I create mixed media pieces exploring the complexities of youth and decay in material form. My work combines elements of post-modern practice and more contemporary forms, but, of course, anything I'm doing is contemporary by definition.
If I may further elucidate:
I sometimes have a hard time describing what I do. I don't have a terribly precise high concept for what I make, and can only just make a list of vague themes: the aforementioned youthful angst and decay, a general feeling of discontent, the (entirely valid but troubling) loss of objectivity in all things, pretending I'm grunge, etc. I'm not shy about pinpointing those broad themes, or any of my direct inspirations like Robert Rauschenberg or Anselm Kiefer, but I balk at delivering any kind of overt message through my pieces. I aim to create springboards for the viewers' thoughts. If any thought at all is had about a work of mine while looking at it, I'll consider it a successful piece. I'd just hate to be a pretty picture hung in a hotel, doctors's office, or beige suburban coffin.
That was the what, here is the why. I make art as a survival mechanism. It comes naturally to me. It's a means of self reflection and release. It's a collation of life experiences and inner monologue. It's a scream into the void, or some other metaphor to end this extended sentence structure.
I didn't necessarily want to grow up to be a debaser, but slicing up eyeballs came naturally to me.
They call me the big man.