When I paint I destroy myself and try to build something out of the shatter. An otherwise empty room with a worthwhile painting hanging is still a room with a fight inside of it. I don’t want reactions to my work, I aim to affect the way getting groped in a crowd affects you, the way a sunrise affects you, the way a car crash affects you, the way good rappers prove their struggle and street cred to show you the power of triumph.

I love and protect to the teetering edge of violence, I celebrate profound tangents, I nurture growth, I scream epiphany, I cry my shortcomings, I worry acid, I laugh vomit, I fart rainbow, I kill with hug, I praise angst, I resent all that I make, I extrude the ineffable.

Our guts are made of rotting diamonds.