Artist Statement

Why cupcakes and vegetables?

Like most things that are decidedly Modern, there is no reference for a cupcake in nature. Cupcakes are a vinyl and plush amalgam of natural (and unnatural) ingredients whipped into shape and beaten into confectionery submission according to the creator’s idea of Cute. They are tiny sculptures whose proportions are classical, their lines calligraphic, their colors reminiscent of sun-kissed cousins in Izod.

And guess what: we get to eat them! We get to behold their Stay-Puff form, their pastel pinks and aqua blues, their perfect little size 6 bodies, and then, in one big rush of dream realized, of gratification NOT delayed, we get to bite into them. We get to consummate our desire, to take into our bodies all that Cuteness, perhaps in the hopes of becoming it: pink pleated and crisp, curvy where we’re supposed to be curvy, straight everywhere else, sweet. We hope to be so sweet. We hope to be lush and velvety, rich and tender too. We want to be over the top marvelous. We want to be decadent. We want to be perfect.

For a few brief minutes we are the prize we are swallowing, frosting and all. During that short-lived ecstasy, we and the cupcake are all that is: no Gulf War, no energy crisis, no aging parents, no unpaid bills, no melting polar ice caps, no arthritis. We are golden, tender, rich, lovely, delicate, and sweet. And so is the world.

Thank goodness there exists an antidote to the sugar delusion. Radishes. Bok Choy. Strawberries. Real food, straight out of the ground, full of sunshine and minerals, loved up from the dirt by people whose calling is to love vegetables. When we eat these things, we are queens and kings brought here to 2007 by way of Mesopotamia , carried in a reedy boat along the River Euphrates. We are cotton, we are wood, we are wind, we are fire. The Big Bang’s great, great grand children bought their bounty to the table and all of a sudden, as we dig in, we are stardust again.

What's the big deal about a colander?

Shiny stainless colanders take all the light and color in the air into their big, open mouths and spit it out all over everything around them, Technicolor jazz spots of light on a plain Formica countertop.

Steel pots reflect every single thing around them ---360 degrees-but reduce it all to simple bands of color, light, and shade. They speak back only what is essential: richest red, pure white light. In all their machine-made elliptical perfection, they are organic in what they choose to say about the world around them.

Glass cups' exteriors are calm and clear, but their insides are lawless in their digestion and interpretation of light and color. The frenetic, impassioned notes from a bop composition are contained within the delicate, clear confines of a glass. They are humble prima donnas, perfect southern ladies.

Food is deserving of worship. A piece of fruit or a whole vegetable is perfection, a word slipped from the tongue of God directly into a bowl in my kitchen. There is no improving upon a piece of fruit: there is only the task of recording it.

Red is life force. It is a call from the universe to wake up and look at the beauty all around us. Why be anywhere but within red-it challenges us to take notice and live and love to the fullest, without dilution.

This stuff is real, and these paintings are just worship. My task as an artist is to put onto paper my homage to the beauty right here in my kitchen.

That's what's the big deal about a colander.

About The Artist

Born the youngest of 8 children, I have always been in the midst of chaos, watching. Early on, my mother, an artist herself, found that I was easily entertained with pencils and paints and planted me on a stool at the kitchen counter with them while she juggled household life. Some of my fondest memories are of watching my mother and her artist sisters make paintings of various things around our kitchen while drinking coffee and telling old family stories. The kitchen's functionality gave way to its soul. In that room, people came to feed and be fed, not only by food but by stories, and it is the comfort and joy of that room I have always wanted to paint.

In addition to capturing the imagery and emotional resonance of the kitchen, I try to use my memories of the strong coastal light and rich lowcountry colors I grew up with to create mood and feeling in my paintings.