I like speculative fiction and I like to build things. There is something inescapably human about our need to invent new worlds, and that is where my drawings start. From there, the question is whether or not I can build a world that won’t fall apart after you spend five minutes in it.
I think of drawing as strange kind of emerging technology. It is always shaping new tools for us and is shaped by them in turn. From the plates and presses used to mass produce early book illustrations to the algorithmic compression systems used to code digital images, drawing and mechanical reproduction have always both informed and disrupted each other. I place myself firmly within that tradition.
My drawings are hand made “digital” artifacts. When I draw I pretend to be a robot pretending to be a human so they can learn to draw like one and fool a Turing test. Given the limits of machine language and what it can comprehend (vectors, defined color codes, layered datasets), I ask myself how I can work within the confines of my system to discover emergent properties that transcend it. How can a language transcend it’s own limitations? How can my drawings be smarter and understand more than I do? It’s a tough problem that I’m constantly working on.
Failure and futility are important materials for me. I want to make drawings that have a dreamlike and suggestive quality, not because they are deliberately coy, but because they perfectly describe everything that can be mechanically described while hinting or pointing at the emergent, phenomenological experiences that lie outside of that scope. Drawings that are honest about what we can see and what we can’t, and about the limits of language and representation. Drawings that hint at what they can't quite capture.