I am currently working almost exclusively with archival Staedtler fine-line permanent marker on full sheets of Arches 140-pound hot-press watercolor paper. Sometimes I work in pastel, also on watercolor paper.  I am interested in what's left out, what's cut off, in merging and separation, and in things that happen at the edges.  I often work in series, with everyday subjects as a jumping off point.  A casual glance might say simply "pussywillows" or "horse" or "dog."  My hope is that, with a closer look, a piece will intrigue the eye enough to invite contemplation of the extraordinary "ordinary" things in our lives.  The point-counterpoint of  geometric tiles merging into and separating from the intricate topography of a black and white dog.  A stripped-down negative space that eddies and flows around the sinuous outline of a cat -- or that is pricked and stymied by the angular forms of a proud picket fence.

I work towards my compositions via line, shape, negative space, and the balancing of quiet versus active areas. The eye should have plenty of space to rest, so it has a chance to feel the pull of the area that wants to be examined next.  My compositional work is finished when a piece delights my eye each time I first catch sight of it: that persistent little "ahh!"  After the balky, demanding push/pull of the composition phase, the drawing phase of each piece is more contemplative, almost trance-like.  My pen moves -- sometimes slowly and smoothly, sometimes darting and twitching -- for hours at a time without conscious effort as a piece gradually comes together.  No matter how clearly my mind's eye has seen it, the final product is always a surprise.  Which is just a reminder - as if I needed one - of the yawning abyss between the world inside our heads and the world that surrounds us.