I’ve been scribbling things down on paper my whole life. On the back of bills, business cards, grocery receipts, anything that’s handy, as a way of holding on to what feels important to me in the moment: maybe a turn in my life’s direction; someone I’ve noticed; an unidentifiable fear. Some of this is at the edge of my awareness--as if I were trying to lasso a bird in the air--and writing it down makes it more concrete and provides some sense of control. Over time, the scraps of paper mount into small dusty piles and eventually get tossed in a box. Years later when I open the box and happen to read these jottings I encounter a self in formation, inchoate, raw, messy. These canvases reflect some of these “notes to myself” from an earlier time in my life.