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ink, watercolor, pencil and gouache on paper, 24 x 18 inches 

 

I was originally searching for the grotesque, the classic image of the LA silver screen, the images we know and know to be. This grotesque search became a thing of beauty and decay, a genuine form of expression. It’s this idea of the sculpted face as a haunting need to keep as still as the image, the reconciliation of memories of what were and what should be. Ultimately in the search for the ideal, the face is effaced to gain a purity and lasting presence. What happens when we have the tools to distil our presence in the image of the living face

itself?