In some fashion, I merely acknowledge the obvious.

When I get a notion, an itch, I feel the need to scratch it, to take it out for a walk, to exercise it, to play with it and see where it goes. Some work falls back into known resolutions.  Some work takes me to the edge (and beyond) of its own destruction (dissolution?). I start from someplace nominally understood, but never have any idea where it will end up. I have to work on whatever comes; to keep playing it out to see whether, in the long run, the process was a good idea or a not-so-good one. This is never known until I reach the end of the string. And at any point, if it doesn’t work, I just keep going.

But still I worry. I worry about the formal issues and the contextual ones. I worry about composition and concept, of orientation and perception. I worry about whether I’m too close and whether I should trust my own aesthetic. And in the end, when I get worn out from all the worry, it’s time to let it go. It's not really giving up, but acknowledging that it is time to send it out to be what it will be; to speak its own mind and in its own voice. Hopefully it will start a personal conversation with someone (even though no two conversations will be the same), for in the end that back-and-forth, that dialogue is more the point than anything that could be said in an artist’s statement.