Art is the origin of the artwork and of the artist. - Martin Heidegger
In the spring of 2006, I had the opportunity to study in Florence, Italy, where many of these paintings began as sketches. This time away from home allowed me to step back and reflect on personal issues – of separation, loneliness and death. Though I did enjoy my time in the historic and inspiring city, I felt very isolated there, as I could barely speak or understand the language.
Late at night I would walk through Piazza Signoria alone. The mood of the piazza was heavy, as the moon’s light reflected upon the architecture. There was romanticism, yet solitude and sadness in the sounds of my footsteps along the cobblestone. Just as the space was open, yet guarded by the imposing architectural structures, I saw many open possibilities in front of me, yet felt limited by the structures I placed upon myself.
I feel these paintings echo my mood and experience in Italy. They reflect a painting of myself yet the paintings are a world onto themselves. We are both separate worlds of each other. Our relationship is interdependent for we are both derived from art. We disclose and we conceal what is hidden and unhidden of our origin. An origin that does not exist, it is forever lost in the visible. The painting is a nostalgic allegory of the origin. The painting exists because of what does not exist.