My paintings are the result of a deeply personal process in which I let my unconscious mind emerge onto the picture.  The activity level of these pictures is relatively high; although some passages are sparse and placid, a hive-like confluence of human images is never far away.  Each face or figure in these pictures is to some degree an aspect of my self and its (conscious and unconscious) history.  Painting is a trance-inducing activity which affords men and women a secure shelter from the demands of the real.  As Odilon Redon taught, painting can depict much more than the external world.
	At the easel I withdraw from the brain activity associated with language (Broca's area and Wernicke's area) and retreat to the visual cortex and the sensorimotor strip.  This is a necessary release for me, as I am a very verbal person.  I recently translated Sophocles' Three Theban Plays, those ancient dramas in which Freud discovered the unconscious.  That was a trance inducing activity too, but one situated in language.  Getting out of the language-driven state of mind that dominates my waking life is among my motivations for painting.
	By virtue of this pictorial projection, I've been able to more or less directly access contours of the depths of my mind without having to scrutinize these sources of information until they've been harvested of images.  For instance, several times it has happened that I have painted a passable likeness of a particular figure (usually someone in my personal life) without realizing I was doing it.  I knew I was painting a face, but was literally shocked to discover that I had just painted D--, or M--, or K--.  I have accidentally painted my father several times, and have painted myself accidentally far more often than deliberately.
	I have had one show, in a gallery in Vermont called the Christine Price (a review appeared in the Rutland Herald).  I called that show "Cellars of My Nature."  I feel as though there are one thousand steps to the art of painting, and one walks these stations as best one can while trying to do one's work in the only lifetime available.  What station I'm on I can't say, but I am pleased to have been sufficiently faithful to my inner life in these paintings that I have learned from them what it looks like.