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“It’s the summer of 1982, and I’m waiting in line outside of an East Village bar. The sign above the door states, “DRESS CODE: cycle leather & Western gear, levis and jocks.” Do I look butch enough? Later in the year, Vincent Chin will be murdered in Detroit, but that’s not yet news. For now, I’m trying to get into Mineshaft and I can’t find my friend who dragged me out to begin with. Apparently, Michel Foucault is inside.->”       

“I think the language the paintings create is a sense of mutualism, but also complexity, encryption. The signs—the objects, symbols, the language fragments—are a form of mutually encrypted code, protected through a cipher. And the cipher is the You-I relationship that I share with the subject. I’m interested in opacity, and honoring opacity, in the way that Édouard Glissant wrote a lot about... ->”