I try to be open to the complexity of the landscape around me, and I find that drawing helps me to do it. Look closely enough at the boring collection of literal facts around you and you will nearly always find a surprise.
My drawings, like any meditation, are mostly about patience and paying attention. I try to construct a strict internal logic of color and light in each, and I draw using only four colors and only straight lines. I don’t find these self imposed rules restrictive. Relying only on the subtle distinctions that are possible within these limitations forces me to focus on the equally subtle distinctions that I see in the landscape around me.
The fact that these drawings are logical and modular means that they can enlarged and reproduced on walls. In this way, the drawings on paper become templates for larger projects that anyone else can execute or help me to execute. No special skill is required other than patience, the willingness to work hard, and the ability to paying close attention to things. At this scale, the drawings become performative, collaborative, and algorithmic.
Despite having a landscape based practice, I am skeptical about the false dichotomy between nature and technology. My drawings may be hand made, but their syntax is inspired by computers and the repetitive, rule based algorithms by which they operate. My colors choices are based on on the process color model used in mechanical printing, and my linear marks are inspired by the etching and engraving techniques which were one of the first methods of mechanical reproduction. I wonder what it would be like to see like a machine, to work like a machine. Would such radical depersonalization allow me to see more or less clearly? Can we even conceive of a nature separate from ourselves and our tools? What would a romantic landscape for a robot look like?
These are some of the questions that interest me.