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A Feeling of Timelessness

    If the world was wiped away; our buildings crumbled, lights no longer glowing, cars vanished from the street with the asphalt under them, I'd want all my work to still ring just as true.

    I draw figures nude because only then will they evade the fashion of our time. I also try as hard as I might to not have writing in my visual work (outside of the occasional name or date) because language too is a product of our time and geography, and is constantly eroded and rebuilt (though a case might be made in the other direction). Style and mentality in its own way dates work, but I don't really think it seeks to alienate as much as certain forms of depiction do. The flat designs of Egyptian hieroglyphics, the animals preserved on rock faces in Lascaux caves, the grandeur of Mayan step pyramids are just as remarkable, and recognizable, on their conception as they are now. Some things never change, and these are the things I want to grasp onto, hold close, look at and make.

    I often imagine that a cache of my work, one day, will be dug out from the ground as strange artifacts, some relic of a missing age. I hope at that point the birds in my work are still chirping, people are still running wild nude among forests, insects are still shimmering in the sun, cows are still stoic in their fields, stray dogs remain chasing trails of scent through high grass. Surely some faces will still be beautiful and the sun will still radiate outwards. I hope someone might brush the soil and dust from my work and think, "yup, we've all been there."

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