When I was a child, I had a recurring dream of discovering a room hidden between the walls of my grandparents’ home. The dream would be so vivid, I would often wake up thinking it was true. On at least one occasion, I peeked into their hall closet, sure that I’d find another passageway beyond the vacuum cleaner and raincoats.
Through the years I have lived in historic New England towns, with many old buildings whose stories are hidden within their walls. Newspapers used as insulation, bottles and tradesmens’ marks left behind by workers hundreds of years before, marbles and toys forgotten among the beams in attics. A slice through plaster for electrical work or a room expansion could reveal only old beams, or something more.
My paintings are similarly layered. Through applications of acrylic, oil, graphite and paper, marks are hidden and revealed. Wire emerges from the other side, off the surface and becomes line and form on another plane. I ask the viewer to lean in, take a closer look, to consider there may be more than what appears on the surface.