While living in Puerto Rico six years ago, I began painting an abstract image of web-like vertical drips. Soon after, I came across one of Old San Juan's amazing banyans—enormous trees with hundreds of ropey roots that hang from their branches to the ground—and I was struck by the resemblance. I titled that first painting Roots. Since then, this pattern has caught my eye in many unexpected places and forms—streaks of rust on New York subway station walls, cracks in the sidewalk along Baltimore Ave, light reflected underwater, and in images of cerebral neurons and the circulatory system.
I’m not sure why I find these branching, tangling lines so compelling. The ubiquity of the pattern in nature intrigues me, and creating the paintings is very meditative. Especially after I’ve been working on portraits and other more representational subject matter, I like to settle into this rhythm of roots and branches, layers and drips.
