My drawings are largely improvisational acts, fleeting and quick. For the most part my drawings disappear over time or are hidden away in sketchbooks, yet for the last 4 years I have collected them, and have kept them close at hand, filed them nearby. ( No, 'filed' is too formal and precise. These are not files. Piles? Collections? Accumulations? Masses?). These drawings help me to think, to articulate thought, yet creating them simultaneously helps me to unthink, to release my thoughts from words. I often draw for the sake of drawing: the satisfying, crisp action of pencil on paper offers me an almost athletic remembrance of childhood play. The movement of drawing warms my hands in the studio, and  keeps my hands busy while I watch Coronation Street.  Sometimes I create  these images while preparing other works, other shows, for my primary practice (whatever that means). These sketches, these charms, are the marks made by one-who-is-waiting, the unconscious marks of a phonebook doodler. These are the marks of making art while waiting to make other art.

Over time I have amassed hundreds of these ghosts, these collections of lingering matter, these bits of junk, leftovers and dog-eared asides. These works are created with my own set of codes, not-meant-to-be-seen. They have become, in a sense, souvenirs- the art behind the artifice of my own practice.

What happens when these remnants, these auxiliary acts, become public? However futile, this presentation, this public-entering is a desire to make sense of out what was never designed to make sense- my own process/progress. The presentation of these field notes are an attempt to make the remnants whole, a way of my taking ownership for them. This is not to say they  have not been useful in their own right as individual objects. On the contrary, they have become far more useful in their raw physicality, in their rough and specific done-ness than the imagined spirit of an unrealized sculptural work or installation. I see this space here, this drawing room, as something of a purge, where the ghosts become things, become art, counter to the perfection of conceptual non-making, the perfection of the unrealized plan. Art that is made while I am doing something else.


I have decided not to title them or include sizes or materials.  But you could ask me about such things and I would tell you.

Also, I will be adding images periodically as I continue to find these things around.  And as I make them.