later permeated all of my work. It informed my engagement with pattern, networks, roots, faces, language, and systems of interconnection. It also shaped my broader philosophy: that coherence is not static, that breakdown is not failure, and that reconstruction is not restoration of the past, but the creation of something newly possible. Even my drawings of models from life I used this method for creating at times.
These works stand at a critical point in my practice. They mark the moment when chaos stopped being something to manage and became something to collaborate with. From that collaboration emerged a visual language capable of holding contradiction, memory, and emergence at once. The drawings and paintings do not offer solutions. They offer process. They invite viewers to recognize their own experiences of fragmentation and reassembly, and to consider that meaning – like life itself, is not fixed, but continuously constructed, undone, and made again.
This is a huge body of work, and as such impossible to display them all.
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