I have always loved magazines. I love the feel of them, the glossy, pages that feel so good under my fingers, the huge September issues that are inches thick, the different papers and inks that sometimes bleed. From Vogues and Playboy's from the '70's to the NY Times magazine sections. I search for familiar images and aim to strip away, to layer, frame, reframe and explore the spaces between our public and private worlds.
I grew up going to museums and galleries to see art with my parents. My father and I have a game we played, still do. We imagine that in every museum, gallery, or room, we must pick one piece of art that will come home with us and hang on our wall. One piece that we have to imagine living with and looking at every day. We have to pick one, and only one.
Sometimes it's surprisingly difficult, either I want none of them or I am moved by so many pieces that picking one seems impossible. And sometimes it's easy. I am pulled towards one piece in a room full of art, and barely glance at the rest.