12 archival prints on Hahnemühle paper, installation.

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I wanted to cut a piece of spring. The sentence seemed reasonable at the time. The studio was full. I could not paint. I was moving again. Outside, the green kept multiplying without asking whether I had room for it. I became angry with it. Then I became fascinated by it. Then I wanted to breathe it.
This was where things became strange. I closed my eyes and began seeing things I don't know how to explain without making them sound explained: white membranes, moving light, fire inside water, Christ taking my hand, my skin coming away, a body that had never been born.
And still I was thinking about the green. I wanted to know whether I was seeing something or remembering it. I wanted to know whether I could make it stay.
I couldn't. So I made twelve paintings. They are not twelve answers. They are twelve times I tried to cut a piece out of something that would not stop moving.