My studio is messy and chaotic, much like the times we are living in. Yet the art I create there, abstract and untethered, is where I make sense of it all… maybe even contain it.
It’s a meditative and therapeutic space with no noise and no distraction… no windows to the outside. Cavernous. Lots of movement, though. I can’t paint sitting at a table or easel; I stand, crouch, kneel and recline.
For me, creativity needs to be visceral and kinetic… strokes, swipes and line gestures are just conduits between inner and outer worlds. When my studio is tidy and swept up, it means I am momentarily inactive and uninspired.
But when it’s alive with color, splatters, and fragments of unfinished ideas scattered across the floor and walls for weeks and months on end, I know I’m in the flow—lost in the magical tension between instinct, surrender, and intention. It's a fortress, and it's home.