I draw crooked lines and spill water on my paper; my art is not perfect, but perfectly my art. I start without a plan, merely a feeling and an idea of what I hope to see in the borders of a frame. The over-analytical part of me blinds me to possibilities and potential, so I look to outside inspiration to finish what I cannot naturally finish. I find that I best create in times of seeking, understanding and growing but those are simply puzzle pieces to my picture. Instead of getting inside of my head and letting my thoughts chase their own tails, I escape and let my thoughts drift between paint and paper. Each painting is not a definitive feeling, nor will it convey a specific thought, but will be every fiber of who I am as an artist. The mistakes, the incomplete, the non-symmetrical, the unplanned, the mismatched colors, the rough edges, the faded finish…the art, is I.