In earlier collages I dealt with famous women and their shared, known narrative. In time I came to realize that I also had an emotional investment with the unnamed glamour girl, models and the like, beauties I've studied since childhood. Their looks were their only story, voiceless and anonymous. But those beautiful women did carry all kinds of identity to me - they became vehicles for tales I wished to tell.
Around the time I began the Anonymous Women, I recommenced work as a makeup artist after a hiatus of fifteen years. This return to a makeup career, such as it was, freed up and reshuffled my idea of the anonymous beauty. I had also a heightened idea of the face as cut up body parts, well aware that women’s faces are sliced and diced all the time.
I recall a fellow artist once telling me that beauty was dangerous. I knew this to be the truth in painting, but I also felt it was the case in many other things, including women. What I want to do with beauty and glorious artifice is put her where you least expect her to be. She's often shoved into a box and I want to bust her out. She’s the ocean, the sky, the forest. She’s the skyscraper, the Pantheon, the illuminated manuscript. She's also the wall, the decor, the carpet you step on. A girl from Southern Oregon gazing down a muddy road. She’s the mover in art history and the genius of the crime.