I grew up with my nose in a book and my left hand in a can of paint. Or so it seems. My mother would read to me chapters from the classics and my father would teach me how to draw, especially how to draw what you see, rather than what you are looking at.
One winter day, while I was staring at a stack of unfinished paintings I keep in my studio, then back at my computer screen, as I do most days, I was reminded of the need for abstraction in both language and visual art, of how something personal becomes universal on account of its separation from the obvious.
Sea Silk is a meditation on beauty and loss, the life they share, and the ties that keep them entwined. A reminder, I hope, that what we see is as important as what stands in front of us.