If I say a great epiphany comes as inspiration for any piece of work, I'm being far from truthful. To me, what comes is much more subtle and develops only during the physical process of putting paint on the canvas AND PUSHING IT AROUND.  That may sound trite and bit insensitive to ears of those who do not paint, but this process of "making art" is much more complicated and deeper than a flash of inspiration.  It's something one can't really explain in words.

I started out at three, copying Picasso's "Woman in a Looking Glass" with crayons from a photo in Life magazine. I don't remember why, it just looked pretty and I had to reproduce it.  That's pretty much all I've ever done – make things I like to see. Making art was always more important to me than the finished product.

Through high school, then college (actually, colleges) I studied art.  And though academics were for the most part interesting and even fun, nothing else gave me the feeling that art work did.

I decided that if it was what I wanted to do, I had better hope I could make some sort of living doing it. I have worked for a long time trying to do that: to "make a living," so I could keep on doing what I wanted, not had, to do.

It's pretty simple, except for any pat explanation of why or what it is, but if you accept the fact that I just do it, there seems to be nothing more to say about my work than to look at it and hopefully find something worthwhile in just the looking.