The long and unpredictable period of confinement, fear, and having to live with an incapacity to see what the future might, or might not, hold for all of us, is something many of us may have confronted. It was as if one lived in an unending, threatening fog. And so, there was no possibility to draw anything specific, grounded or precise.
The drawings I turned to could only look inward, to what for me is an internal river within all of us. Was it possible to record anything of this subconscious, fluid movement? And what meaning might come forth from it? As these works evolved, they insisted on a lack of clarity, a melding of forms, shadows and disappearance into undefinable vagueness. Form fading into atmosphere, though very much present.
That these drawings use only soft graphite and erasers has let me deepen my love of the subtleties that such basic tools allow. That these are internal and wander in a darkened space is simply the nature of the hand that drew them.