Art is a disease, and because of its true disposition, my work must always start with a concept, and its references substantiate the differences in contextual weight. Without the initial concept, the process ceases to be tethered to my imagination. Most of the time I reside in an obscure, static, stagnant pond rife with concepts, ability, inability and doubts. It is when the pond stirs and spews, bubbles and burps that evolution occurs and something new emerges. As this form arises from the morass, its elements establish coercion and inertia. The paintings and drawings secrete inclinations of further possibilities. When I have achieved a relationship between the contents structure and ambiguous history, its composure emits a feeling of ripeness. Every piece of artwork that I create is hypothetically completed, and retains an ability to be eradicated.