Faster, Faster

Vincent van Gogh didn’t start painting until his twenties. He produced about 900 paintings, and then he died at thirty-seven. I’d say, he was fucking prolific. In my book, that’s obsessive painting over the course of a couple of decades.

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Brain Travel

This piece has been on my mind, a lot. I made it for the second Jerusalem Biennale in 2015. My good friend and curator, Anne Hramodka went on a trip to Israel with a group of people and asked them all to collect ephemera during their stay, be it receipts, paper trash, bags, stickers, stationery, hotel matches, or whatever could be flattened into a suitcase and be brought back to me so I could make art out of it.

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Bygones be Back

Bringing up this particular painting is a touchy subject, not just because of the process I experienced in making the thing or what it means to me on an emotional level, but because of the physical piece itself. Honestly, it’s become a haunting albatross around my neck. One reason is the size. It doesn’t fit into any car. Anytime I want to move it, I have to rent a truck. Plus, I can’t enjoy it for what it is anymore. It causes me too much anxiety.

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