I see birds on telephone lines or in the dead trees along the Trinity River and I think of notes on a staff, at 5 a.m. I am writing a poem in my head and the phrase "monkey duncecap" appears, as I look out of a hospital window the morning after my daughter is born I see a man wading in a fountain (a maintenance man) and can't help but think of John the Baptist, a girl sits on the tailgate of a pickup truck and leans her head down to make a selection from her I Pod, I am reminded of Picasso's "Old Guitarist" from his Blue Period. An internal dialogue or a banal moment may suggest something that strikes a chord.
I feel I have learned to remain open and receptive to experiences that initially may seem dull or unimportant. Most of my work now is a result of my daily experience. It is evidence of my existence. I really don't question the validity of an idea anymore, that always feels like delusions of grandeur anyway. If it stays with me I begin and let the process and the idea evolve into a finished piece. As I live with my work I continue to engage it and the association may change as my life changes. The meaning will become evident and the metaphor clear. There is the euphoric instant gratification of the initial idea and the more profound association that comes from spending time with a piece. Having allowed myself the luxury of compulsion there seems to be no turning back.