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Dreams are ethereal; the harder I try to remember them the quicker they slip from my grasp. In the end, I may remember vague shapes or perhaps a theme, but it is like reaching through water into a field of distortion. These planned compositions started from the inside out; where each layer influenced the next. Yet even with the best of plans, deep pours of acrylic shift and slide. Controlled chance created cracks and unexpected textures. Gravity pushed individual pigment particles to swirl and bleed. Beauty emerged; not from curated perfection, but evolved from decisions made to tame chaos and bend it to my will.
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