Bows
As evocations, bows run the gambit. They top gifts and symbolize celebration, but also conjure idioms like, “the ties that bind” and “tied up in knots.” They suggest both a barrier to entry, and a surprise waiting to be received. These bows start as feelings; I sense into where they pinch and expand, where they inhale and unfurl. What they gather, what they protect, what they decorate or celebrate. I trace this feeling onto the canvas and begin raking lines meditatively, as in a Zen garden. Following the lines where they want to go, allowing all meaning to collapse — and expand.
Weather Bow, 54" x 74"
I Will Hold Your Hand Through All of That Bow 5' x 7.5' (sold)
Fantasies Bow 5' x 7.5'
Albuquerque Bow 5' x 7.5'
Attention Bow
Chart of A Mystic Bow 5' x 7.5' (sold)
Cuddle Bow 5' x 7.5'
Wisely and Gently Manhandled Into Transcendent Releases Bow 71" x 91"
Pretty Crying Bow, 5' x 7.5' (sold)
Grandma's Pillows Bow, 5' x 6'
Dancing Bow, 64" x 88"
Not Just Tolerate But Love You Because Bow, 6' x 8'
Stage Bow, 5' x 7.5' (sold)
Mesa Bow, 5' x 7.5'
Ravished and Understood Bow, 5' x 7.5'
Heart Thing Bow, 5' x 7.5'
Two Bow, 5' x 7.5'
Hungry Bow, 67" x 84"
I See It. You're Right. I'm Sorry. Bow, 5' x 7.5'
Love Me Deeply Bow, 5' x 7.5'
Middle of the Night Bow, 5' x 7.5'
Monsoon Bow, 5' x 7.5'
Room 222 Bow, 5' x 7.5' - sold
Ruby Bow, 5' x 7.5'
Unexpected Benefits Bow, 6' x 8'
The first Bow emerged from a fight with my partner, Paul. We were in Santa Fe. It was the morning of Christmas Eve. Creatively I’d been feeling tied-up in a dense ball — tense, tight, paralyzed. Paul said, “Why don’t you pull out that big stretched canvas you have downstairs and just play. I’m going to the coffee shop.” Play?! I was furious. But when he left, I pulled out that canvas. My “play” was something closer to a war — between my impulses and my inner critic. What I was making was TERRIBLE. And then I would yell at myself for judging it. Paul walked in in the midst of this torture and I quickly turned the painting to the wall so that my absolute worthlessness would not be seen.
“Don’t be silly,” he said, and went and turned the painting back around. I buried myself in the couch and would not look at him. I locked myself in a bathroom. I didn’t speak to him for the rest of the day. We went on the famous Santa Fe Christmas Eve walk, not speaking. The last thing I said before we went to bed was, “Fuck you, Paul.” The next morning, I painted the first Bow.