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. I felt very isolated there. I could barely speak the language never mind understanding it. But I did enjoy myself there and tried my best to engage myself in this historical city. The nostalgia of being there is wonderful.
Late at night I would walk through Piazza Signoria alone. The mood of the piazza was heavy, as the moon’s light reflecting upon the architecture. There was romanticism, yet solitude and sadness in the sounds of my footsteps along the cobblestone. The space was open, yet guarded by these imposing structures, just as I saw many open possibilities in front of me, I felt limited by myself.
I feel these paintings echo my mood and experience in Italy. I am active and the paintings are reflective. 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.