Some of my new paintings use layered fabric in a sculptural way. The transparency of the fabric plays a role in creating the atmosphere, as painting and drawing take turns suggesting trees, birds and space. The whiteness of the fabric, juxtaposed in as many as five layers on three separate stretchers, suggests the snowy air of winter, against which the silhouettes of trees, plants and birds play a harmonious game of elegant composition. In this quasi-holographic set-up, I paint each tree at least three times, until the paint covers all the openings of the fiber of the fabric, so the silhouette is un-compromised by light passing through the layers. The drawings, on the other hand, can be richly detailed, with careful attention to surface texture, or loosely outlined, with purposefully unfinished extremities. This is to suggest the dynamic play of the cycles of life in nature, with things being created, dying and re-created ad infinitum. The outlines of trees in pen and ink, less solid than the painted trees, hint at trees that have been there or could be there. The same is true of the birds: their outlines can be read as presence or absence, depending on each viewer's interpretation. This series of work reflect many of my longtime interests both in art and in life: the cycles of nature, regeneration, environmental concerns, geo-politics and, more specifically in artistic terms, how to incorporate three-dimensional space into the flat surface of paintings that can be placed on walls. Making light a dynamic presence in my paintings, be it through the strict use of painting techniques, through innovation in the use of materials or through a conceptual approach to the way the art object is experienced is what keeps me motivated to work.

Another group of paintings make use of canvas draped into itself to create shapes or "gestures", which I then use as the starting point in the design of a companion piece, like the diptych "The Eye of the Needle". The central line of the gestural/sculptural painting is transferred (through the simple method of rubbing the raised surface with graphite over a piece of paper) to a new canvas and is incorporated into the outlines of a tree trunk, branch or negative space. From this promising beginning a whole new realm is created and the two paintings, however completely different is style, are intimately related.
The gestural, sculptural painting uses the exact same colors as the traditional companion painting, however applied in a different way. Each color is hand rubbed in single layers, so the effect is one of optical color, using the principles of Old Master's Indirect Painting technique.

From this experience with draped canvas I went off to create independent "folded canvas" paintings, these having no traditional companion paintings to pair up with. I felt that the gesture and the sculptural quality of the folded canvas were strong enough to support each work independently, much in the vein of Minimalism. The subtle lines created by the draped canvas on the space of the stretchers are of a delicate beauty, where light plays a role in revealing the form through accents on raised edges and dark crevices. Connections are easily made with the way skin drapes the body, sensuously raising, folding, dipping into and enveloping the forms beneath.

Then there are the "vintage" paintings, the ones I've been making for many years now and will always do: the view of the world through the eyes of an awestruck romantic. Think Hudson River school, Kaspar Friedrich, Monet, Turner, Constable, Heade - their stylistic influence is undeniable, but my technical approach is completely different. I paint in layers of transparent pigment, from top to bottom and from background to foreground. The process is long and laborious, but that's the secret to capturing pure luminosity in my paintings.

The group I call "cut-out" paintings came to being in 2005, when I was playing around in the studio with the idea of space and using thread and canvas to create forms on stretchers. My mother, a painter herself, had made a wall hanging piece in the seventies using weaving techniques. I remember the piece had some twisted ropes dangling, like vines in an old forest, but the subject of her piece was the womb, a flower-like form in the center surrounded by ropes and dark colors. This work came to my mind after I made the first two pieces, in which I used rope-like twine in combination with roughly cut canvas that was then layered in two separate sets of stretchers. The next few pieces were investigations on the layering of carefully cut canvases (some people think they are laser-cut, but they are not - I cut them all by hand with an X-acto knife) and the interplay of light through the openings. To make these paintings, I start with a base painting in the far background of the foundation stretcher, followed by another layer of canvas on top of that same stretcher, which I prime, make preliminary drawings on, cut and paint. Then I layer another set of stretchers on top and envelop both sets with canvas, which I then prime and work on until it reveals the bottom two layers in a manner that accentuates the effects of trees and negative space in a forest. In these pieces light is always changing, so the work is always changing. Walk around the painting and you will see it differently. Place it in front of a light source like a window and you will notice colors come to the fore - a forest fire, a beautiful sunset in the woods, a place you've been to in your dreams.

Artists gain inspiration from many sources. For me, working in the studio and thinking with my hands is as important as going out and seeing what the day looks like, what games light is playing, how nature is arranged. Memories, ideas, books, film, people, all play a role in creating art.