As a clinical psychologist, I’ve sat with people, one at a time, for hours and hours for more than 30 years.  You see and hear and feel a lot doing that work.  30 years of looking into faces, seeing how they are never still, always changing.  In art I’m less interested in duplicating form than I am in trying to capture those flashes of intelligent self awareness - when a face signals understanding that she is both a witness and a participant. And sometimes, instead of a face, the flash of seeing and belonging in the world ends up looking like colors or bodies, fictional landscapes or soaring birds.  I can overthink with the best of them, but art is for feeling.  Everything is funneled through our pure and twisted channels, including artistic expression.  What begins with a decision ends up as a surprise for the maker and the beholder.  I make stuff and the thing I like to think about afterward is whether the person who owns it will find it, whether you’ll drag back to your cave, use it to feather your nest, share it, live with it.  Your part is a mystery to me. As for me, making art is the luxury life.