My usual response regarding the meaning of my work is awkward silence.  I’ve never been able to explain or find the precise words for things I’ve been incubating for years.  The “theme” of my work can reside solely in the mind of the viewer.  I maintain that the most important meanings are left unsaid, and if said, narrow the interpretation and weaken the intention.  Antoni Tapies said it most eloquently:  “The truth we seek will never appear in a painting but will only appear behind the last door that the observer learns to open with his own strength.”

Images of the cross, exes, and crossings of opposite lines and planes are in many cultures a fundamental symbol of the world, a harmony between man and woman, the equilibrium between the activities of yin and yang.  For the most part these symbols appear in my work unconsciously, tapping into the collective unconscious, hopefully stirring multiple associations.
A blank canvas poses all of my problems anew while I move from one plane of knowledge to another, hoping to find some “truths.”  Hovering between the illusionary and the real, art for me is a form of magic—mysterious truths represented with the repetition of passageways, colors and symbols.  This magic keeps me connected and equal to all things.