When I was very young, 5 or 6, I thought drawing was the same as using words. Because I found words too difficult and confining to describe my thoughts and emotions, drawing was manageable. Now as then, things exist inside my head and because I want to see them outside of my head, I draw them. But once I bring these things into reality, the image on paper is not exactly the same as the inner vision –  it has become something else. I am curious and disappointed by the imperfection of the real compared with the ideal. I want to honour that imperfection, to savour its poignancy and its beauty.

 I have a cat who both craves affection and fears physical touch.  He solicits petting until he cannot endure the gratification any longer. When bliss overwhelms him, he strikes out and bites just for the relief. I draw so I do not  bite.