Statement
A res cogitans is Latin for "a thinking thing," and is very much what I find art to be. As an art teacher, my workday reality involves sharing the images and ideas of other highly regarded artists with my students. In the studio myself, it seems only natural that this daily experience would inform my own art practice. Indeed, my interest in acrylic painting in miniature on paint store color samples is a reflection upon the nature of art itself. That is, I'm more broadly interested in the entirety of ideas surrounding the making, understanding and consuming of art.
I don't name the paint chip or originate the painting. But in choosing the paint chip and corresponding image, the thoughts of other artists and critics are reflected in my thinking, and they give visual form to my work. Where my work begins and ends, however, is called into question, and in doing so becomes a platform for exploring new meanings. Most significantly, the work questions what it means to "know" a work of art. What does the viewer recall about the original? What if the viewer has never seen the original? Is any thought given to my portrait other than the craft with which it was made? In the end, I want these investigations to honestly and cogently reflect my evolving inquiries and fluid meanings, however flawed; I want my art to be "a thinking thing."
A res cogitans is Latin for "a thinking thing," and is very much what I find art to be. As an art teacher, my workday reality involves sharing the images and ideas of other highly regarded artists with my students. In the studio myself, it seems only natural that this daily experience would inform my own art practice. Indeed, my interest in acrylic painting in miniature on paint store color samples is a reflection upon the nature of art itself. That is, I'm more broadly interested in the entirety of ideas surrounding the making, understanding and consuming of art.
I don't name the paint chip or originate the painting. But in choosing the paint chip and corresponding image, the thoughts of other artists and critics are reflected in my thinking, and they give visual form to my work. Where my work begins and ends, however, is called into question, and in doing so becomes a platform for exploring new meanings. Most significantly, the work questions what it means to "know" a work of art. What does the viewer recall about the original? What if the viewer has never seen the original? Is any thought given to my portrait other than the craft with which it was made? In the end, I want these investigations to honestly and cogently reflect my evolving inquiries and fluid meanings, however flawed; I want my art to be "a thinking thing."