years ago i decided to pursue painting because i needed to be good at something and i needed something to do. painting became a way for me to describe how other people made me feel- to get it off my chest. after years of scraping at the sides of myself to gather enough inspiration to say something- i had nothing left, there was maybe 6 months i couldn’t paint anything successful or new, i truly worried if i lost the thing that made up a good chunk of my identity, i felt lost and really insecure. 

at the beginning of 2023 the spark came back, my painting ‘doom’ took a different approach; instead of using an outside source for inspiration i used myself. it was weird and difficult. painting would hurt a lot and made me feel crazy at times. it felt like years were being taken off my life, as if i was rushing through trying to say everything i was ever going to need to say, i feel i can relax now, my paintings are how i see the world, everything is as alien and abstract and strange as i make it out to be, everything is as bright and scary as well- if nothing else my paintings are about fear. 

my goal with painting is still the same, i need something to be good at and i need something to do, and there is nothing i would rather be doing. it hurts my feelings when it’s all reduced to the anatomical structures they feature, i paint queer, anatomical, bright, silly things, they have something to say about sexuality, bodies, our comfort with them. it definitely feels like a case of if you know you know, though it is disheartening that i seem to lose so many people at body parts. there’s nothing in this world that makes me happier than the final moments with a painting when i decide enough is enough and i need to be done with it, when i sign one i feel the most like myself. seems kinda deep considering i paint a lot of dicks.