Thinking about your paintings—its unresolved uncertainties—gives me the feeling that I have rooms inside my head. So, I could say that if I am a world, your paintings engender nascent spaces within me. The more I explore, the more focused and detailed these spaces become ... They evolve.

Yesterday, at dusk, I was lured, then sucked in, by a juncture of field and copse. I’ve seen that sort of seam in nearly all of your paintings.

This morning the sky was light gray. I looked for the line—the weld. And, as the field was curved, I thought of an eyeball.

An eyeball: the secret horizon in an eyeball. It’s as if you were to ask from within: what is standing and balancing—momentarily or as long as possible—on my eyeball? And what is above the eyeball’s horizon? What is below? Does it have a ground and something that is above ground? And is the ground nameable because of the figure or the building that is standing on—or floating above—that eyeball’s surface? And yet, can anything stand on an eyeball?

Thinking about your paintings, I’m free to see the black line between the field and the trees.