In an age where lives are lived through online experiences, my brain has become over stimulated. Multitasking, my old friend, is an enemy of productivity; I must embrace the mundanity of focus. My artwork is likely the only consistent focus I’ve had. My mandalas sit inches from my eyes while I draw, and though I am focused, my brain is crashing, burning, bursting with thoughts. It might seem like a good opportunity to be thinking; a chance to be inspired. But the thoughts hang dramatically over me like a creature ready to crush. They are ideas and aspirations but they are also pressure and panic. My work is a chance for me to focus my energy, and it takes a lot of work to get into a headspace where something good comes out of it.
My mandalas are a product of years of disrupted focus, followed by relief. The sculptures are the opposite: they are a product of intense concentration followed purely by thirst and hunger. To me, horror vacui is about the fear of allowing empty space to be filled by anything but artistic joy.